I’m sad (to)day just like yesterday’s camel. (I) ate an apple, 2 slice(s) of cheddar cheese, and (a) half can of tuna on the way out. What does it mean to be known as something, as in why does it matter? A writer, an artist, a director, a creative, a ______ creator. I make stuff too.  Does the red awning (at) usc really provide shade for those standing underneath?

I like to think up poems in the car; weep while beholding (public) taxidermy and tap my toes to the old album; (Do you too) flick dirt from under (your) fingernails, out the (driverside) window (?)
Last year, around this time, I was suicidal and enamored with the endangered (species) at the Long Beach aquarium. I’d never been so sad as to wonder if they knew they were the last of their kind. Dinosaur bones bewilder me but seahorses proliferates such an endless anguish (at the depts of my soul). To think that’s where we bring children (to learn and not to feel).  Now I don’t mean to, but still happen to (...) drive to the otherside of town to (...) heal fractional parts of myself.

This time, I catch all the green (lights), so I can (hurry and) pretend to be whole once again, even if in a rush. 

 LAPD (and+) their toys (overhead, once again.) Caller ID (or/) Account Services (calls once again). Missed call (once again): But that’s a lie. They (”Account Services”) don’t know me or my life. I don’t even believe some (fractional) part of my brain is steering this wheel anymore.

>>>>>

Mark