what's funny is that it wasn't heroin addiction that pushed/ is pushing/ will push me over the edge, but losing my best friend to the get rich quick allure of california's pay-per-signature petition drives. fuck you, campaign to recall gray davis, and fuck you, stupid ballot measures.

the city stole my sister.

but we had a lot of fun yesterday, as i gradually pushed away my dark thoughts (or maybe my medication kicked in?) we went to juniors and ate "yummy waffles" which are SO yummy, then we walked north to that creepy park on 12th and stark, the park that caters to the homeless men from the church shelter next door. we were the center of attention for about 20 homeless guys who stared as we wandered around the park. you'd have to see this place to understand the level of weirdness. there's a decaying wooden pirate ship/playground, strange brickwork and mosaic religious quotes, a stream and waterfall, a big scary grate with a huge engine underneath, and a large mound of compost/trash/??? help!

then we walked north and across the burnside bridge, and pretended to be ultra-hipsters at the new stumptown coffee in old town. we talked to this old guy outside who told us that "sometimes coincidences aren't just random, things fall into your hands for a reason." he said he applied to reed when he was 16 (he's 60 now) but wanted to get his pilot's license instead so he could fly his girlfriend all over the world.

sam picked us up by that fountain on the waterfront, in the rickety old van that shakes and rattles, especially with his crazy driving. we drove all over NW looking for m.'s new club, but instead had drinks at acapulco's gold (i didn't drink, though i was severely pressured). they gave us a basket of chips, and when it was gone, i told sam to tell my fortune in the broken chips at the bottom of the basket. first he said "you know one of those hats that come out like this, and down..." and told this elaborate story about a swimmer and a shark and taking off your wings so you don't get eaten, and it didn't make any sense but i guess it's my fortune so there's nothing i can do.

then we drove all over the west hills, on winding hilly roads in places only sam knows (i imagine), with amazing views of the city and beautiful tall tall trees. we ended up at the skyline tavern, way up on top of the hills, this old wooden place in the forest with outdoor seating built into the ground, like some elf's dining room, the trees towering above, and a view of the twinkling lights of beaverton (aka beaver-tron). if sam had a homerian epithet, i think it would be storyteller...

then speeding back and forth around curves down through the trees, through the shadowy warehouses, and across the fremont bridge for the second time (wheee!), into NE to m's house. we drove by his house to see if anyone we didn't want to see was there (like nicole), slooowly, looking in the window, turned around and drove back looking again, and a third time (sam is paranoid), but we only saw m., so we turned around and parked outside. his neighbors were out on their porch and looked at us strangely. the dogs mauled me, as usual, and covered me in slobber. we all talked for a while until sam remembered he had to be somewhere. on the way home, he played "can't apply the brakes" and there were several close calls at red lights where he made emergency turns down side streets, but we actually made it all the way home with no brakes.

a long time ago (november) i decided while watching the wizard of oz that i am the wicked witch of the west and donna is glenda the good witch-- in essence, personality, not because i'm evil and she's good. so yesterday we decided that sam is the wizard/con man/storyteller who carries everyone away in a balloon.

"not to want to say, not to know what you want to say, not to be able to say what you think you want to say, and never to stop saying, or hardly ever, that is the thing to keep in mind, even in the heat of composition." -beckett