my intuition feels laser-sharp. not only is the flow directing me but the flow is playing me like an instrument, praising my quickness but also laughing at me when i make a gross farting noise.

i keep checking to see if i am bullshitting myself, turning my head quickly to try to catch my own relection in the mirror. but what i keep feeling is this kind of irrational somewhat disturbing delight. in the midst of psychic torment or menstrual cramps or complete bewilderment or rage i know that if i turn fast enough i will catch my mirror laughing at me.

I live in an 8-ft-square concrete cube with a round hobbit door, on the lip of a cottonwood river valley in the Upper Bajada. Peacocks scrabble on the tin roof of my cube. When the sun rises I climb from my cube up to the city on top of the mesa, where there are many Italian cedars like tall green pencils and olive trees heavy with black fruit which we poke with knives and submerse in huge tubs of brine. My best bud is a skater dyke from portland with light in her eyes. I can reach out and pick a lime while I shower in the greenhouse. Everything is apse-shaped, yes, shaped like an apse.