I woke up with an upturned boulder for a head, rollie-pollies on my cheek, flinty and heavier then hell. Struggling with sleep disorders, it actually hurts me to wake up in the morning. I don't even wake up till midnight. I have a 7 to 4 boyfriend. I have to get back to using that goddamn light box. It vents out ionized air like right before a thunderclap. Titillating!
Nevada was so hot. SO HOT. They tried to tell me it was a Nevadan Heat Wave. Can you imagine such a thing?? A heat wave in the desert?
And DRY. My eyeballs were the first to go.
I was there for the Juniper Creek Writers Conference. I wrote a metaphor and a bean burrito story. I watched writers, I looked at their writer shoes and their writer hairdo's, the bridge of their writer noses and wonder what do they write?? How do they write it? I have never been in the company of so many self-identified writers.
This is what I have come up with.
-heros are unlucky people
-poets should spend more time making bland, factual statements.
-i hate the words "deeper level"
-my hopes are always hanging on a miracle cause i am a lazy bastard
-nevada has a lot of women walking around with only about an inch between the bra strap around her ribcage and her belt. they like casinos.
-i am a cliche of myself
-i'm like, five feet taller then my mom.
-she has a nice life in Nevada and everybody loves her.
-she will probably never come back to Oregon now.
-the surface area of photographic representation is equally balanced among myself and my siblings.
-i am a little chagrined.
And home again... summer has finally come to Portland!
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