Friday, October 31, 2008


Last night I started my Day of the Dead Altar and am quite happy with it. I need to buy some bread of the dead and other things to put on it but overall, I am pleased.

I have one essential piece missing from my costume, or maybe, a few. But I am not last minute Lizz for nothing. I finished B's costume and it looks great. I think we're going to either be loved or hated. I'l post pictures of our costume duo later in the week.

I have some sort of injury from my bluetooth. I wear it while I'm driving. But I know for a fact that I have child-sized ear canals and the bluetooth has irritated my right ear. No poetry in that.

Dead Can Dance

Thursday, October 30, 2008


I've been dreaming about the election, nightmares really. I think the next five days will be tense. I'm glad Halloween is this weekend, I can dress up and trip through the streets, bar to bar forgetting that the world is about to change in a few days. I'm glad B promised to get me Ray Lamontagne tickets for Saturday night so I can sit and listen to my favorite male singer's velvet gravel voice and disappear into into it. I don't know if I will be able to sleep well after Saturday. Too much is at stake. I will cry either way, one in joy, truly feeling like a part of historic change for once in my life. The other way I will cry will be in defeat and anger on the floor, tearing out my hair. I pray the former tears are what I weep.

Hello Again Hello
Neil Diamond

I watched most of The Jazz Singer last night but changed it to watch the Daily Show and I didn't get to see the bedazzled ending. I love Neil Diamond, but I love Jon Stewart more.

Weekend with the Warriors
I can't believe this kid got away with this, but I give kudos to his gonzo bravado. I bet they want to kill him.

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

morning noise, alley funk, sleeping diagonal

Some mornings I can hear the gunshots from the police firing range near my neighborhood. snap snap snap. A friend of mine used to live near the zoo when he was alive; he could hear the howler monkeys on foggy mornings. I remember the sound of howler monkeys from the jungles of Chiapas. Howl is a less appropriate description than roar. Waking up in my tiny hotel room with the corrugated metal roof to the sound of a howler monkey marking his territory, I thought a jaguar was on the loose and hungry for a banana-fed girl like me. Not the case. In Chiapas moths click at each other. Much nicer sounds in the morning than the harsh sound of bullet leaving barrel.

I slept with my windows open and this morning my apartment is filled with a sour, foul smell emanating from the neighbor's garbage in the alley. Something sweet rotted so it has fermented into a yeasty, pungent funk that made me bring my coffee into the office. We modern-ish humans living away from our waste and scrubbed raw are lucky, hypersensitive folk.

I woke up diagonal this morning. Stretched corner to corner, my hair draped over the side of the bed as if I were placed that way by a stylist; sheet wrapped around my body. The only witness to my slumber postures my books and the old Gods on my dresser.

The audiobook I'm currently listening to is Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones. I've read it before but this audiobook is narrated by Goldberg herself and her voice is comforting to me. I bet she has great, strong framed glasses and would be someone I could wax poetic with, drawling over philosophy, ghosts, what makes us do what we do and don't. She has added an commentary track to her book, notes on what she previously wrote and how she looks back on it. Very original.

snap. snap. snap.

I Want to Love You in My Room

Tuesday, October 28, 2008


After all of the activity to get ready for the chapbook, I am now spinning my wheels. I put some poems together to send out, something I should have been doing while I was preparing the chapbook. I'm a little tired at the world and testy, but this too will pass. It is a funny thing how when I am preparing to put my work out, I stop writing. As if the writing part of my brain and the business side of my brain can't function together. I want to get past this business part again and hunker down with some thoughts and ink. I have an essay I really want to finish, though it will be a bit soul-wrenching. I want to sign up for NaNoWriMo, though I wonder if I will be spreading myself too thin.

This week however, is about finishing the Halloween costumes. My costume is about halfway done. I am gong to be quite a picture. I need more batteries, a headband and some glue.

I am trying to break your heart
Jeff Pianki, covering Wilco
I found this kid of youtube and dig his style

Saturday, October 25, 2008


Last night was the release party. It was beautiful! I had such a great crowd of friends, family and strangers. I had been stressing a little but I didn't even really have to do anything except show up, mingle and read my poems. I I was elated. We had just the right amount of food and booze, it was crowded enough so that people were mingling but not so crowded that it was uncomfortable.

Many thanks to Ayiiia (please vote for Ayiiia to get on the Real World, for some reason that's what she wants) and Hailey for selling my books for me. Thanks to my Mama for bringing rice. And heaps of thanks to best bud Beau for everything. Beau laid out & edited the book, designed the cover, took the photograph, made my flyers, kept me sane, bought booze, set everything up, cleaned up afterward and chauffeured my tired bones home. Thus his poem is the last poem in the book. Gratitude rivers wild.

I was happy to meet new people and reconnect with a few I hadn't seen in a while. My acupuncturist showed up. A man I met drunk at the Whistle Stop last week came. My all-time favorite couple, Jim and Nuvia Ruland came. My sister's friends came. Strangers came. My dear friend Scott Bunnycake came, oddly enough and to the delight of my sister, he and Beau were dressed the same. One of my nearest and dearest, Kat, came and brought an entourage. The lovely Veronica came and brought me a do-it-yourself empowerment altar. My heart is full of joy.

Anyway, thanks a bazillion to the wonderful folk who came out to support. I have poured my heart into this latest body of work and it means the world to me to see how many people support me. Writing is often vulnerability embodied and I am glad to feel safe in my work because of those who surround me. I'll post some pictures from the event soon.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

poor giraffes and Lizz

I had horrible nightmares about giraffes the night before last and I was also some sort of refugee. I cried instead of blogging yesterday morning. These nightmares must stop. I have anti-anxiety sleeping pills from my doctor but really don't want to take them. I am sure I'm working things out in my dreams but I must have some sort of alienation trauma since I dream of being a refugee so much. I seem to always be seeking my home.

Tomorrow night is my publication party at The Ink Spot. I am a little bit nervous. I feel like a kid who has planned a big birthday party for herself and is worried no one will show up. No nerves Lizz! Get a hold of yourself!

I had an interesting cleanse yesterday. I won't go into detail but I may have to write a funny piece about it at some point. It was strangely fascinating and disturbing at the same time. The things we put ourselves through in the name of health. Today I go to the chiropractor. I'm really into taking care of my body these days. Except that I started drinking whiskey again.

I get to pick up my chapbooks this morning.

Walk On By
Dionne Warwick

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

silliness in the morning

give me silliness to fight the residue of nightmares I have every night.

I wish that I could see you soon
Herman Dune

Also, I named my ex-cat Icarus because I thought his markings looked like wings. Another interpretation, thanks to Acamonchi, is that he has a big white penis on his back. I saw wings, mythology; but all it was was another peepee. How telling.

Monday, October 20, 2008

hostage of nerves, maybe

Last night in a night of odd dreams a friend went missing, along with my ex-cat. Weather patterns shifted. Thugs lefts empty bottles around my doorstep. I went to a literary event and was somehow glued to my seat and forced to watch an ex speak while I tried not to vomit on myself. I think I have nerves this week.

The Sea and the Rhythm
Iron & Wine

Sunday, October 19, 2008

Happy Birthday Pa!

Happy birthday Pa! I love you very very much and am incredibly proud to have you as my father. Your generosity of spirit and sense of humor is unparalleled. You crack me up daily and sometimes my heart wants to explode because I love you so much. Thank you for being the best father, friend and boss in the world. Thank you loving mom so much and showing my sisters and me how we deserve to be loved. Thank you for doting on your parents and gifting us with the awareness of how important family is. Thank you for bragging about my sisters and me to all of your friends and customers. I love when people tell me how much you talk about us with love, admiration and respect. Thank you for raising us to stand up for what we believe in, even if it doesn't always make us popular with those around us. Thank you for listening. Thank you for being so popular with my friends. Thank you for teaching us how to roll our Rs. Thank you for waking us up with your guitar and singing in the mornings and for the serenades. Your love for mom is one of the greatest gifts you could have given us as daughters. Thanks for how much you love my cat now that you've adopted him. Thanks for making us breakfast every Sunday. Thanks for knowing when to silent and when to speak. Thanks for letting us make out own mistakes and then showing us how to laugh at ourselves. Thank you even for the strange religion you raised us in; despite how weird it was it gifted us with how to remain unattached to the material world. I wouldn't be who I am without you.

My brilliant father, Hector Huerta

Friday, October 17, 2008

in the night

When my dreams are intense they pervade my entire day. Today will be one of those days. Ships run aground but grinding along anyway; ghosts, kites, I'm often a surrealist in my dreams.

I wake up still at 4am each day. Hour of the lungs. Lungs the organ of grief. All those old griefs moving through me at that hour. I imagine old griefs look like refugees, carrying the burdens of places they don't live anymore on their backs. Looking to lodge themselves somewhere I won't find them and ask them to leave. Sometimes I feel bad for them and offer them poems as respite; live here, you can live here forever and no one will mind. But along those lines, I'm scared to let too many into my writing. I don't want my writing to be a colony for grief.

Devendra Banhart

Thursday, October 16, 2008

poetry happens

Miss Celie's Blue
Shug Avery from The Color Purple

I sooo dig this song! This scene as well.

Getting ready for my little publication party next week. Dreaming about it even. I've sent out an evite, it has been sent out to San DIego Writer's, Ink mailing list. I've posted it on myspace and facebook. I think people will come. Beau things it will be standing room only. As if. That would be wonderful. Yes, if I were the prom queen of poetry.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

sleeping with poetry

I love sleeping with poems. Last night to bed I took to bed with my Cate Marvin's Fragment of the Head of a Queen. This collection of poems kicked my ass, went through me and excited many molecules. I wish they could love me back. The poems are that good. Cate Marvin dominates her language and writes, it seems to me, without any fear. O, to be there! I know I am brave but I am still growing into my bravery. Here is a link to one of her brilliant, head-rupturing poems.


If You Go Away
Emiliana Torrini

Monday, October 13, 2008

good morning monday

falling slowly
Marketa Irglova and Glen Hansard

I'm falling slowly to healthy. I have been sick but thank the heavens for Cipro.

Good weekend of rest and reading. Talked to some friends long-distance. Ate good food and rested my weary self. I love how then I ignore my body it comes back to me with a vengeance. It says slow down, stop. Sleep.

And so I have.

Saturday, October 11, 2008

we travel without seatbelts on

This morning has a terrific bite in the air. It won't last but I put on a turtleneck to get that feeling of putting myself into the cocoon. This transition of summer into unsummer is one of my favorite times of year. I like to cook with the oven. I like thicker socks and boots.

Brooding & brooding a bit too. Nothing in particular, just trying on different ideas. Playing with different futures but none of them beckon. I'll have to, as usual, live my way into it.

When I was deep in the blue earlier this year I had specific ideas of what would make me feel better. Not so sure now. I've been surprised at my lack of desire for things I thought I would find extraordinary. I tire of the mundane. I have little joys. Avocados. Japanese eggplant. My balcony. Saffron rice. Books on tape. Few distractions. A different kind of peace.

Grace Cathedral Hill
The Decemberists
covered by Colin Meloy

Friday, October 10, 2008

fire season

The winds are coming. The Devil's Breath, Santa Ana winds. It is fire season and the outside the wind is coming in short, violent breaths. The bamboo off my balcony is fighting itself for rigidity. I dig this. I hope last week's rain dampened the world enough so that it isn't tinder for the days that are coming. I hate when the world burns. If I could I would sleep outside tonight. Instead I'll go for a walk and enjoy the beginning of cold in the air. Sleep deep and alone.

I'm swinging back into myself, it is a good feeling. I am stepping back into the fitted body of a poet. I'm a little worn in places but mostly comfortable.

Jimi Hendrix

take this and dance, spin I say!

The Cure

Thursday, October 9, 2008

sleepy like a fat bear about to hibernate

I am tired.

The reading last night in OC was great, despite the fact I had a raging bladder infection and was in so much pain I wanted to amputate my hips and everything inbetween. Beau drove me up to the reading, thank Baby Jesus. On the way home I was in o much pain I cried and was hunched over. But,

the poetry was great. I really dig these poems and how they are arranged. For any of you that bought a chapbook last night, if you are reading this blog, please email me. I realized last night that four poems are missing from the book. When I get the next batch printed I will send you the complete chapbook. Some of the poems you are missing are my favorites.

Thanks to Alonso from Xochico coming out to support. I dig his products very much and look forward to getting a churro make-up bag soon.

I am at a bit of saturation point with human contact again. I can feel a hibernation is coming. Don't know when. I look forward to the solitude and silence. For now I am cuddling up with my latest Christopher Paulini Dragon book, some cold water, a blankie and am going to burrow happily even if its just for one night.

That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore
The Smiths

Tuesday, October 7, 2008


I love love love the cover of my chapbook. There are no two ways about it. I love it. It is just provocative enough. I went to a tattoo shop yesterday afternoon and explained to the artists what I wanted and the artist, Johnny, did exactly what I wanted. Oh man, I am so happy. I will post the cover here as soon as I get it formatted and fit. I've decided the cover will just be a photograph of the title, no name, nothing else. Since the poet is already in the title. This is what I am dancing to.

1 2 3
Len Barry

If I was a dervish I'd be whirling.

Monday, October 6, 2008

outside of myself

The weekend was a success. Saturday afternoon I went to the International Book Fair and caught a great panel from some of the writers in Latinos in Lotusland. I sat with Lorna Dee Cervantes and gave her the first copy of my manuscript. It was great talking with her and remembering Taller Ixchel at Isla Mujeres in 2001. I think that is when I really decided to dedicate myself wholly to my poesia. That evening I went to the Art of Democracy at the Centro Saturday evening. Good show and good to see people I haven't connected with in a while. I wore my cowboy boots and felt divine. It rained Saturday evening. Late that night I went for a walk. The sky was inky blue and clean. The water in the parched ground smelled holy.

But, I am outside of my mind a bit. I have been over-stimulated and it is trying to force me to shut down. But I can't shut down because I have reading this week in OC and I have to finish my chapbook. But to finish my chapbook I need help from humans and I am at my saturation point of human contact. Lame.

I've been going through the box of adolescent writing my parents gave me and it is a little disturbing; looking at the the wound that caused the tissue I'm used to these days. No wonder I was a goth teenager. I had some deep sadness in me, even way back then. I was quite the existential teenager, writing about attachment and expectations. I wrote a lot about losing faith. We had just recently stopped being Jehovahs Witnesses back then. The little monsters seem like they have been haunting me forever. .

These Arms
Matt Costa

Saturday, October 4, 2008


Ely Guerra

Slow morning of may thoughts and waiting. Today, like any other day, has the potential to be life changing. Do I stay or do I go now? Contacting a tattoo artist for some help. Making some art. Remembering where the poetry comes from. Me and coffee and my little blue sugar alien.

Friday, October 3, 2008

it will be memorable

I have the feeling this will be a big weekend. I dreamt of tsunami dancing and those of us on the shore just watched, somehow safe. Leviathans surfaced, beautiful. In the middle of the night I was awake for a good dark hour, paying attention to my breathing and mortality. I woke up singing, joyful.

como tu

Thursday, October 2, 2008

sweating like a bullet

I forget about these late heat waves that come rolling through every year. Summer's last humping of the Southwest and boy, is summer ever thrusting this week.

Change has come, is continuing. I dyed my hair. I've decided that I've been understated enough this year and it is time for me to go over the top. Pulling my legs out of their coverings. Reshaping the my facial expressions. I want to be swooped up for a bit.

I have a poem gestating. Tentative in its coming. Something about the sex lives of volcanos. Perhaps.

a waltz for a night
Julie Delpy

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

much, soon, many

I am bone tired. Working in the sun. Working in my mind. Lorna Dee Cervantes will be in town this weekend, look forward to seeing her and catching up.

Words You Used to Say
Dean & Britta