my favorite part of nijinsky’s diaries: the almost indistinguishable shift between what is horrifying and totally ordinary.

"I am standing in front of a precipice into which I may fall, but I am not afraid to fall and therefore will not fall. God does not want me to fall, because He understands me whenever I fall. I went for a walk once, and it seemed to me that there was blood on the snow, and so I ran, following the trail. I had the impression that somebody had killed a man, but he was alive, and so I ran in another direction and saw a larger trail of blood. I was afraid, but I went in the direction of the abyss. I realized the trail was not blood, but piss."

at noon the sun begins its pitch. i hang purple black-out curtains in the bedroom. listen to love’s four sail. “dream.” for what cannot be expressed, i have the comfort of listening to the same track over and over in bed. an air mattress, which has a leak, and so sinks in around me. i feel through the dark for the light switch, feel again, sleep it off instead.

ten am, swamped in sweat, we left for california. car packed to its outer limits; every window blocked, mirrors visible only if squinting. the first day we drove 800 miles through mississippi’s rotted maw into shreveport, louisiana. checked-in at the hotel; the clerk cleared his throat: you know yr late you know yr really really late. on the sidewalk, we passed two frat boys named chet and kenny who offered us a puff off their blunt. located on the second floor, our room overlooked the pool, which was occupied 24/7 by co-eds. after snuggling down in bed, we realized we forgot to pack the cat’s litter box. yelling balcony to balcony, i asked chet directions to wal-mart? he tripped on an empty bottle of abita take a left out the parking lot, stay straight, first right. on our drive, we passed six prostitutes huddled outside a chevron. at the hotel, useless sleeping pills. woke before dawn. slipped into my clothes, damp from the humidity. the sun rose. we crossed into texas. at a love’s fueling station, i bought a “don’t mess with” post-card for my sister. two coffees later, we saw signs for dallas but not the city itself. at rush hour we rolled through austin. my tires did not complete a single full rotation till at least sixteen miles outside the city, and even then, stop-n-go all the way to san antionio.

san antionio: psychotic heat, concrete bleached past any recognizable shade of white. when we arrived at tom’s house, his dad stood from his lawn chair, waved, then resumed his seat beneath what appeared to be a palm tree. a tortoise crawled out, blinked. when i parked my car on the curb, tom rushed over no no no neighborhood patrol. i moved my car. tom’s dad handed me a spaten: yeah, the neighborhood's nothing if not up my ass about parking and shoes on the stoop. i  finished my beer. single swig. removed my shoes and placed them on the stoop next to the tangle of leather loafers, burned-out tevas. inside: the most pristine carpet, hard-wood. tom’s dad handed me another spaten: sorry i don’t have anything harder. out back--tom gave us a tour of his turtles, tortoises, and snakes; his knowledge of each species, as well as reptiles in general, impressed. while i watched the red-footed tortoise sleep, tom fired the grill. filet mignon. wine spilt across a tartan table cloth. after cutting his steak into three equally proportioned pieces, tom’s dad recounted his days in southern california. mostly, the drugs. after dinner we drove to j’s house. the sign on the corner read no playing in the street. tom pointed out each house. two different cars in four months crashed into the same duplex. j. answered the door with a handshake and pack of marlborough lights. i blazed through my first two cigarettes as well as the joint j. rolled. don’t smoke this shit with just anyone. on the radio, doug sahm sang did a lot of cocaine did a lot of rhythm and blues. around midnight the boys brought out the amps, alternated between wonky arthur lee covers and just plain wanking. at some point j. unplugged his bass, stood up, and pulled the blinds shut: i can’t tell if that’s a P.E. instructor or a cop. tom said one last round then we’re out.

when the dew burned off the grass, we drove to lubbock.  on four hours of sleep. my sole salvation: two trips to dairy queen, a pack of cigarettes. too exhausted to bother with "touring the town," we walked to the wal-mart across the street from our hotel, bought a large pizza and case of lone star beer. bellies full, tv blaring: fucked twice before passing out with all the lights on.

the drive to flagstaff passed without incident. earth carved up, crazed red, etc. i snapped splotchy pictures through the windshield, did not speed. smoked cigarettes through my teeth. after the last night in the last hotel, we left for LA starry-eyed and laughing. thirty miles from the border, i received the most inane, over-priced, totally illegal traffic ticket of my life. at the fruits and agriculture check-point, a man in tethered twills confiscated my prunes. three hours later, we arrived at our new apartment, unloaded the car, split a speedway stout, burned out.

home sunday night: half-peeled moon, humidity almost holy. while we were away, the cat gained three pounds; i, six. our hotel bordered an abandoned car-lot offset by motionless palm fronds. for the first three days: searing migraines, tempered only by sex & tripel sec. enter the flu. plowed through an entire box of tissues in two hours, mixed kamikazies,  equal parts echinacea. when the fever broke, i waltzed down to the pool, fell asleep in my bikini & received the best tan of my life. on tv i flipped between re-runs of iron chef & an over-produced pete seeger tribute. after we signed our lease, we celebrated on the beach, which we continued to whore out shamelessly the whole week. on the plane ride home, a mix-up occurred: m. & i were assigned seats in different rows. next to me sat a twelve year old who listened, despite my elbowing him twice, to vivaldi very loudly three hours straight. after a shaky landing, the boy asked the flight attendant was that the pilot’s first flight? the attendant bent to tie her shoe why don’t you ask him that?

I Found a Love, The Falcons (featuring Wilson Pickett)

an entire week dissolved. windows open, curtains shuddering. spring almost. a held breath, skirt tucked between my legs. i move, making no sound, currents in the air. the air stiff, clinging to the edges of my mouth. an entire week. endless stream of newspaper interviews. we’ll give you a call next week. my phone line dead. balancing & rebalancing the checkbook. class on the weekends: frustration in every direction. i raise my hand. i hee & haw. two women say i admire yr passion! tho i thought my delivery was dead-pan. a blank face, even better, head. i drop dead. i swim in my own skin. try to concentrate on bright spots, slashes of sun through the slotted blinds. blinds slapping, curtains still shuddering, splitting open, exposing all that they contain. exposing only my naked body moving as if a held breath, undetectable unless placed before a mirror.

The Will To
Charles Olson

all living things

transpire: love alone

transforms

desire

the measure

of the black chrysanthemum,

that nothing

is anything

but itself, is

too much: I alone

live in the sun.

How to outrage

creation

new year’s eve. a house carved into a hill, yard littered with beer cans. not a “party” but a “get together.” we arrive late, after spilled drinks, ashtrays too. soot on every surface. in the living room, twenty people sit or stand or lean their heads against the wall. as far as furniture, nothing but bodies breathing. i slip my coat off—scarf, sweater, undershirt. still i sweat. m. & i touch each other through a layer of condensation. the introductions begin. this is, no, i mean. where are you from? have you lived here long? the owners of the house—two couples—are of some vague age i can’t place. late thirties, early forties. handing me a kamikaze, the husband tells me a story. this one time i did 2C-I. in the kitchen, a girl snaps her heel in half, lays upturned on the floor. although she's had enough—the only single girl in miles—she is offered another. we raise our hands, tilt our heads. in attendance are two boys from the office & one guy i recognize from a snowy night at w’s house. i remember him at all: voice like closed eyelids. later when he sees the girl—teetering now in bare feet—he pulls her into him do you want to step outside for a cigarette? watching from her perch on the kitchen counter, w. says do they know each other? i mean, have they met before? one of the hosts shrugs not that i’m aware of.

as midnight approaches, the stragglers filter into the living room. whoever cannot sit, stands shoulder to shoulder.  the red-head trips over the fake oriental rug, falls face first, punches the carpet beneath. with a single lick, w. seals the seam of her joint. where's the lighter. the countdown begins. we all kiss. on the porch, the girl throws-up over banister. the guy with the voice sits, hands wrapped round her hips.

we drive home very slow.

some dust-rubbed town. south carolina, where? i exit off at 242, drive three miles in each direction & still cannot find a gas station. i merge back onto the interstate. four, five exits pass before i see a single sign. exit six: citgo, bp two miles on the right. i accelerate, turn on a yellow, park. before i can even open the door, a policeman is standing outside the window, tapping. honey, you know how fast you were going? (is it even legal for a policeman to call a girl honey?) honey, you were going forty-five in a sixty zone no i mean you were going. he asks to see my license then mumbles some desultory comment about georgia. you just sit tight girl, i’ll be back in a minute.  he walks back over to where his car is parked in the shade. a small crowd has formed. the closer the policeman gets to my car, the smaller his shadow. honey, you know you could lose your license driving like that. he slips the ticket through the crack in the window. now, i don’t want you to lose yr license but this here was a construction zone & we all know how that goes. when i ask if i can pay the ticket on-line, he just laughs & walks away.