Wednesday, April 25, 2007



I can't see you, but I know you're here. I feel it. You've been hanging around since I got here. I wish I could see your face. Just look into your eyes and tell you how good it is to be here. Just to touch something. See, that's cold. I feel good. Or here, to smoke. Have coffee. And if you do it together, it's fantastic. Or, to draw. You know, you take a pencil and you make a dark line, and then you make a light line, and together it's a good line. Or when your hands are cold, you rub them together. See, that's good. That feels good. There are so many good things. But you're not here. I'm here. I wish you were here. I wish you could talk to me. Because I'm a friend. Companero.














words from wings of desire pic by sarah conner

Monday, April 23, 2007





Dearest Faker


Right now I'm looking at your card,
come flecked with several different inks.
Mail always ends up slightly marred;
the postal system's full of kinks.


And, today, I lightly snapped
the mediocre notion
that everything's important,
once it's blown across the ocean.



Thursday, April 12, 2007




I am a very weird person.

Very weak and very strong at the same time.

Very-ness might be the best part about me.

Not strength or weakness, though, who cares about them



Friday, April 06, 2007



Hey...on the off chance that you ever saved or copied anything from one of my blogs, and it happened to be

1) about driving from California across Wyoming and into South Dakota in 1993, or

2) about Dr. Tom Shaver/Orange County Saferides

...could you possibly send it to me at magi81@hotmail.com?


Thank you!


Thursday, April 05, 2007




My car's running!

It's so superduper!

I've stayed the last few weekends in L.A., at my brother's in Highland Park, and then ex-sister-in-law's in Los Feliz (though we've decided to just be sisters and get it over with).

I love L.A. more and more. Its improvisational driving remains! And one of the parts that used to bug me is now one of my favorite parts.

It is the people who come there following a dream.

To be bugged by them wasn't even a real thing of my own, but a crappy inheritance from my father (a transplant himself).

It's taken awhile to figure this out, but.

Those people are right!



Wednesday, April 04, 2007




Eh mehh gehhhhh!!!!!


I just asked the manager of the Leisure World Starbucks if she'd be open to having a morning open mike there, and SHE SAID YES!!!!!!????!!!!



Okokokokokokok


About Me

I came to Minneapolis from southern California this May to help my 88-year-old mother care for my 86-year-old father. He fell last November, and then declined cognitively for a month as his bones healed at a rehab facility under quarantine. He hasn't undeclined. Before retiring in the 1990s, he was a theater critic, & still seems to have some of his self-confidence and wit alongside vascular dementia, Parkinsonisms, incontinence and real trouble walking. Given his otherwise-ok health, he might still have some tolerable years ahead, though with new parameters. My mom's a novelist. She seems made of iron.