After Christmas Dinner...I get...

"Dreams Like Methamphetmine
On the Bearskin Rug in Front of the Fireplace"


The baby at first looked like a Barbie doll with a short brown bob haircut, and skin like candle freshly dipped into french peach caviar wax. Touch it and the skin smeared, then hardened into a new position, marbled like ruined Roman statues; extraterrestial capabilities. I didn't want this thing but felt many pressures not to simply throw it into the duck pond within sight. If I crossed the bridge I was sure I wouldn't control my fingers from letting go, releasing this unexpected gift of the new morning. Unavoidable torment. I crossed under the veranda and saw vase sitting on a flat square post of a banister. The glass bled water, and soon was filled half way. My baby was getting thristy, her makeup melting. I stuck her in the vase and saw the color return to her face, the greenish hue of skin transforming as the water sucked upward through her periwinkle veins. Understanding my power for good, I went to the kitchen to tell the others, without shame,what I had done. "Britt, hey how's it goin?" Ben asked with breath and sincerity, a smile perking his youthful expression, his hair curling into his square lenses. "Ya know, things are okay," I offered. I smiled, looked down, hands upon the hips, "Ben" laughing, " I had a kid today. I did. I just had a kid." " "Holy shit!!! Really? Wow, Britt, that's like, wow. I'm just so surprised." "Yeah, I know," I coyishly grinned, secrets of the past shared in dual glances to the pavement. I didn't think I was ready, and I was nervous because I forgot when I had a chance when there were other options. Maybe fewer people realize they're pregnant before it's too late and you sit on the toilet to take a shit, and after 3 weeks of gestation, a little wad of perfectly developed flesh slowly feather petals down to the floor of the toilet. And it hurts and you cry and people are disappointed but thank GOD you're still fertile and have five more children to your bitter sister's dismay. Now she makes Christmas ornaments in October out of crystals bought wholesale, because they sparkle and glimmer in the afternoon light of English style Pomona hill-top mansions. She doesn't understand the pain of considering the infinite pros and cons of reaching over to the silver lever...to flush or not to flush.

the new generation

Unbelievable. I peered inside to see the thing. How can you be scared of what comes from your own body? I don't know why I didn't want to hold it, to touch it, maybe to kiss it, but maybe it was the textural gleam of the little thing's bald, enajmbed crown that repulsed my instinct to engulf. A thud from inside the incubator. A gnarling growl of post-birth hunger accompanied the tossing of protective sheets from within. My hot buttered biscuit stretched its limbs from beyond its plastic cradle. Flashes of violet green suction graspers and splats of pistule plasm decorating the sterile white floor lamanet. "Is that normal?" I breathed with hesitation. My partunitionist smiled, "This little pancake came with extra syrup. It'll clear up when we commence feeding in a moment." I pulled up my sheets to my chin, chewing the edge. Is this fabric flavored with relief? Every macromammalian dreams of the day when they too witness the miracle of creation their predecessors perfected, generously stowed deep into atmospheric endocrine of the macro-geno-info-data base. Tappable upon request. My co-feccund threw up his limbs in maniacal satisfaction with his profound accomplishment, "Oh Estronia! Little Rhyfed looks just like your Prior-Feccund! Same huge auralators, broad wing-span." 78 prongs of my co-fecund's spinal base ping-ponged wildly, stretching the limits of seagreen-violet epidermis encasing his excitement. "But HEY-O! This one's got the Faszi Apollanator! No mistaking that. Oh Stronie, you know how I feel right?" I looked up at my partner. I let the sheet fall from my lips. Consciously contorting my mouth into what appeared like a look of reciprocation, I said, "You feel how I feel." "Complete" and was resolved. The past five minutes resounded with an importance unmatched by other events in my existorspan. A world of possibility and freedom suddenly gelatinized into memory foam of the past. No longer could I just hop into my globewizzer and visit foreign saltflats on some starry afternoon, the tentacles of a new lover looking for the secret zippered inside my atmosuit...I looked back toward the incubator. My gaze was returned with an eruption of glittering pistule plasm. My partner cooed and giggled, "Oh, ohohoho, Estronia let me get you a wipey, that stuff'll burn if we leave it on your face." He turned to look in the supply drawer. Maybe I could make a run for it.

Glittoris

GLITTORIS

my friend sophie just referred to the METRONOME COSMIQUE

An ideal song name. 

Song names seem to be my favourite creative exercise

Which comes in handy since I'm a MUSICAL DREAMER almost a schemer

But one rainy los angeles night a week ago... 

Retyin the ole' moonboots in the bathroom...goin to the moon I GUESS.. in a goddamn hipster venue for singer songwriter fanfare...and CAPITAL S shmooooozing that led to a ghostlit studio apartment in KOREAtown

And puff puff off a slender los angeles joint

I sang with my friend Kelsea and this lovely musician who explained to his doorman before we went upstairs "THIS IS NOT WHAT YOU THINK!"

;)

He said (to my orbs of neon magic pants) "I think you're a natural"

So this is my first song

Sung into my cellphone while strolling through dusky christmas claremont's OLD SCHOOL HOUSE

It's pretty Operatic. And you know, womp womp. 

Any partners in crime for beat making best made on sleeping bag sheathed mountain tops, under smog dipped stars,  the grasses strewn with socks and underwear...

MUCOUS CASSEROLE (coined by Claire Wilkens)

mucous casserole bends the light
crystalize
mucous casserole
of your body, not your soul

mucous CASSEROLE

Never makes it to the bowl

solids form in the air

from your throat to your hair

mucous casserole!
bulbous love bound from the hole

hard then soft
a COUGH,  SHEBANG!

MUCOUS VISCOUS
WHIPPED MERANGUE

MUCOUS CASSEROLE
liquid wonder, model mold
your mother'd swear it was a sin
But the flavour comes from within

Mucous casserole

of your body
not ya soul

Muscous Casserole

Muscous Casserole!

Mucous Casserole

Of your body, not your soul

Never fear its birth or death
Leftovers smell
Like Babysbreathhh