///CHILLS///

trends of chills

and wind willing to pull

hairs from their roots

roots that ground you to earth

the worst is the worth of your soul

when it's colder than cold

the sun feels awry

and you're lying

in greens

that have all gone gray

///AYKSTAHSEE///

Still buzzing from what seemed to me like a job interview that concluded with silent astounding cheers from imaginary businessfolk telling me "You got it! You got the job!" I turned my windshield wipers on to do their shitty job of clearing away the rare but welcomed L.A. rain drops. I headed toward the opposite end of Sunset Boulevard, always accelerating too fast when red turned to green and skidding as a result. No one is used to the rain here, the triply slow traffic was a tell tale sign. Beside my fifteen dollar handbag that I got at an H&M sale when my mother visited last year, was a small paper bag I'd stuffed in double speed before leaving the house that afternoon. In it was a midget pile of CDs I no longer cared for and some that I don't think I ever cared for. That morning I fully envisioned going into Amoeba, the music head at the counter accepting all of my CDs with a smile, and handing me enough money to buy at least four veggie plates at Merkato. That moment was just a two-second-graffiti-elevator-ride away. In front of me in line was a Japanese couple, grandparent age, clad in soft, pastel colored pullovers. They were selling what looked like every single vinyl they had ever collected over their seventy year life span. A giant part of me wanted to dig through them all, but I reminded myself of why I was there: bills stole all my money, and I was hungry. My turn came, and the music head from my morning's imagining materialized before me in the form of a tall white dude with brown, reasonably trimmed facial hair. It was obvious he had just gotten off break because a Jack in the Box wrapper was being smashed between his hand and the counter. While finishing chewing his last bite, he asked me how I was and motioned for me to come forward. With my buzz still high, I told him the absolute truth, "Excellent." He started going through my CDs, sorting them into piles I couldn't quite figure out. One case he opened had a burnt CD in it, he smirked and put it aside without saying anything. When I glanced down to see what it was, my reflex to grab it was so instant I had to laugh for a good ten seconds; five out of embarrassment and five out of amusement. There it was, an artifact of my once insane past. Creative since fo'evah, of course I had blessed this musical summary of my life-once-lived with my very own album art: pills, shrooms, and lightning bolts. GODDD, I thought to myself, I don't even want to think about what's on this CD because I know the first track is probably by ATB and it's probably called Ecstasy. My inner monologue shut up when homeboy hit me with, "Ok, so you've got $16 store credit or $12 cash." My buzz from earlier melted and wept a little. I took my golden CD and the equivalent of one and a half veggie plates and headed home.

///DRESSURREAL///

 

She asked me what I did with mine, did I take shots or mix it with juice or what? Mesmerized by the miscellaneous spectrum of groceries piling up, seeming to compress like crushed aluminum cans, I found myself confused about what exactly she was referring to. Finally I pointed to the medium sized glass bottle, "Oh, the apple cider vinegar? I mix it with my water in the mornings sometimes, but I mostly use it in my hair. It's also good for your skin." Weirded the fuck out she almost coughed, "Your hair???" "Yeh. It can be used in place of conditioner. I mix it with some water & spray it on, leave it for a bit, then rinse it out really well." She didn't seem too keen on the concept and continued to tell me how her hairdresser is making her use coconut oil as a conditioning mask. I think to myself how moisturizing that sounds, but whenever I tried to use coconut oil in the past, it just ended up with me looking like I hadn't washed my hair in a week: greasy as shit. She finished ringing me up, and I helped her pack the items into my psychedelic sundry reusable bags. Stepping out from behind the counter, I maneuvered my cart toward the exit ever so clumsily, and the torso of a person she saw me as evolved into a full bodied human. The chatty, kind, 40-something-year-old cashier shouted after me, "That dress is perfect!!!" And I smiled as I stepped back into the chilly, bright afternoon sun.