helvetica.

technology is cheating. 
helvetica is love. 
helvetica is wisdom.
wisdom is death.
death is love.
never mind.

words are made up things to make sense of our ponderings. 
nothing makes sense. 
nothing is real.
god is dead. 
helvetica says it is so.

Cheater Cheater, Pum{kin Eate}

Concerned I am not being true to the art form of "self-publishing" by using the computer too much...

In the forest

Stephen Baldwin

One time I met Stephen Baldwin.

I was a waitress at this restaurant in Redmond and he came in with a bunch of sexy people, all of them coupled off. Stephen Baldwin was not a part of a sexy coupledom but I suspected he was in a little bit of each.
 Before I knew who the hell he was I thought he was a nice guy.
He politely asked for a separate table, quiet, away from his party with one of his people.
Stephen Baldwin ate two salads with thousand-island dressing and ordered an extra helping of rice pilaf when he received his meal. I believe he ordered the Chicken Strips but the details of the experience often escapes me.
At the end of the meal I split up all the checks, one for each couple. Everyone made nervous unsure gestures until Stephen came over from his secret table and told me it was all on him. When putting the checks together he stood by me waiting with his card. One of the the other waitresses asked if he was "a Baldwin." He said he was and his debit card said Stephen Baldwin so I knew for sure.
I don't know why I still have the receipt.
Maybe one day when he makes a comeback I can sell it. It's very faded.
Apparently he was in town for this Christian thing that had been heavily advertised. I kind of felt bad for Stephen because all his friends were mooches.
I'd like to know he is doing well. 
Arrangements can be made if you would like schedule a holding of the Stephen Baldwin receipt.
Today I went to said restaurant and sat in the same spot he sat. I call it "Stephen's Table."

Ramadan began this weekend - السلام عليكم

This morning, in a dream, I was in Iran.
My sister and I drove my Chevrolet Corsica to my old elementary school which was the stage for Iran.
"As-Salāmu `Alaykum," I yelled at somebody and these Arabic boys yelled back, "Alaykum As-Salaam."
I was really embarrassed because they were super cute, hanging out near the old tether court, looking student-like and smiling.

I had on the full robe, light blue. Unloading my car I my laptop and some cork-people from the car to plant somewhere and headed to the old gym. 
Walking through the turf of the recess area (where I once played as a child) people were swarming here and there, bike riders perusing through, kids were on the play sets -- lots of activity. 
"What if they bomb us here?" I thought absentmindedly as I headed into the scrum.

In the gymnasium there was a huge buffet table lined up; hot foods in dishes placed in white paper bags so when you went around you had to look in the bag to see what it was. The food was exquisite - not Indian food but similar. I imagine it all tasting like figs. 
A girl I used to work with for years ago was there flirting with someone in wearing a burka as well. 
I got a pancake, something I was sure would be vegetarian and buttered it. Then I found it was still wrapped in cellophane. Cultural blunders follow me even in my dreams. Damn.

Then I woke up.

I put make-up on with my fingers.

I put make-up on with my fingers. Foundation. Blush. Eye shadow. My body is an amazing tool. Make-up brushes are not.

Get gone.

"Get outside," I tell myself.

So I am.