Posted in Almost Dorothy

Mostly A Super Plastic Model Barbie Girl/Boy

Image

This is what I look like when I’m mostly beautiful and stunning. Mostly human and humming. Mostly blue-eyed and eyelashed out to there. Mostly smooth skin with just a few chin scuffs. Mostly in my blue head thing with dangling beads that I whiplash. Mostly human and plastic. Mostly aware of the world around me which is me mostly aware of everything but me. Mostly interested in little red cars from the 1960s and fingernail polish. Mostly not Polish. Mostly ready for the pink ass hot air balloon to sweep me away from the laws of nature or New Hampshire. Mostly afraid of shires full of newness and meadows. Mostly I’m tired of most things, especially eggs, and the way the human race treats the animal race. Mostly afraid of the Easter egg hunt and the resurrection of Christ. Mostly afraid of mass and communion. Mostly afraid of mass communication and munchkins. Mostly I’m a replica of Annie Lennox and I’m mostly just a head, a bust, missing a body. Mostly missing my body. The body of my memory of language. This memory mostly holds my head up. Mostly high. Most days. It’s in my most memorable blue feather headdress.

Posted in Almost Dorothy

Shiny Toy Shoes

“Earth below us drifting, falling, floating weightless, calling, calling home. Across the stratosphere a final message: give my [ma] my love then nothing more.” –Peter Schilling


I’m thankful for ma.

I’m thankful for her decision to go vegetarian this holiday.

I’m thankful for water.

I’m thankful for soap.

I’m thankful for floating and my plastic wrap.

I’m thankful for pancakes and turtles, rocks and sea grass.

I’m thankful for differential calculus and graphic novels.

I’m thankful for the blue bird, the red bird, the green and yellow bird, the white and black bird, and the gray ones too.

I’m thankful for Wonder Woman, her comforter and the Holy Spirit’s ruby red glittery shoes.

I’m thankful for NOH8 and the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.

I’m thankful for Snoopy and Charlie Brown, Charlie’s Angels and the Killing Moon too.

I’m thankful for silence and music, especially music.

I’m thankful for candied yams and sweet potato pie and toes.

I’m thankful for gravity and convection.

I’m thankful for Good Will Industries and Good Will Hunting.

I’m thankful for almost every thing that ends in ing–dreaming, breathing, swimming, singing, loving, blinking.

I’m thankful for Rollerblades and the lizard sunbathing on the lawn chair.

I’m thankful for the almost in all of us and the wholeness in one.

I’m thankful for spell check and, to be honest, fried chicken too.

I’m thankful for the Tin Man and mangoes.

I’m thankful for feedback and French Fries.

I’m thankful for the return of Bobo the Mutt and Amanda Bernstein (the B is Silent) too.

I’m thankful for stars and their guidance at night.

I’m thankful for night and knights and shining armor.

I’m thankful for amor, Almodovar, and troubadours.

I’m thankful for Thursday and every word that ends in day.

I’m thankful for translation software.

I’m thankful for the red shoes that have been with me and will be with me every step I take.

I’m thankful for ma’s faux turkey stuffed with candied yams and sweet potato pie.

I’m thankful for my wardrobe and luggage and all the things that exist or will exist in space, time and memory.

I’m thankful for Goldfrapp and Frappuccinos.

For happiness.

For sadness.

For love and hate.

Anger and peace.

The end and the beginning and the stuffing in between.

I’m thankful for Yemen, freedom from dictatorship, and the dictatorship of freedom (Yemen’s President Resigns).

I’m thankful for Youtube, WordPress and Facebook.

I’m thankful for Peter Schilling and Shiny Toy Guns.

Plants and oxygen too!

And especially the moon.

Almost Dorothy A-float | Photo by Neil de la Flor
Posted in Almost Dorothy, Characters, Family, Themes

To Smithereens

For Kiva , connecting people through lending for the sake of alleviating poverty

I’m not responsible for the double humpback camel or animal husbandry, masters or slaves, the Nazca lines or memes. However I’m behind the conspiracy to boot Paula Abdul from American Idol though. I love Ellen. Mom does too. “We must take our country back to its roots,” mom says, sarcastic. “To a time when all men (well just the white ones I guess) sweetened their coffee with Equal.” She’s tired of working. There’s no end in sight. Without her pub job we’d have nothing left to eat or seeds for the doves. I’m tired of the mob, mob rule, mobsters, church bells and wedding cake. I’ve had a long day, theoretically longer than the day before, and I’m not mom or a migrant worker. Annie Lennox is whispering into my ear, “you have a good life.” Everyone is alone. Everybody is an island of their own. In other words, I’m not afraid of cosmic radiation or daylight, volcanic eruptions or the pasado. Mom says the world is out to get her. The world is out to eat her bones. Scoop her up and toss her to the wind. She’s proud Whitney has finally made her comeback but she wonders what’s in it for her. It’s impossible to dance with the mentally disturbed, or translate the songs of bluebirds or blue whales, even if they’re not disturbed at all. I heard mom crying in the fridge this morning. She couldn’t stop counting the eggs and there was only one.

Almost Dorothy