on getting old:
i imagine myself salt and pepper with layers of turquoise and squash blossoms. a black gown with red dirt decorating the unhemmed seam.
notes from our los angeles heyday:
when i tended bar at the good old coach and horses a mysterious fella who had hair very similar to the very young keith richards (above) would come in, order a beer and sit in the darkest corner. the jukebox played the pretender’s:
Got brass in pocket
Got bottle Im gonna use it
Intention I feel inventive
Gonna make you, make you, make you notice me.
i knew one day he would be mine…
even if it meant i had to transport him to the desert, lock him up in a shanty and feed him nectar from the agave cactus.
time line of my youth:
looks like it’s already on deck!
(from the facehunter)