why doesn’t anyone care? why don’t i care (more)? these questions are unanswerable. maybe because i’m delerious on three hours of sleep.

i could tell you about other things, i guess. like how i am doing a totally scary thing right now and it’s so good. or how  much i want to go on a long bike trip but i only have a byke with one gear and noplace to attach a front rack (and my panniers are in the possession of j., who i adore but who i fear will not give them back in a timely manner. it doesn’t help that he’s on the other side of america.)

i could tell you how my memoir has been troubled by something new i’ve learned. how i may need to tear most of it down. or maybe throw it away, this thing i’ve been building for two years, now. just sift out a few chunks for open mic amusements. maybe print out a copy or two for people who want to know this particular story.

i could tell you how i spent an hour cleaning hamburger grease yesterday, also at work, and how thoroughly it repulsed me. the thickness, the stench.

i could tell you about the sun glinting off the bay today. or how another client who was leaving said to me today, “i always felt safe around you,” and how much it warmed my heart. she told me that my aura is rainbow, and that she has dreams that sometimes come true, and i believed her wholeheartedly. (i have so, so, so much more i want to say about work but i have to be careful to not violate confidentiality. i don’t think that either of these exchanges were confidential.)

i want the prison in guantanamo bay to be shut down. i remember how pleased i was, in 2008, when obama was talking about it, saying all these things that i thought, and how weird it was, to be in line with a president. but in 2013, it still remains open, still tortures with our tax dollars.

here is a drawing by a child of a prisoner in tamms supermax prison in illinois, another state-sponsored torture factory. it was closed in january of this year. i’m posting it to remind myself–and you–that sometimes we win. but usually we don’t. to keep loving. and keep fighting.

i said, “i have to go.” went home and fucking lost it. lost it. cried so hard that i thought i was gonna die. i couldn’t believe what had happened and i couldn’t believe that you’d told me like that.

this incident was a blessing in disguise. i reconnected with X, apologized for not knowing, for not supporting her more. she said it was okay. we wound up falling in love, for a brief moment, and healing each other in ways we couldn’t have imagined. throughout our affair, you were an awkward background figure. you were X’s roommate and occasional lover. you’d say hi to me when i stumbled messy-haired from X’s bed in the morning. your presence unnerved me. i didn’t feel safe around you. X kicked you out when you got into a huge, pill-fueled fight with a neighbor. the neighbor broke your nose with a punch and you threatened to kill everyone.

i didn’t think about you again. i was relieved that you were gone. i didn’t think about what happened to you, where you went, until this afternoon, ten fucking minutes before getting on BART to go to work, i looked at my phone to see a text from X, saying, “hey……i don’t know if you heard…….but [lorazepamsam] killed themselves last night……shot himself in the head…..just thought i should tell you.”

i work at a mental health crisis center. i was feeling a little crisis-y myself with this news, even though i hardly knew you, even though i didn’t like you. on BART, shaky hands, i took half a lorazepam (better known as ativan) because i thought i just would not be able to get through the day without having a fucking panic attack. i laughed a little at the irony. half a lorazepam because lorazepamsam is dead.

when i went on that date with you, i didn’t even know what lorazepam was. now i get paid to hand it out to people, write down what time they take it so they don’t take too many. now i take half of one on my way to work, to cope with the death of you. i don’t believe that spirits who die violently find rest easily. i thought about how uncomfortable it was to be next to your life for one night. i cannot imagine the raw discomfort and pain that you endured for 35+ years. i hope you are in a safer place, but i don’t believe that you are.

i thought work would be rough but it was actually mostly good. the clients were friendly and sweet, funny and happy to be there. reflective. about 6 hours into my shift, the small street became filled with cop cars. when the medical examiner’s van came, we knew that someone had died. domestic violence that had turned deadly was the rumor on the street. the clients sat outside, smoking. i was worried they’d be triggered–a lot have experienced violence at the hands of the police–but instead they grew reflective, commenting on the fragile nature of life, how at any second it can be over. how lucky we are to be here, on this side of the street, safe, alive.

here it is:
“tales from the homobile:

6pm. dinner rush. a boy calls frantic, emergency! gotta go home now! it’s a restaurant at dinner time. i pull up, finally. he’s very worried, small, beautiful, still in his wait staff suit, in front of a famous italian restaurant, he brings his own sick bag, and lies down in the back for his long ride home to the east.
i say whats the matter?
he says he is positive, and he cant get his meds, and he hardly drank at all last night, but it doesnt agree with him.
i thought of chester who swore he wouldnt let this thing change him and drank til he got tired of fighting it, whom i never helped through his sickest years.
i played some sweet music for my passenger and said do you still have a mom?
a plaintive noooo… came from beneath his jacket.
do you have any friends who mother you?
nooooo… came the forlorn voice again.
i said well homobiles is here for you. parents on wheels!. his voice smiled back weakly. yes you are.
for all the loves we didnt show up for, there are always new loves to show up for.” -lynn breedlove

this makes me more than a little misty-eyed, and it all comes back to what a powerful mysterious force told me from her deathbed: take care of each other. no isolationist bullshit. take care of each other.

i am listening to pandora internet radio, set on the carpenters. the 70′s lite rock that i despised throughout my whole teen-hood is coming out of my boyfriend’s laptop. the young me would be flabbergasted: “why are you listening to this shit! ughhhh, i listen to it all day, every day, it sucks”

my dad plays the radio constantly, every room in the house set to the lite FM radio station. bland hits. resistance is futile. at one point i ranted about how much i hated it, and he said, “how the hell can ya hate a SONG?!”, completely dumbfounded at the act of hating music. a song, no matter how trite, means something to someone somewhere.

i think the young me would be disappointed in the current me in a lot of ways. this week i realized that i have been using the name ocean for NINETEEN YEARS and i still have not legally changed it. the teenage me was so certain that i’d get it changed once i turned eighteen. so sure that i’d have a new york state ID card that said the name i know to be mine, “OCEAN CAPEWELL,” in all-caps helvetica font. but i didn’t even look into it until i was twenty, to learn that it cost hundreds of dollars. at the time i was making $6 per hour, no support from anyone, struggling to pay my $210/mo rent and eat at the same time. no fucking way.

now i make twice that hourly wage, which is not a big accomplishment when adjusted for inflation and the city i live in, which is far more expensive than the one where i lived in then (although i have lucked out with absurdly cheap rent, at least for now). a legal name change for an adult in the state of california is $435, not including the cost of the newspaper announcement.

in the village voice. i used to read the legal notices. and silently wish them well. and burn with envy. i just never got my shit together. i haven’t been that poor forever, but when i had money there were other more pressing concerns. i thought i could deal with the albatross of this ill-fitting, triggering legal name. thought it wasn’t a big deal. it would hurt my parents, it would be weird to explain to people who knew me under that name (dwindling every year, mostly people from straight jobs). but now i think i might just do it. i think it’s time. i will be 31 in two weeks, i have been using this name since i was twelve. nearly 2/3rds of my life. maybe i should get hitched to myself. maybe i should make it official.

anyway, that was a tangent, and the point i was making was somewhat tangential anyway. who would have thought i’d be here, in 2013, listening to music that originally came out on vinyl shuffling through the ether, digitized and cold but somehow still so real. it’s 3:30, i’ve been baking. my friend gave me his foodbank excess which included 4 bunches of kale, which is a lot even for me, so i made some kale chips, and then figured i’d make cookies while the oven was hot, so there you go. it’s better than staring at the wall, for sure, even if it feels a little weird and slightly crazy. dear younger self, maybe you hate the music, but isn’t it nice how there are no parents to yell at us to go to bed? by far the worst thing to happen will be my boyfriend coming out to pee and asking sleepily, “oh, you’re still up?” and maybe you couldn’t have imagined the music, but could you also imagine this peace and freedom and tranquility? no, don’t even answer that, i know you can’t, because you don’t have any reference points, you’ve never experienced it anywhere really for more than a few fleeting moments, but don’t worry. someday you will have all the reference points you need. love, ocean

here is a shitty picture of me and a good picture of you, at the beginning of our biggest adventure yet–crossing state lines, living in the woods, really going somewhere. but that was in 2010. let’s start at the beginning.

my dad got you for me when i was sixteen, which was sweet of him, but i didn’t ride bikes then because i smoked too much and worked too much. my town had too many hills. i could walk to work. i could make it back up the hill on foot but not on bike. so i let you languish in the garage for two years. when i was 18 i had a change of heart. realized that one could bike everywhere. that shitty winter, you showed me the magic and fun that could be had on long island. we biked through the drive-thru and all the mcdonald’s employees laughed. i took you on the LIRR, every day, three stops, to a town seven miles away. the conductor always talked to me because of you, and didn’t take my ticket.

i got kicked out. left my family behind and moved to memphis. for the first time in my life i lived in a city. i got pretty much everywhere i needed to go with you. i’ve never known how to drive, always been dependent on other people or public transit. but with you i slogged through the humid heat, in the bike-hating south. my co-workers called you my cadillac, and i smiled and said you were better than one.

i fled back north, to philly. your tire blew out the same time the towers were getting hit a hundred miles north. i pushed you home in a crowd of weeping, panicking philadelphians. i’d spent my last dollar that day. waiting for a sketchy check to get cashed. i tried so hard to repair that hole with no money. patches, duct tape, friends’ old tubes. it just would not work. i got my money and spent $15 getting someone else to fix your flat & felt so stupid. eventually i learned how to change tubes, patch flats.

you were my favorite for so long. so many good times, too many to list here. sharon and i ran a red light to beat that snarling motorcycle and laughed in his face. amanda and i decided we were going to be social. we went to a party despite the snow but the most fun part of the evening was biking by the river singing “parentheses” by the blow. or when we rode around the whole city with aaryn and branden. i know these memories are mostly good because of the people in them, but you were there too.

you were crappy, ornery, after tens of thousands of miles, too many lousy fixes by people who didn’t quite know what they were doing (mostly me). when i brought you into the fancy bike shop to get tuned up before our big journey, the mechanic called me at work to yell, “i can’t fix this thing. you shouldn’t be riding this. i can’t believe you haven’t gotten killed yet! you’ll never make it to DC, never.” i got my ex to pick it up for me and drop it off at a more low-end shop. got a new chain, and made it all the way to DC with only one flat tire. all the long, slow, heavy miles. we learned something then, but i’m not entirely sure what. about strength, endurance, something, maybe. i don’t know.

the years wore on. many people tried to convince me to give up on you. but i wouldn’t. then i moved to the bay area and everything went to hell with you. brakes, pedals, spokes, seat. 9 flat tires in 6 months. i bought a new back wheel because your spokes wouldn’t stop breaking. as i handed the bike guy my credit card i thought, “this thing’s gonna get stolen.” and i was right. 3 months later, it did. right out of my own backyard.

i’d promised myself, after the wheel, that i was done putting money into this shitty bike. with the amount i’d spent since moving i could’ve bought a new, infinitely nicer bike. i would borrow my housemates’ bikes when you weren’t functioning & i’d get jealous. i’d fantasize about getting a new bike, one that wasn’t so old, so heavy; one that would let me fly. remember how we used to fly?

i guess it makes sense. you were so much a part of my youth and i guess i just don’t feel young anymore. like wild dance parties will never again be a part of my regular life. like biking down the street isn’t an adventure anymore, now it’s just what i do. now it’s just how i live. now you’re in the basement and i won’t ride you again. the last time i rode you was fun, sleep-deprived, heading home from a good show. i guess you (usually) never know when something’s gonna be the end. whitney houston and jawbreaker shuffling on my headphones. i don’t remember too much about this particular ride, just that we were happy.

but. there are still a lot of things i could write about. right now i am thinking about a photograph i took ten years ago that never came out. 2003, or 4, i can’t believe that a decade (or a near-decade) has passed since then. all my shoes had holes in them. i was cash-poor but privileged, freshman year in college on borrowed money, a safe haven from the world i’d been thrust into years before. i was madly in love with ________ back then, walking from grand central to penn to see her, that walk that is too long to be convenient but too short to justify taking the subway, when i saw it: a sign, with large stenciled letters, resting against a trash can on some anonymous manhattan street corner. it said, simply, “I DREAM OF SO MUCH.”

it stunned me with its truth and beauty. i took its picture with the shitty disposable camera in my bag, not bothering with the flash because it was still light out and i thought i didn’t need it. because i hate flash photography, generally, and i didn’t want to draw any more attention to myself. a tall, scruffily dressed boy/girl–i already got enough attention & it wasn’t good. i waited for months for this picture, for the roll to be used up & money to be scraped for developing. earlier i’d had scams for free pictures but they all fell through. & when i got the roll back, this was the only picture that wasn’t there. i looked in the negatives, and the edges weren’t defined enough. the machine probably thought the picture was blank, an accidental pocket-shot, and skipped right over the picture like it wasn’t even there. i had been a 1-hour photo technician for a lot of my teen years. i knew exactly how to develop it. but it didn’t happen. i still remember that sign & maybe it’s better than having the picture.

on a mostly-unrelated note, here’s a postsecret that i haven’t been able to stop thinking about since i first saw it about a year ago:

maybe it’s an internet hoax. some annoying idiot. but i am fascinated by this. someone whose friends, family, life, job all sucked. or maybe they didn’t suck, but maybe they just needed a way out. and this was their way. sending out a tiny glance behind, a look over their shoulder at the life they left. why did they leave? how? how did they get out of NY, how did they access their banking records? did they just take all the cash out of their ATM and begin a new life? did nobody care enough to try & find them? or were they just that good at hiding?

i had an odd moment like that yesterday. i was at the co-op grocery in SF. many years ago, i wrote a blog post about being bored at work, letting my mind wander, and imagining what kind of person i would be if i got knuckle tattoos that said “FIST FUCK”. i thought of myself as a tough butch top, living in SF and riding a motorcycle. and then yesterday, i was in SF, tired and happy from my first day at work, buying my groceries, when i noticed that the cashier of the line i was standing in had knuckle tattoos. their right hand said “FIST.” i started getting excited. their hands were moving quickly, so it was hard to read them. their left hand, it kept moving, i saw an F, a U…i thought about that lonely desk, in 2010, a whole different life ago even though it was only 3 years. was i getting a transmission from this moment, from this unlikely bay area life path? their hand paused for a moment and i could read what it said. FULL. ah, dang. well, pretty close!

“i like your knuckle tats!” i said. they smiled really big and said thanks. i thought about telling them the story above, but decided against it. it seemed too weird somehow. but we chatted and then i stepped out into the warmth. a song about warm weather and being ok shuffled onto my ipod, a song that i’d listened to throughout the depths of saturn return hell in fall 2011, a song that i listened to, that felt important, although i couldn’t understand why at the time.

gotten an IUD, worn a septum ring, paid over $500 for a tattoo, something sexual i’m not writing here, lived in oakland, and sued my landlord! [edited 12/31/12 to add:] snaked a toilet!

2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

i don’t really make resolutions but i had goals. they were mostly vague (keep pursuing a meaningful life, do good things, etc) and i accomplished them. i did not accomplish the one concrete goal, which was to publish my book. my goal this year is to publish something & keep writing & get a fuckin’ job & love in a sane & sustainable way.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
yes! quite a few people i know had babies this year. the person who i am closest to is radio! i cannot wait to visit her, o’ryan, and lil’ auggie at some point in the future.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
laura and morton died, as well as some clients. not close with any of them but it was still sad & sorta hard.

5. What countries did you visit?
canada!

6. What would you like to have in 2013 that you lacked in 2012?
a published book. a paying job that does not destroy my soul. a semi-permanent-ish home, and to know where my home is, what timezone and what city.

7. What dates from 2012 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

oh geez. this was a really memorable year actually. um, i remember crying tears of joy at work when amanda texted me that terrell was set free after 17 years of wrongful imprisonment, feeling the first real hope that things will get better after 11+ years of prisoner support work. i remember kate bornstein telling me that i am a good writer & being so happy and then puking in a trash can. i remember danny dyeing my hair and sweating on me as we hid from the wasps in my hot apartment. i remember winning $180 at the casino with maxine and then frolicking in the surf, i remember going to the ocean with ben and amanda in NC and it was ben’s first time in the ocean for 20 years and he was so overjoyed. i remember being so present and safe with them, so happy on our adventure. i remember finding out this really awful thing had happened and freaking out. i remember jean grae and invincible pulling me out of said freakout with their amazing healing music. i remember the look on amber’s face when we found all that brie in the dumpster in montreal. i remember the sadness and beauty of that old amusement park in NY, i remember looking at the splashy happy new yorkers at coney island and thinking that i was really gonna miss them. i remember the mountains in colorado outside of a greyhound bus terminal. i remember sitting naked  in the hot tub with scarin, andrew and the danes and being so grateful.  i remember a beautiful, windy day at the albany bulb with a cute boy. i remember going to target drunk with jordan and pushing him in the shopping cart, across the parking lot & promising that i wouldn’t let him fall. i remember finding out something that healed me so much. i remember when i first got my collective tarot deck, doing readings for myself in aaryn’s living room in san francisco. i remember going to the playground with adam late at night and frolicking and it was so fun. i remember saying goodbye to nearly everyone i’ve ever known & how heavy that was.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

starting over, growing, healing. learning how to read tarot & doing a lot of really good work at all my jobs, paid and unpaid. also, this isn’t really an achievement per se, but my mirena iud put an end to 14 years of extremely painful menstruation which seriously affected my quality of life. it is seriously one of the best things i have ever done for myself.

9. What was your biggest failure?

this year wasn’t really a failure.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

i got the flu multiple times this summer for some reason. other than that i’ve been fine.

11. What was the best thing you bought?

my ailanthus leaf tattoo, my hot pink tights, many snacks, and both the greyhound ticket to oakland to start my new life & the greyhound ticket to pittsburgh to visit my old one.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?

my friends & my sweethearts.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?

no need to mention them.

14. Where did most of your money go?

student loans, traveling, and moving.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
moving, lovers, friends, books. as always.

16. What song will always remind you of 2012?

“sluttering” by jawbreaker, “ropes” by invincible, and far too many semi-embarrassing beyonce songs to mention here.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:

a) happier or sadder?  notably happier.
b) thinner or fatter? notably fatter.
c) richer or poorer? notably poorer.

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
writing.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?

worrying.

20. How will you be spending Christmas?

already spent it. with my mom & siblings & uncle. it was pleasant but not spectacular.

21. Did you fall in love in 2012?
yes, several times!

22. How many one-night stands?
none, really.

23. What was your favorite TV program?
90210, drag race, melrose place

24. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
no. but i still hate all the same people i hated in 2011. and i did find out something new and awful about a certain lady from my distant past that made me hate her a whole lot more than i already had.

25. What was the best book you read? “rookie”, “every you, every me” by david levithan, “the gentrification of the mind” by sarah schulman, “15 ways to stay alive” by daphne gottlieb, “love cake” by leah lakshmi piepzna-samarsinha, “glad no matter what” by sark, “quiet: the power of introverts in a world that can’t stop talking”, “how to become a scandal”, and more that i can’t recall.

26. What was your greatest musical discovery?

don’t ask me for a musical discovery, i’m hardly cutting edge. i spent most of this year listening obsessively to beyonce & jawbreaker.

27. What did you want and get?
a mature & considerate lover, a doable life plan, a fresh start, hope, and evidence that what goes around comes around.

28. What did you want and not get?
a published book! california food stamps! a good night’s sleep!

30. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I was 30 and had one of the most fun birthday parties of my entire life. my dad & sister came from new york, bearing approx. 90 beers, and all my pgh favorites came to my house and we just laughed hysterically for hours. at the end, 8 or 9 beers in, i drilled a xylophone to a pole outside my front door without injuring myself. & for the rest of the summer, anyone who visited me would play the xylophone to let me know they were there.

31. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

it was pretty satisfying. oh, i guess not having so many contact lens problems. i’ve finally given up!

32. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2012?

pink! wacky!

33. What kept you sane?

this year i have dated more people than i ever have & every single one of them was so awesome and so healing and so good to me. my friends were also awesome, healing and good, but on a different level (also, friends being good to me is not really that noteworthy or unusual). also, 3 people i know were set free from prison this year & 2 horrible stories that have been haunting me for many years turned out to be untrue. this has changed my view of the world a little, tiny bit.

35. What political issue stirred you the most?

three strikes getting repealed was SO awesome, i know of at least one person, a board member at my job & nonviolent 3rd striker who’s been down since 1998, has gone home!!!! this is huge, this is real, this is amazing and i’d like to thank any cali voters reading who voted to reform this awful law. not to discount the huge amount of behind-the-scenes work that has happened prior to voting, of course. usually voting is stupid, but sometimes it can change shit & this time, it really did. <3 thank you!

36. Who did you miss?
everyone who wasn’t with me at that particular moment.

37. Who was the best new person you met?
all the bay area peeps, esp. adam & emma!

here is a picture of you, years ago, when the dude-bro-y law clerk said that paintings by jackson pollock are just splatters. you said, “if it’s just splatters, anyone can do it. why don’t you paint us a pollock?” and so we all went to the backyard of our office and stood around, on the clock, watching this very-non-artsy dude attempt to mimic a master.

i was your secretary for years. on my job interview, you made me research star trek fan clubs. when i showed you what i compiled, you rifled through it and proclaimed: “why, these people are crazy!” you asked me what writers can do to change the world. i said all we can do is write something that might make people feel better about their lousy lives. you sat back on your chair and thought about it.

i was your secretary for years. usually secretaries didn’t last around your office. the pay was lousy, and you were eccentric and demanding. clients, associates, and even random clerks at the courthouse would say, “what’s a nice person like you doing working at a place like this?” i would laugh and say that i liked it. i did, even though you pissed me off on a regular basis. even though you behaved in ways that were morally bankrupt, absolutely horrifying sometimes. people would marvel at how good i was at handling you and i’d shrug, “we’re both arieses. his bullshit is my bullshit. i know where it comes from and how to deal.” and it’s true. i don’t exploit people ruthlessly for money like you do, and i hope i never will. but we’re both headstrong, stubborn, swirling with both self-loathing and grandiose ego. both of us love the absurd, the strangeness that life throws our way. you took on clients with the most bullshitty cases if they were interesting people. we both have a flair for telling wacky stories.

i stopped in to visit before i moved away. you weren’t in, but you called me at home later that day. you said i was moving to san francisco and i corrected you: no, i’m moving to oakland. “well, san francisco is far more interesting!” i know, i can go visit. “you’d better learn how to swim!” i had a feeling, in that office, that i was there for the last time.

you died last month. i found out today, sort of by accident. you had several near-death experiences when i knew you and i always thought that when the time came, i’d be able to go to your funeral and hang out with all the weirdos i’d met through you. that it would be one big reunion. but i’m all the way over here now. i couldn’t go. i didn’t even know about it.

it is a cliche to be thankful on thanksgiving. but. last thanksgiving i spent 8 hours puking alcohol. half my face was swollen, my eye was black, my brain was bruised and my heart was broken. this thanksgiving was wildly different, on another coast and another life. i am so grateful that i survived my saturn return. dear world, you don’t know how close you came to losing me last year. but i guess if i am still alive it’s for a reason.  regardless, i am grateful to still be alive and to be 2,500 miles and one year away from that bile-smelling bathroom.

i got an inspiring letter a few weeks ago from maranda, who has also written a novel. they said they were going to send their book to at least six publishers, and even getting rejection notices would be heartening because it would be some progress (this is a paraphrase and a bad one–sorry). so i was like, “well, shit! i can do that too!” and it’s actually pretty profoundly discouraging. realizing how freakin’ unmarketable my first book is. and also, how many presses that don’t take unsolicited or unagented submissions.

and so i’m starting to think, maybe i just wrote that book for me and my friends. my ex-gf read it and it inspired her to have a really hard conversation with someone who’d haunted her for years. this hard conversation turned good and it lead to the beginning of resolving this issue–something that affected her so much that she cried at least several times per week about it, for years. she called to thank me. i said that it wasn’t me, really, it was all her. but of course i was so fucking happy that something i wrote affected her like that. & that my words were able to do what i could not. sometimes i would hold her while she cried about this issue and it changed nothing. i’m sure it brought her some comfort, but it changed nothing about the situation, and my book (indirectly) did. WOW. i am so fucking proud.

& if i published this book it would just disappear into a gaping hole. the people who read it wouldn’t have my phone number, wouldn’t love me. it probably would not change anyone’s life, not like that. i think some people would enjoy reading it. i suppose i could self-publish but that seems like an awful lot of work & i am completely terrible at publicizing myself. i fear a stack of hundreds of unsold books (yes, i know if i self-published i’d do print-on-demand). but, who knows? and how do so many boring bad books get published? especially in the queer literary world?

i don’t know. this weighs on my mind endlessly, but i will stop now. i am going back east soon and will find out if there’s anything left there for me. i am silly & cold! there are many other things i would like to address on this blog and maybe i will, soon. things like: tattoos, new bodies, small cities, old friends. the fact that people sing while riding their bikes here, unabashedly, and i am one of them. the fact that when i am on 7th street and BART comes rumbling by i can sing just as loudly as i want and it doesn’t even matter. no one can hear me.