Posted in Almost Dorothy

The Painted Desert

Painted Desert | Photo by Neil de la Flor

I swear I’m still here somewhere solidly light and levitating between Gravity the Seducer and the Witching Hour. Ma says I should go out and play but I can’t play because I’m working on a new play titled, “A New Play[a]”. I swear there are no swear words or conversations with giraffes in this play. Not even the words fuck or shit. There’s not a bad word on any page. I haven’t written any pages yet, but it’s all in my head. Every word, every sentence fills my cranium like the dust filled our lungs when we got stuck in a sand storm in the Painted Desert. Ma and I, petrified in the face of dust and disaster, hid beneath a bridge. We froze and huddled together. Held each other tight–our arms the arms of velociraptors. We inhaled with carefulness until danger passed us to the left. My new play is a play about dust and lungs, about a girl who becomes a girl after 20 years of searching for her Ladytron. Searching for a way out of the desert and into her mother’s arms.

To be, more or less, continued…

Posted in Almost Dorothy

Burning Up [after Ladytron]

1. I wrote a protest song about ma.

2. She found it and set me on fire with her cigarette butt. It’s been a rough week on the 7 1/2 seas.

3. Aren’t all the seas part of the same sea?

4. Why do we have to divide the oceans into 7 Cs?

5. I’m gonna write a protest song against people who wear boxes on their head.

6. Sometimes I just write things down because I can.

7. Seven.

8. Ate.

9. You thought I was gonna write spaghetti.

10. Last night I fell in the space between ma and the dresser. Found a bit of gravity to dance with.

11. I fell like Icarus from the sky except I was in ma’s bed with her gigantic gay bat wings wrapped around me.

12. I protest this song about protest.

13. If I had a soul, it would be Joan of Arc as Helen Mirren.

14. If I were an arc, I would curve toward the burning seas.