except wars...things are fine....
kite flyers
overload of bullshit....
three seasons
...not really...i prefer to walk...or read....the lightning reminds me of my eight year old self. back then, among the denuded mountains where i lived, the harsh cold-imminent in all it's wicked glory escapes from the cracks of the earth, and we float.yet the lightning, a much more better memento embedded in the spaces of my mind still swelters completely in strange light. the sudden brown-out after the great flourescent attemtpting to flare in an even minute of grandeur- could not push the dark clouds from it's throne. it peeks and and peeks among the halves and the little curves of clouds, it flashes and crashes until it gets tired...until it's over and it stops...i remember the light refelected on the faces of my playmates, with awe strucked gazes above the sky , their jaw like a dangling flag-stand estranged watching the joyful play of light...it was beautiful...
my shelf is filled with plath, le guin, dickinson, thoreau, moliere, plautus, kalidasa, chekhov, turgenev, plato, nietschze, shakespeare, bach, angelou, roy, walker, hansberry, baldwin, coehlo, neruda, allende,virgil, jose, sun tzu, tennesse williams, ibsen, tolstoy, joaquin,rodriguez, miclat, esquivel, garcia marquez, aristotle, emerson,segal,bach, faulkner, bombeck, suess, christian andersen, morisson, golding, bronte, dreisser, beecher stowe, e.e. cummings, t.s. eliot, harper lee, hemmingway, pineda...ammmm my books are more than the contents of my closet...just come over...pick something to borrow...i won't hesitate to lend...AND LATELY I GOT MORE THAN 30 AUTHORS STACKED ON MY SHELF AGAIN.......somebody stop me.......
my mom.......and the blameless vulva..........