and mike doughty zips down the hill! he is only a blur of color now.

i will get my bicycle helmet, thick jacket, those knee pads my dad uses when he gardens, and the cardboard i keep under my mattress. i will knock on his door (someone's door)- grab his hand, wake him up, bring him in to the cold night air. i will drive out, in to those deep hills. drive out of the coast, away from the forest. drive out until we find the place the fog lifts, the trees stop growing, the people stop visiting.

when we find the tallest hill, i will stop the car. we will hike to the top, and stare out- we can see the whole world. he takes his cardboard, and i take mine. helmets click closed. jackets and pads are put in to place. our eyes close, because you can't look down at this point. you just can't.

i whisper 1,2,3. he makes the sign of the cross. and we push off!

i want to find someone i can adventure with. we don't have to be anywhere special, really. we just have to promise each other not to ask "why?" and not to say no.

he says that the answers don't come with age. they just don't come.

i don't understand the pseudo european architecture around here, i don't understand why people want to turns themselves into cartoons, and i don't understand why every guy over the age of fifteen cannot hold a conversation with me without asking if i like fucking, or if i want him to suck my titties.

i don't understand why i feel so lonely, i don't understand why i can't understand anything, i don't understand why every winter i feel so so sad, and i most certainly do not understand the nightmares that keep me awake for weeks and weeks.

i need help.

destiny delivered to my spam folder

i open up my spam folder to find an email from superiorfakedegrees: "we specialize in realistic, novelty degrees! we customize!"

my problems are solved! now, i am not only a high school graduate, i am a college grad!!! i'll leave this town under an assumed name, bourne identity style, and become who i want to be. i'll hit the road, man. get a job in each city i go to, stay for a year or so, and move on. when i am tired of so much train travel and alone time and meeting strangers (i know, it doesn't seem possible to get tired of such things) i will settle down and use some money i have saved to establish a ceramics studio. i will sell my my plates and bowls and cups and urns, and when i have the time and extra money, i will work on my sculptures. i will paint all of them in such dizzyingly bright colors, and they will hold scenes from my travels; the empty bus stations, the empty wallet, the empty heart.

the phone rings, dinner is burning, the dog is barking, and my finger moves to the "delete" button. another fantasy dashed away...

spot mystery

felton

in this town

it often seems

as if

there is no middle ground

everyone teased him about those socks

" do you love me? check 'yes' or 'no'."

Cree, the boy with the purple socks. my first grade first love.

of course, my answer was yes. it still is, even though he lives in far-off canada now.