nightmare

Transforming our big-rig into an uncanny amount of what appears to be stacked cups me and a young female acquaintance approach a massive bridge that is under construction at the Ashby exit in Berkeley. We are waved through but my associate decides that using a grocery cart will be the easiest and safest way to bridge a gap in the bridge. Instead of lodging it in the gap and crossing however she just jumps in the cart and blasts into the chasm. She tumbles inside. I run to find her being rescued by two riot grrls but the hand holds they use break away. I grab a hand hold and swing over the precipice and grab hold of all three but my strength immediately and increasingly begins to fail meanwhile the hold I'm using begins to unbolt. I'm screaming at the girls to climb up my body and get to safety but it's all about to fall apart when I suddenly wake up at 3:45 am. 

Frente

A thousand nights of closing cafe Mekka with Lieanne Campbell and Danielle listening to Frente. I was going to be a rock star and I would sit and write poetry with Megan Goetsch. I thought Nevada City was one of the most magical places on the planet. Perhaps I was not wrong. Almost twenty years have passed and the one thing I can hold in my head for certain is that there is gold in them hills.

Laura

I remember having an elective art course where I sat with Laura Meade cracking jokes and hoping she would love me and take me away from the torments of my seventh-grade hell. She was a grade older, and I called almost every other night that summer. Eventually, she started high school, and I was, like, a million miles away. We reconnected the next summer over some weed and a beedie cigarette. She had gone full punk hardcore. I was still in that bizarre hippy punk Nevada City mode. By my freshmen year, we were acquainted but distant. I went through a weird phase of biting people I adored. I was deluded into thinking it was cute somehow. The Friday before Christmas break, I gave Laura a big hug and gave her an Apple sized bite on her arm through her leather jacket. She punched me and told me I was a jerk. I was crushed. I meant to apologize. I thought about it all that break, and the Monday after the break, I was ready to apologize thoroughly. My friend Sierra Steine was talking about someone having died over Christmas break. It turned out it was Laura Meade. It was the second time in my life someone close to me had died. I'd never quite figured out how to sort all that. Twenty-one years later, I've learned to ask if someone wants to bit and how hard. I've learned to say I love you, I'm sorry and goodbye.

Good morning munitions

Defensive chatter hot-potating between the clever tethers of two adult sized wounded children. The bridge of trust falls again after another early morning munition round leaving that ever telling silent and space filled antagonistic peace. And after all this drama and missmapped aggressions all he can say is "Hey babe thanks for the tea. "