Frank Black Francis Sold His Fat

Our generation is the fat.
The new one is the cookie.
The cookie lives no matter what.
The fat is nothing without it.

Frank Black Francis sold his fat to the highest cookie bidder.

a big big loss.
a big big loss.
a big big loss.
a big big loss.

An executive thank-you

First thing Sunday morning I woke up and read the news.

Obama To Sign Executive Orders On Equal Pay

Now women have to be paid the same as men. It's 2014 and this was still not happening.

I learned a long time ago not to ask who was being paid what at my jobs, because I knew the answer might signal the end of that job for me.

Like the last time I asked. It was Guy. We had the same job at the same company. The year was 2004. He had been there 1 year longer than me and when he told me he was making $4 an hour more, I made an appointment with The Man to ask for equal pay. I found the gap in our wages staggering, I had to say something.

Yes, I had put in less time at the company, but I produced more and could prove it. When I asked for a raise, I was denied one. Any kind of one. I was gone a few weeks later, because who can live with that.

Now no one has to. All things being equal, no one has to.

And so with this headline I was moved to tears and Guy asked, "What's wrong?" I showed him the iPad, just turned it for him to see the headline. He then asked, taken aback, "You're crying about that?!" He wasn't being mean, he truly didn't get it.

How could he?

Salve slave

I feel the pain and my mind searches for a salve.

I think retail. What can I buy.

…

…

…

there is nothing.

No clothes, toys, food, music, movie, show…

there is nothing

I can buy that is a salve.

I feel the pain and my mind searches for a medicine.

Benzos, painkillers, muscle relaxers, alcohol.

…

…

…

none of these will work.

There is nothing

There is nothing

There is nothing

I can take that is a salve.

I hug my husband and feel the spirit of my friend through him.

I put my face on my husband’s face and feel the spirit that lived in both of them.

I have to accept that there is no salve

For this.

The pain lives and beats everything.

Two hours later, I reconsider and my mind searches again for a salve.

Retail.

Drugs.

Nope.

(Rinse. Repeat.)

Retail.

Drugs.

Nothing.

(Rinse. Repeat.)

Nausea on April 2

It was a year ago today when he texted me. It started out, “Hey Toots Sweet” and ended with “Teddy Bear kisses to the pretty potatohead princess.” Then he was gone. I guess 2 days later, that night, I don’t know, I don’t ask.

I felt him next to me the other day. His whole self, even his head, he turned to me. I was on his left. He jerked his head to the right to get his floppy bangs out of his face. He smiled crooked at me and then looked down. Then it happened again. Then it was over. 

I feel him sometimes when I’m hugging my daughter, reassuring her, giving her extra love energy. I feel like he watches that. Maybe I just felt that way about him. I’d hug him like he was a child who needed to be reassured that they are loved. Loved so much, and it’s all ok.

I’ll never forget that time Guy, b0b and I were waiting outside that theatre on Van Ness for our screening to start. He was late. Guy was pacing, looking right down the street, then left. Then suddenly he was there. Bouncing. His hair bounced. His feet bounced. He was happy and said something funny along with “Hi.” He looked interesting, his outfits, they always were interesting, I found the choices surprising. This one was sporty in nature. A white sweatsuit, but too big and made of polyester. A bit shiny. There were yellow sport stripes on the arms or legs. Guy said, “What’d you do, run here?”

Which was very funny because he lived in Oakland at the time.

He would tell us, “Hey Guy and Lou! I’m spinning at this warehouse party, come on sometime around 1. A will be there too.” And we’d look at each other and say, “yeah, right. Like we’re gonna go out to a warehouse where sweaty kids are swooning on X in the middle of the night. No thanks.” And I never did. I never saw him do his art, his real art. He was a legend in that world and I didn’t know it, and I didn’t see it and I just didn’t show up.

I really regret it. What the fuck was I thinking? That everything is forever?! GUESS WHAT IT ISN’T.

From PT Anderson's Magnolia, "...the fucking regret and guilt, these things, don't ever let anyone ever say to you you shouldn't regret anything. Don't do that. Don't! You regret what you fucking want! Use that. Use that. Use that regret for anything, any way you want. You can use it, OK?"