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Après un Rêve

Mood: Wishful
Drinking: Whatever

What shall I wear
when I meet you?

An open backed gown?
An upended frown?
Shall I leave my hair loose
or get it out of the way, and
what shall I say? What
shall I say through tears
or through teeth
or through bright anesthesia?
What should I say
when I first see your face?

I shall try to so hard to be
to coo each word
in the most eloquent
sound, though
I already know
it’s ridiculous
to expect you
to remember.

I’ve imagined the moment
at least three thousand times
and today
in the shower,
I suddenly knew the precise
circumference of your fingers.

How can an idea
be so much stronger
than gravity?
than reality?

You’re nothing more than
a gleam in the eye
but I feel your pull
like the earth
to the sky
like the moon
to the tide like
an addict to the high.

You are only a dream.
Just a dream.
Such an ephemeral
disembodied thing, but
one tiny drumbeat is
all it will take.

I already feel the fault lines
along which my heart will surely break.
(Yes, dear…It is I.
I am finally awake.)

It is only a matter of time.

-Lo, who always thinks up brilliant things while pen-less in the shower.

Bloody Awesome

bloody9Mood: Sticky
Drinking: Sweet Tea

Two more cinepoems in the can.

We shot Kiss & Fly a couple of weekends ago, and this weekend Abbatoir made it on film. It was a big gorey mess, what with all that (delicious) chocolate blood flying all around.

Big thanks to Chris & Shel, who allowed us to coat their loft in plastic and let fly with the fake blood. Big love, too, to all my “bloodbath” volunteers, who got all icky and sticky for art.

Special recognition must go to K-ro, who asked me ahead of time if she should wear glasses to protect her contacts. “Oh, no,” I said naively, “I’m sure we won’t get any blood in your eyes.”

And then, on the second splatter? Bam! Big glop of karo syrup and food coloring, right in the old eyeball. It actually turned her contacts pink! So she gets the cinepoem survivor award this time around.

And while I’m handing out props, I have to mention my lovely friend Eric, who took a whole day out of his Californian vacation to be my Butcher. He did an amazing job, and I can’t wait to edit this cinepoem so you can all see how fierce he looks wielding that gigantic cleaver!

After all that teasing, I’m sorry to say that the Internet will have to wait a little while for Abbatoir. We’ve got a few other projects to finish up first, but when the bloodbath is ready for viewing, you’ll be the first to know!

I’m sure you’re very curious as to what all this fake blood is for, anyway, but I can’t spill the secrets too soon. You’ll just have to wait and see…

Meanwhile, The Secrets of Falling is close, so very close, to being in our hot little hands. Final proofs have been signed, printing presses have been primed, and all that’s left now is the glueing and shipping.

Stay tuned for book release party details, coming soon…

-Lo, who recommends adding a little cocoa to your blood to make the best looking splatters.

Against the Sky

takenwings_smallMood: Moody
Drinking: Drinky

Against the Sky

wings are not infallible things.
do them wrong
they’ll let you down.

were only meant to look pretty.
play dress up. disguise
dirty girls
in angel drag.

but you insist
on believing
they could be the real thing.
you tell all the Cretans
that you’ve found what matters.
lock all your trust up
in cardboard
and feathers.

you make hope
your new religion.

and there is no argumen
of physics or reason
logical enough to keep your
feet on the ground.

so you close your eyes
and fly so high
(so high against the sky)
only to discover the fall
is such a long way down.

-Lo, who has learned some of the secrets of falling.


Mood: Threadbare
Drinking: Watered-down tea


It’s gone
before she can close her fingers
around it.

Gone like a flash
like a fish, slippery
and silver. Catch
and release is
supposed to be intentional

she looks surprised

“What are you looking for?”
(The keys are in her left
front pocket.)
She replies with a
triumphant jingle, her
eyes sparking alight.

Three seconds later
the spark goes out and
she’s looking again.

This time I tell her where they are.

She says, “How did you know
that’s what I was looking for?”

I tell her I’m psychic, but
can’t watch her laugh.

The joke’s not funny
when the punchline
is buckled into the passenger’s
seat. The joke’s not
funny when it’s been repeated
17 times in 7 miles. The
joke’s not funny.

Three weeks later
on the telephone
she tells me my
dead grandfather
is waving to all the
smokers outside her
hospital window.

“I’ll be fine, though.”
Pause. Wheeze.
“I don’t smoke
as much as I
used to.”
(Not a single one since
I was 12.)
“Only one or two
a day, now.”

I want to ask
what day it is, exactly.
But days don’t really matter
when you’re stuck
in the wrong decade.

It’s nicer there, anyway.
She’s got cigarettes and Ernie
inside her plastic castle. Please
don’t tap on the glass.

Three seconds later
she remembers herself.

“When you’re a bully
all your life, you get
what you deserve. I
get what I deserve.”
She says it
without pity.
I pretend I didn’t hear her.

The truth is easy to forget.

Wait just one more second
and it’s gone.

-Lo, who is beginning to believe that “growing old gracefully” is a crock.

The Wind Beneath

Mood: Delirious
Drinking: Black Tea

Miss Kathy Azada kicks some serious ass.

You need to know this, Internet, because yesterday I spent a good 19 hours with the woman (that’s her, looking quite fetching on the right) , and I can definitely vouch for her formidable abilities in the ass-kicking arena.

April 2 was the deadline, you see. The drop-dead date. The line in the sand. The end of the road. The long goodbye. Whatever you want, that’s what it was. We had to send our book to the printer.

But these things never go quite the way you imagine they would, so that’s why Miss K and I were up in the tiniest wee small hours of this Tuesday morning, clicking and cutting and wavering between zombie-like grunting episodes and drunk-with-the-tiredness giggle fits. Come hell or sunrise, we were going to FINISH THE BOOK!

And we did. The Secrets of Falling is done. Well, almost done. She is making her way to Chicago right now to get plucked and printed and gathered and glued. My friend Warren at Imagine Print will take good care of her. And in a few weeks, a very few weeks, she’ll be ready to meet the world.

So let’s all raise a glass of whatever you’ve got to Kathy Azada, the woman who rocks the hardest.

Thank you, Kathy. You’re the best. No, shut up. You are.

Thank yous must also go out to Boy, who was the kindest, coolest, most supportiv-est partner ever, keeping Kathy and I hydrated and fed all day long, even going so far as to make us perfect little ginger cakes with warm caramel frosting. I mean, come on. That’s just insanely sweet. And then there was the whole thing with the exacto blade at 2 a.m., as he sat there cutting all the tiny pages for our miniature mock-ups. I’m the luckiest girl…

Big thanks, also, to LeeLoo, who stayed up with us and farted a lot to help keep us awake; to Roy, who helped out with some InDesign advice; and to Lani, who let me keep Kathy out ’til all hours. I shall bake you all magical cookies!

-Lo, who finds 3 a.m. to be very bewitching when she doesn’t sleep through it.