Remember Blogs

I know there's no point dusting off the old blog just because Meta is in a downward spiral and anyway I believe Google owns Blogger. Beyond the overlord is another overlord. Remember blog rolls? Sometimes I wonder what Melania is thinking about, while squirming in the church pew, while glaring out from under her plague doctor hat, taking stock of the inscrutable country she landed in. Two days down, 1,458 to go. The first time I heard Trump on the radio, being taken seriously, I had to run to the dial to keep from peeing myself. He sounded like menace, and he offered menace, and he delivered menace. I know that voice. I started planting trees. They are taller than me now.

This was on my list of places to go before leaving Colorado

and I was putting it off.




























This is Bowman the Showman.
He lived near me growing up.
I would see him at competitions, a strong and wild skater.
It occured to me, but only like two weeks ago,
that my first introduction to boys was in this context,
in tights and rhinestones, muscles flying around glittering.





He died a couple months ago
alone in a hotel room.





They have this Warhol of Dorothy Hamill there.

Here's my coach's daughter and Robert Wagonhoffer,

a beautiful golden haired boy who brought disco to the rink,

played it loud and did his amazing moves and got in trouble.

The first to land a quad in practice.

Later his partner died of AIDS and then so did he.

This is Janet Lynn. I used to have a color copy of this publicity photo.

I had it completely memorized. I didn't like her skating but I saw my opposite in her,

blond, round and that kind of smile.








things other people want for you












loving nicely made boots, the smell of the sponge material on the tongue

that kept the leather from digging into your shin, but it did anyway, along

the edges. And, the smell of moleskin, spandex, refrigeration.







And then this, Scott Hamilton's unitard on the way out the door.
I wished I hadn't seen it all truncated and itchy looking.

This is a house my family lived in, for a year. It was built in 1723. It had a laundry shoot you could jump down, from the top floor to the basement. Mice and a feral cat lived in the walls.
I fell out of a willow tree in the back on September 30, 1981 at 7:30pm. I was wearing my favorite clothes. They were cut off me at the hospital. I spent a month in traction and another six weeks in the bottom left room of this house.

ENGLISH MOVIES
MAKE ME WONDER
ABOUT ALL THE
SOCIAL CUES
I NEVER
PICK UP
ON

Happy Mother's Day Mom, Pam & Marina!!!! xoxoxo from the desert, Noel

Easter,
I want it to be associated only with graphics,
the graphics of certain chicks on certain ponds.
Or, Ukranian women
wax painting patterns of helping hands on eggs
helping paws, soft goose feet
no savior and no sunday.

w h a t s u p b l o g