2002-07-01 || 10:18 p.m.

|| my bedroom, in the easterly direction ||

east: mum in a bridal veil and scowl, framed

(and hovering just above it, faintly: the realization that dad took the picture before the ceremony, you imagine in the darkness of the garage ((although in reality there was no garage at this time, only instant coffee and a black backdrop in a small apartment in redondo beach, or was it palos verdes?)), which means there is simply nothing to that superstition about grooms seeing their brides before the wedding ((plastic couples atop cakes come to mind, cummerbunds, the ringing of bells among pipe organs, dusted old ladies and the gleam of the sachristy)) what with twenty-eight years of marriage defying the slamming of doors and lowering of veils.)

east: rectangular window shrouded in sheer curtain to which rhinestones are affixed with elmer's glue

(approximately twenty-seven rhinestones are displaced, thanks to warm water cycle of the frigidaire heavy duty model 138H. like seeds they have spread throughout the house, not thanks to the flight and digestive tracts of birds but to the sweaty bottoms of naked feet, troublesome static cling of bath towels, and my half-track mind to reattach them).

east: one disintegrating ceiling tile stolen from a hallway of san francisco city college bearing two found photographs of san francisco

(1. alcatraz, taken from the ferry. 2. skyline with city hall, taken from a rooftop somewhere south of fulton street.).

east: three typewriters within cases. one danelectro guitar amp. one arts-and-crafts era bookcase heaving dusty sighs from the weight of too many books

(of note: grandpop's cloth bound book of inspirational poems entitled 'it can be done,' whose inscription reads in a flamboyant hand: 'november 17, 1931/ to dorothy and jim/ with fond and happy memories/ mary mcgreery' ((of note: jim is my grandfather. dorothy was his first wife. at the time of the inscription my grandmother, my grandfather's future wife, was thirteen years old playing jumprope in a backyard in inglewood, california.)).

of note: thirty-two journals spanning eighteen years of my life. of note: four richard brautigan books published by delta books, whose spines make up the colors red, blue, pink, and yellow. inscription within 'the pill vs the springhill mine disaster' reads: 'happy hanukkah/hope you like richard brautigan- no hints intended in the title. love your p.m.' identity and meaning of phrase 'p.m.' is unknown.).

east: one gibson epiphone with broken d string.

east: one copper bookend of a horse jumping a fence

(speckled by paint. badly tarnished. worn away just so at the midsection from the chemical reactions of metal and oils secreted from eight-year old hands clutching the bookend to an eight-year old chest in hopes of conjuring up her grandfar's ghost.).

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