Luna saw her therapist sitting at the bar at the restaurant where she works. The same night, Luna’s manager saw her therapist at the bar.

2 therapists walk into a bar…

The last two times I have seen a therapist I made them cry. This was in college when the student health plan covered the cost. I didn’t try a third therapist – mostly because it was to stressful to work into my schedule. I don’t understand how I made the first two cry, I just talked about death and dreams  – which is something I do all the time – as you know, dear reader.

The first time I went to therapy my parents had recently separated. Dad was sitting on the couch noodling on the guitar. He said: “Your mom and I are splitting up.” I sat quietly, feeling the heavy air. I went to my room and cried for a few minutes before dad drove me to the opening night of my play.

Sometime after that my parents asked me if I would like to go to therapy – seemed like fun. We paid $1 a week on the sliding scale.

My therapist was a great listener! She asked me what I would like to do and we ended up lighting a candle and then looking into each other’s eyes for the duration of most sessions. She mentioned that she saw colors around my body, I said the same. We sat and looked at the colors around each other’s bodies and into each other’s eyes over several months.

This was when I was 12 and when I was 19 I house sat for some entitled dogs on a mountain and worked on “The Moon is to Live On” with Meow Wolf. A woman who I knew somehow was also involved with the project. She seemed to know something about me and I wondered how I knew her. On the closing night of TMITLO I figured it out: Kelly was my therapist.

I recently learned that Kelly died.


I hired an excellent new social media intern. (Left fb logged in on my computer).

“I just really love horses, you guys. ‪#‎lovingit‬ ‪#‎horses‬


New profile pic.

Feather asked if I had access to horses. “Ha ha ha ha, no.”

Jessica, Noah’s baby sitter at age 3, and our longtime family friend, invited me to see her horse.

We drove 1.15 h and got coffee at gas station. I got a sunburn hanging out with said horse.

The horse dialogue started 3 years ago when #horsesalughter was a big deal and I wondered why people cared about these creatures over similar creatures that they killed, ate, and raped. #Seemedarbitrary.

Jessica eventually became vegan – conceptually.

Horses are cute like dogs, they sneak up on you and lick your elbow, they roll on the ground. I can’t say I specifically give a fuck about horses. Their lives aren’t ingrained with mine but I like them well enough. The point is that I’m not into systemically brutalizing any creature. Not because they’re amusing to me, or useful to me outside of their flesh and bodily-processes, but because I respect them to exist without need for torture.

Jessica is a horse-person:

“Don’t break your leg bitch, then I’ll have to shoot you.”

“I don’t want to have to fight a 1,200 lb bitch”

“Gulliver, you have a really small penis.”

Corona is Jessica’s special wild horse. We stood around and washed Corona, filled her water trough. I held the rope while she yawned and paced. We applied fly-spray and some skin-disease medicine.

At the small grocery store Jessica bought freezer dinners for the week. Her friend keeps Corona on the land with Gulliver and Gulliver Jr. (never learned the stallion’s name). The friend had blue eyeshadow and works in the deli of the grocery store. Jessica said: “Thank you, I love you.”

As we were checking out Jessica took inventory of her purchases: “FUCK, Dairy cows. FUCK FUCK FUCK.” Exclaiming to clerk: “Sorry, I have brain damage.” Jessica had gotten some cheese enchiladas etc, but remained vegetarian in her yield. We drove back listening to a CD of The Ramones.


I have to say, I love Jessica and I love horses.

A comment on a picture Jessica shared from Deyla: “You’ve always loved horses.”

Each Episode

It is a privilege to use my exhaustion and sadness for the ultimate comfort of spaghetti.

From the perspective of my gut I don’t understand. Stomach-logic urges me forward but my position is stasis. I stand in the middle and don’t say anything. When things are calmer I want a beer.

I stay up till 2. Half-sleep-stress but I wake up in drool so know I have rested better than others.

I missed the dinner I made for my dad, sibling, and roommate. Listening to Angel Olsen and muted crying from the other room, everyone around looks at their phones. I am hungry!  “I am hungry.”

Sarah suggests we make food with the food in the kitchen. Angelo and Christian go soak in 10K waves. Sarah and I develop a cooking show where we go to other people’s kitchens and make meals with what is there – an amalgamation of every cooking/travel channel show attuned to DIY live-work space reality.

Sweet potatoes with garlic and kale, rice with nooch and oregano, black beans with chile and mission tortillas fried in extra virgin olive oil. Hot sauce and salsa. The last part of the show is a judgement is made by the touring band: “This burrito is worth $9, $12 if there were avocado and fresh lime.”

At the end of each episode we clean the kitchen to a state so magnificent the denizens of the warehouse can hardly believe it. I was really going for it on that stove, my observational skills attuning to someone else’s age-old egg-grime and scrubbing with the force of wanting to say what I mean but not knowing what I mean. I got an electric shock from the stove and Sarah said cleaning was finished.

We watch part of a Werner Herzog movie, I admire formal decisions and wonder if they used a crane, a helicopter, or a drone. I drive Bea home.

Rat Rat is locked when I’m back but I’m let in. What are we listening to? “Death in June.” Angelo and Christian come home with a Sprite for John. “What are we listening to?” “Death in June.”

Genocide in Northern Iraq on the trampoline. There is no equivalency but systemic racism in America is still bad. Let’s kill the cops tonight.

I stand around, I hope I am a good dog. I am confused about what is happening and afraid about how things could be worse. I’m also bored and exhausted. My perspective is not vital.

I have the lucky neurochemical-tuning of an optimist. I sent a psychic text to mama at work today. Tina told me when she arrived. Standing 5’3” mom thought the ceiling in my office was low. I always bump into that ceiling and today I bumped into quiet baristas while hovering several tired inches above the ground. “I know what I want – 3 iced coffees with chocolate and almond milk and sugar!”

Satie is playing for the quiet baristas of the world. “This song kicks ass” I practically yell. My mom and I laugh to the point where books are falling off the shelves.

I did my best at work, and at the grocery store.  “New Years eve” from the Hannah Med H soundtrack is on repeat and I eat spaghetti the way you are supposed to – standing over the stove and dipping the noodles into the sauce with my hands.



Dad texted Noah that he would be here on August 25th, not telling anyone else.

Later, dad wrote Noah a letter saying he’d be here on the 28th.

On the 28th, dad asked me if I would pick him up from the airport.

My friends are dads around here, they feed me beer!

The second day dad was in town he came home with a case of Happy Camper, a gallon of Vodka, and a gigantic watermelon. We blended drinks, put them in water bottles and biked to the Scottish Rite temple.

We were only 3 hours late so the party had not really started. Dad and I were bored and sleepy, so we snuck around the off-limits part of the building. Ascending some store stairs we discovered a room of illuminated bunk beds, the light changing color in a soothing pattern. We took a nap.

Later we went to see Zozobra burn and dad said he was hungry. He found two sandwiches sitting in boxes on a wall and enjoyed one of them in the crowd. Angelo, Sarah, and Christian approached. Angelo had just found a hundred dollar bill.

The party went full tilt and I was a dance floor catalyst with Benji as dad ate his second sandwich. Later, we wanted more beer and dad found a half-full bottle of “Hair of the Wolf” on the grass. We passed sips around and dad gave people cigarettes from the pack of Marlboro reds he discovered (through reaching his hand into pure potentiality).

Bonus-round in the platform party-game. Ask and you shall receive.

The next day dad and I bought 30 lbs of chile and drank a glass-bottle coke as the roasters made their music.


Dad peels chile on the porch

40 Years of Classic Rock

RaeRae decided to evict us due to a noise complaint. We said: “no.” We were sorry for being loud – seems like the whole block was loud. Across the street Gerald listens to classic rock until 4am.

“What do you mean? The house across the street has been vacant for 40 years.”

Text to Noah: “We should make heaps of cookies for the neighbors to apologize. We can put on our trousers and fake teeth.”

With remaining positive balance I buy the cheapest vegan chocolate chips at Smith’s.

Cut up the nice paper for neighbor-notes with a red “Le Pen:” “We are sorry for causing a noise disturbance, cookies don’t account for lost sleep but please accept our apology. It won’t happen again.”

Darcy said it was probably her noise, she had never heard us. She gives us wine and we make friends with the travelers staying at her house. Next door the neighbor says sure, she has heard our music but we’re by no means as bad as the last tenants.  The man from Berlin thanks us. The next day I get a call from someone who had never noticed our volume – thanks anyway.

We hold a really loud party with our newly befriended neighbors. Gerald calls the cops.



The week has been stressful and depressing so Noah, Sean, and I decided to start celebrating bad things. We held an eviction party, making toasts for recent failures and disappointments. “In other news, Noah was broken up with…” “Em has $2 in the bank after a student loan payment, but took on more credit card debt to buy beer.”

Noah talked about the capitalist ladder metaphor is naturally construed to keep the poor at the bottom.

Nice to indulge in feeling victimized. Luxe.


I was on a spaceship-boat going to Jupiter. Hotel pools. Ha ha ha ha ha – boring.  A lot more but who cares – my dream symbols are interchangeable. When I awoke I was depressed. Don’t know what to do about things. Don’t know if I am cruel or tired. Think I am bored. 

In a dream I was running endlessly and thinking that I must be dreaming because I never got tired.

I want to have a job where I am dancing all day. I could dance all day, every day.

I have to be optimistic because I am. Will’s feelings are hurt. I want to have fun and be peaceful but instead everything is fraught and my fault. I quietly absorb sad, alcohol-infused hugs. We don’t talk for a while and the process begins again. 

But I can turn myself into a wave of rubber and no-1 will have hurt-feelings on my account? My account is paid in full, feelings in positive balance?  I can be a good dog and we will all die at once, suddenly, without knowing?

Try not 2 b so immature.


“Wut u?” (A text message). Snacks, ritual sitting on the floor of my make-out-palace, the club. Wafts of cologne. Vintage Top 40 (Rihanna “yellow diamonds in the light-“)  It was like in Baz Lurhman’s Romeo & Juliet – bright colors pulsing and blurring.

All sitting in the “VIP Lounge” (on the ground of a well-lit corner), eye contact with Sarah, fashion line for Lime Lodge, “how are you?” says Christian, Christian and Lucas talk.

Dancing is boring for a minute. Benji grabs my elbow and leads me to the Top 40 below, everyone is doing a synchronized dance. I had just been wishing the dance floor would become a grid to match the techno.

Driving is fun. Listening to music upstairs, looking through all the sounds discretely, clearly. Jay getting a tarot reading from Christian. Everyone going to sleep.

Floating around the next day, something moved and clicked into place. Feeling attention from others. Shifted from character to protagonist.

Coffee and verde juice at Collected Works. Lucas met me on the plaza with Frito Pie.

Wine and appetizers at mom’s. Joe Hayes. There was a rainbow so Hayes told Rainbow Boy. We called Bea “White Corn Girl.”

I picked Will up, took him back to hang with the gang. Benji asked if I could give him a ride to Velvet Teen. We saw Sarah in the parking lot.

In taking West Alameda too far we went down some unknown roads and we saw a coyote.


Dion and I were going to visit Hoku.

“How can we visit our dead?”

People were eating other scaled-down people in a pool. It was spooky because I could identify with the eater and the eaten, it referenced pools of collective consciousness, structures of oppression. It’s a very me image because of the pools, the implied genocide, and the stated veganism.



Waking up to Angelo’s overly-loud alarm, a default ring tone, I said: “Wow what a cool jam, where did you find this?”  “Youtube, I get all my new music from Youtube then release it straight to cassette.” I am still laughing. I am still sleeping.

Samantha and I are becoming closer friends, she rubs on my legs and rolls over on her back. She sleeps on my feet. People ask Angelo who Samantha is, because he has a heavy gothic tattoo of her name on his forearm. 

Jay, Angelo and I listened to records upstairs. Minimal Italian techno which I made fun of for being “equestrian.” Jay referenced the dream I had where fire fell from the sky. I remembered my dream from the morning and laughed because it was so stereotypical of me: there were rows of metal boxes, coffin sized, arranged in an expansive grid. Naturally we were to be separated into these boxes and would die there, and of course it was calculated genocide.

We all laughed.

Angeo’s crystals holding the curtain, white on white. Our foreheads touched, we held hands quietly, I gently wove my knees into his. He fell asleep and jolted awake. 

This morning Angelo got up after 3 alarms. He accidentally tried to put on my shoes. I stayed in bed with Samantha and dreamed about a restaurant.

John was reading a book of poetry and eating Apple Jacks, or off-brand Apple Jacks when I got up. I drank a wine glass of tap water and left for work.