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ALCOHOLIC SUN

the sands of

the sands of

the sands of

the sands of

ARABIA,

and the cities

slabs built on sinking shifting

built out of

built up out of

people praying on top of

people

the bodies of

the bodies of

the bodies of

BRAVE WOMEN AND MEN

piled up mentioning the weather to each other

in bars, small sweaty

the one on top looks at the stars

the one beneath her says hello

and a head opens, searchlights and lasers

fly out into

air

air

Brave men run in my family.

So I says to my boss, in Florida, I'm out of here. It isn't working. Sorry. And I go home.

Home is comfortable. Lot of food in the fridge. Parents are very nice, very generous. Got to get out, though, because I feel like I'll devolve into something worse.

So I says to her, I says, I'm going to LA. To stay with my friend Ben. To maybe go to Thailand when he goes, in October. She says, OK, let us know what's up. So I say, bye, Mom!

So I go and live in LA. I apply for jobs. I go to Vegas. I take pictures of an MMA fight. I see some art. I come into contact with old friends who have moved out here too, and find that some of them are tied to work, and some are happy, and some are sad. And I start to wake up later. And go to the gym every day. And who knows what's up? Not me.

Still looking for a job! (Re-read the title of the blog, but with a cynical approach.)