My most prized possessions. The end of childhood & young adulthood.

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Vent. Moms rug and drug container

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 Out with the old. 2006-2023  My mother bought me this rug while out of her mind on Drugs. We went to the Scandinavian furniture store on Thousand Oaks boulevard. Her minivan was tilted taking up two spaces. Before exiting the front seat with a heavy purse loud with shaking pill bottles she said one of her favorite things “the squeaky wheel gets the oil”  I knew I was in for it when she said that. It was like a cue. We were in the empty store (or I hoped) as She started yelling at me, saying I was gay with gay style and demanding sale prices that didn’t exsist. I felt guilty for her and embarrassed. Are Levi’s and clogs really that gay? She knew about Rachel. One more thing to pick at me for… No bathroom to escape to. She started to imagine scenarios where our house would have great furniture and look like a showroom. She’d just covered our house in industrial navy blue airport carpeting that week. The whole house. She put a giant roll of Astro turf next to my bed “for the ceiling of y
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Note. A.A….note. Childhood

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It’s December 2023. In the back of my mind snippets are here to organize or ponder. They float around to process quietly. I Rough draft over this time in my life. It will be art. I know the process now. How my life filters itself into art. I roll with it using my writing as a file. From parts of my body art releases itself. Kickwheel. Clay. Writing.  ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ There’s a fight brewing between us.It’s A cold fight and I cannot speak because I shouldn’t. I take herbs and stay hydrated. Keep busy. Keep focused, keep happy. Happy is a choice. I listen to Sarah mcglachlan and think about angels. Violet rabbits… totems to ground. Examples.  It’s this old family. They hate. I always was confused, it’s such a strong word. Maybe I didn’t want it to be true. How I deal is my deal…so I choose to write. In times like these I think about if anyone really can life a conflict free boring life with nothing but love food shelter and coziness. It’s a fantasy I used
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The story of grandmas AA boyfriend

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 My grandfather was a short alcoholic painter with thick glasses. He had some success in the world of fine art and art academia. For a while he was Dean of Otis Art Institute, he drove a red MG-B and had a high pitch voice like Mickey Mouse. Among other quirks he had (like physical violence without hesitation) what always creeped me out, was his voice.  One day in 1960’s early 1970’s Canoga Park my mother moved in with her highschool boyfriend to avoid grandpas nastiness (her boyfriend became my father). Her brother my uncle Tim got involved in drugs and biker gangs associated with hippies like the Manson Family to avoid being home. It was During this time in desperation My grandmother Fran started taking grandpa to AA meetings. In Canoga park at a usual looking white brick church with polished floors and folding chairs it was during one of  these AA meetings when she first laid eyes on Hank. (Story told to me by cousin Doug out of my own curiosity about the Belt:) “Hank was a cowboy t
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