L'Etoile is Love, Am I.

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Garth & I had a splendidly fun time hosting an Independence Day Soiree for our families in Walworth, WI.

1: I miss you like I miss the moon on days when three o'clock in the afternoon is an eternity. I miss you like I miss someone--if someone were a clear sky with sun waiting for rain to pour. I miss your fingers tracing my skin before our alarms sound. I miss your smile that erupts from outlandish remarks-and your laugh in the late hours through Times Square. I miss your shoulder to rest on with my towel-dried hair. Towels, that have touched perhaps most ironically my heart. My heart a trap door. A door to a flood. A flood of tears. Tears you saw once. Once when I was mad at you because of me. 3: I didn't write yesterday because I saw you. Though you may never know, I've been playing and replaying Miles Davis's Kind of Blue. Today particularly-as I was showering with the window open... The third track-Blue in Green was about to finish when the sky suddenly opened to rain. Subtle traffic; doors opening and slamming; sometimes a honk-or the sound of a dead bolt lock. Clattering sounds in the distance-something new. Sounds. Thunder! To someone who's accustomed to lightning. My heart fills and you become the forefront of my thoughts. Like silent sounds that smell of rain water on fire escapes.

new orleans reminded me to smile. it's been great. smiling.

(silent song on a full moon) He is me is she. As You are me see, eye is I. You is u. They're, there-don't fret for Their... underwear is ours. Clean... We don't share. We wear the same pair. We have the same parts. We shed the same blood. We want the same things. We crave God, who is the devil.?! (a verse now a question-too deep to care) ..but. you is me and me wants Life. Sometimes.. I fall from grace; And create broken dreams ...In rhyme; When the colors of my mind clash and make yellow turn green then blue. Weaves as yarn is cut As blades. Red cuts them and you And me and everyone and no one has the same flushed face, because a shade of pale becomes the night And our masterpiece: The rose. Finishes. Our bodies fly through glass, press upon thorns. Death. Wake up. Daylight. To strangers But strangers not so; because He is me is she. As You are me. Spare change. To homeless; to those with wealth- We all brainsick of the same kind of different health. One mad; one genius, and one makes all- Madness to Fly to fall to fly.

sleep in. forfeit plans. the ocean notice botanicals in kitchen...unruly. like the jungle wolffer estate rose in bag. to be shared. new people. almost strangers. garden bbq before the sun goes down. underground. listen to the sound of the spanish guitar. barcelona tom robbins jitterbug perfume stained glass marcy avenue

#luckyundies&#freshoj#early#headshotday#fancy#parisgarb#summerofseventyfiveinwindow#goodmorningsixam

his hands had just peeled a grapefruit, he had taken from the uptown cafe late night long day-he offered me a piece instead i took his hand... studied each curve line scar...my eyes met his through my unwashed hair, lips parted as they slowly met his palm. he stopped breathing i looked away too quickly to think and discovered the sweet fruit would never taste better than it did just then. i saw him again, fingers left there and didn't move. left near the level of my heart his eyes reflected something i still don't understand i began walking backwards 1,2,3,4,5,6,7 and his gaze remained unchanged his hand appearing smaller and smaller still the level of my heart. stairway-door-street in minds eye desperate to turn, to run but locked like his breathing i stopped. his foot pattern began to follow my footprints and his hand drew the slice i rejected to his mouth. citrus. the scent parfum, the taste on lips, hands..unwashed hair and every raindrop of this early summer

money was sparse-credit cards wouldn't allow us to join the gyms in manhattan; my credit card was out of existence. we began practicing yoga in our bedrooms and took runs outside knowing one day we would laugh..and find better sources of income.

betty lou hovde is hillsbros. coffee,sliced banana,white dish-ware,and ivory soap at two o clock in the afternoon on a day like today years ago.perhaps,'97-

cincodemayowithlostboy#twylatharp#sylviaplath#runaway#brotherswimmersinjestsportingorangecaps#earlytrain

thiswasthemanderley,after all.boy,didweeverdance!hoursofspinning&thebandroaring-eyescatching-thealmostschoolgirlcrush,methefool...speakingincirclestohim,macbeth,oflanfordwilsonandhisplays#tocoinsinahandbagandlulusmaraschinos @hoveke @ernesto_breton

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QfL4azg8gmo&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Discovered! That same Thursday morning of improvisation in a studio overlooking Washington Square Park. (Jesse Goldman. Rachel Martens. Elisa Halma)