After reading the entry below on bio notes, my friend, S, pointed out that I always write about disappearing.
She says I disappear all the time anyway. it's true.
(Like Bilbo or Golem, I, too, am possessed by the ring.)
In The Book of Orgasms, in one poem, S. reminded me, I became a blonde guru who could disappear at precisely 3:30 every day. Why 3:30?
Because it’s the perfect time to vanish. Between 3:30 and 5:00. (And at cocktail parties, graduations, weddings, and wakes.)
I would disappear into the ley lines. S pointed out that I redefined ley lines. But then, she, like me, is one of the few who knows about ley lines. And who enters them and vanishes at will.
She even recognized the people who lived in these ley lines, an ancient tribe of cosmic men whose penises grow one inch each year. And become more enduring. Of course they only exist between 3:00 and 5:00 and can only be accessed through certain portals.
Houdini, of course, is among them. Which is one of the reasons I wrote Sleeping with Houdini.
I still remember the first time I saw invisible men and women. It was a game I played as a girl.
The invisible, I learned, are right between here and there, one breath and the next, one thought and another. (Sometimes here is more here than others, of course, just as there is more there and less there, depending.)
If I could be really quiet, I could see them.
But one word, and they were gone.
Poems are like that. And some stories, too. Just as they start to show up, someone can interrupt them. A phone call, a knock on the door.
And they are gone. If I don’t follow them to the other side, they vanish, never to be seen again.
Hearty Veg Chili - I usually putter around not knowing what I'm going to make. Last night I ended up adding steel cut oats to beans onions celery peppers tomatoes and arrivin...
23 minutes ago