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Sweet Lucille

In 100, by Amy on November 24, 2018 at 11:38 pm

He had every intention of roasting Lucille for the Clinton-Springs PTA summer bbq. Before he even ventured to the pig farm, he was already collecting recipes and preemptively bragging “oh have I got a treat for you come summertime.. no I can’t say.. just wait and see.” Gerald took great pride in his parties.

Then Lucille achieved something even teachers at Clinton-Springs School for Autistic Youth struggled with. Lucille soothed Lilly. Became her joy. Made her laugh.

So now Gerald was driving Lucille to the vet for shots and brainstorming new showstoppers for the Summer BBQ. “Perhaps a roasted lamb?”

Food Truck Voyeur

In 100, by Amy on November 24, 2018 at 11:06 pm

From where he stood, he could see only a portion of her slender face. Today she looked content, radiant, focused. Occasionally her hand would come up and brush her loose hair aside. She would put her glasses on. Or take them off. And sometimes she would chat to someone out of his view and smile gaily. At 11:45am she would generally leave the office building, for lunch. That was always the best part of his day. He would hide his greasy apron and wink her a shy smile as she strode by, longing one day soon she’d crave Korean burritos.


In 100, by Amy on November 24, 2018 at 8:38 pm

It’s possible to be sad and appreciate beauty at the same time. Sometimes the measure of sadness present makes the beauty seep in all the more, like a slow, sweet syrup. It’s unintuitive. You might be out in the rain, lamenting, and stain memory of that soft rain on your soul forever.

I watched my grandfather pass away with 8 of his children around his bedside, whispering their goodbyes, washing his body with rose water. It’s locked in my bones with gratitude — heartache and warmth.

Sadness is not always something to fear.

Sorrowful eyes reflect a lake of beauty.

Caught in the act

In 100, by Amy on November 17, 2018 at 11:14 pm

Weathered, strained red eyes stare back.
“You. You’re screwing this up.”

Grooved wrinkles in a bloodless face.
“Why can’t you get it right. You’re such a screwup.”

Receding hairline. Desperate isolation.
“Forget it. You’re hopeless. I’m done with you.”

He shuts off the facet and turns away from the mirror.
Unexpectedly, a stall pops open.
Jason heads to the sink.

“Bill. How you doing man?”

“Hey Jason – all good. Didn’t realize you were in here.”

“Ha – funny story, I have a phobia about my shoes being recognized so I lift my feet.
…I heard you. Let’s talk Bill.”


In 100, by Amy on November 17, 2018 at 10:23 pm

Angels of Paradise
In the air and of the earth

Flying from the flames
Disappearing in the smoke
Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

Drifting for final views of California
Find places to rest
Home in the mountains.
Home in the cities.
Home in the people.

Refuges of Paradise
Camped in Walmart parking lots

Unsung resilience
Holding close for warmth
Whilst screaming night terrors
Dreaming of burning lungs, fading comforts

Ours to care for
Donate for Thanksgiving
Donate for Christmas
Donate for New Years

It’s impossible to comprehend the loss.
Together, we mourn.
We sit with the grief.
We love.

Just Sex

In 100, by Amy on November 17, 2018 at 9:44 pm

“I don’t love you” she reflected aloud as she settled down from their sweaty romp in the sack.

“What?” He gruffed, collapsing over.

“What I have for you is uncontrolled lust. Hungry lust”

“Oh. Is that ok?”

“Yea. What I want from you is exactly what you give me.”

She playfully nibbled his ear, messaged his doughy flesh in her fingers and licked the salt off his neck.

“I feel so used,” he mockingly scolded, “you only want me for this hot hot bod.”

“Uh-huh exactly what I just said.”

Lust. Care- without love. Excellent starter for brittle, nutty flings.

Escape to Tahoe

In 100, by Amy on November 17, 2018 at 9:41 pm

Friday night
A rented white Prius
Air on re-circulation
Pink lady kombucha
Escape is the name of the game.

Zooming on the highway
Towards a dream to breath again
A credit card and means
Opted in because I had the option

3 hours later, nonstop
Starlight and light air
Rich blackness returns to the sky
Devoured an egg salad sandwich to celebrate
Kept driving.

Nirvana’s Lithium on the radio
Blasted it loud
“Yeaaaa! Yeaaahhhhh! Yeaahhhh!”

This LA girl and her car has made it!

Put pedal to the metal
And rolled down all the windows.

Neighborhood Jimmy

In 100, by Amy on November 13, 2018 at 9:23 pm

Jimmy was on a mission.

“Please sir. This letter needs to arrive by noon. My legs are broken. Take it! Take it!”

He felt terrible leaving the poor cyclist on the sidewalk, but it was 11:38am and Divan St. where the letter needed to be was at least 19 mins away– by brisk walking standards.

This was his moment — to serve the public. To test his navigation skills. To do the things only highly skilled professionals can do.

He didn’t know the content of the letter or the urgency. But, he knew how to walk like a motherfuckin’ postman.

Disfunction with your pie?

In 100, by Amy on November 13, 2018 at 9:06 pm

Mission Pie feels like grandma’s house — yellow wallpaper and warm wooden tables; today’s fresh pies chalked on the wall.

Emily dug into tart rhubarb pie. He sat across the table and shuffled uncomfortably.

“I’m getting married in 2 weeks.
I was worried you’d find out on Facebook if your aunt posts about it, so I’m telling you.”

…Her arch-enemy?

…The mistress who stole dad away, all those years ago?

Emily thought about throwing the glass of milk in his face!

She held back. Age.

“Thanks for telling me. I would have been mad if I found out on Facebook.”


In 100, by Amy on November 12, 2018 at 11:19 pm

There’s no need to ask permission.
Take direction from your heart.
Follow the woman inside of you that knows which way.

Great things are done with love.
True love. Real love.
Does your spirit contract or expand?
That’s how you know.

There’s no need to fear.
Because you are brave.
Hold your breath, unpack your courage.

Listen for the wild women who howl for you.
Gather with wolves.
Bite those who mean you harm
Predators abound. Fuck them- you have teeth.

There is no need to hesitate.
Especially when you know.

A burning world needs people to come alive.

A day late, we’ll let it skate

In 100, by Amy on November 11, 2018 at 12:59 am

Happy drunk

Farts like a skunk

Angry bee

Drinks sweet tea

Wiggle your toes

Forget all your lows

Care for your lover

Make sure he has covers

Bake the pie

Your neighbors say ‘hi’

Invite them for coffee

Pecan, fig, toffee

Always share

It shows that you care

Name a dog Goose

He’ll be fast and loose

Don’t always make sense

It puts up a fence

Young hearts are wild

Adventures are piled

It’s okay to be sad

Your heart might need lads

Connecting is God

Get out of your bod

Rhymes are fun

And now I’m done



Since we’ve no place to go

In 100, by Amy on November 11, 2018 at 12:32 am

The fires are raging in Northern California and familiar smoky skies have returned to San Francisco. Autumn now brings a sepia look to the city, but I’ll post my pictures to Instagram #nofilter. There’s ash in the air, seasonal white masks, and you just know the holidays are around the corner! 

We doubled down on tasking our lungs and blazed up all afternoon. Adding an indiga feel to round things out.

San Francisco decides to double down too, coloring skies with Diwali fireworks. Purple haze.

I walk around in elephant pants, braless, uncombed hair, socks and slippers because, fuck it.


In 100, by Amy on November 8, 2018 at 10:41 pm

Tonight I sat on my roof and sang soft melodies while looking out over San Francisco. From my little roof, all was so quiet and sacred. You could barely see the bridge because the fog came in and things are darker and the air is heavier since daylight savings. I know a Thursday night on the ground means the streets are moving with people lined up for pizza and jazz playing at the salon down the street and your North Beach locals at Cafe Trieste chatting with the baristas. But here I am alone and everything is delicate and peaceful.  


In 100, by Amy on November 7, 2018 at 8:41 pm

I really miss summer vacation. I don’t think I understood the privilege as a kid. Going to the beach, spending all day reading books and learning math, knowing that you had 3 whole months of unsupervised time to pick you toes and nap and walk around the kitchen in your underwear eating cereal at 4pm, etc. I still walk around the kitchen in my underwear, but it’s not the same when I know there’s a time limit. Come Monday, I have to put my pants back on along with an aire of respectability and head into the office. Why? Why?

Real life House of Cards

In 100, by Amy on November 6, 2018 at 9:41 pm

I have a TV addiction. There I said it! Someone for God’s sake, take my Netflix password away from me! I’d rather write, or go for a run, or read, or sit in silence.

Instead I’ve been watching House of Cards, and living in double dystopian worlds. Does Trump watch House of Cards? Is this where he gets his ideas and policies? Because if I were Trump, I’d take my gaslighting, strongman, treasonous, sociopathic and war-mongering cues from the Underwoods. Most definitely. My god! This is probably where he learned about the Constitution.

By the way, did everyone vote today?

Craigslist Job

In 100, by Amy on November 5, 2018 at 11:20 pm

“What’s the plan?”

“Pull up. Smash the wedding cake. Drive off.”

“Why… are we doing this?”

“She’s paying us. I don’t know why. I don’t care. We need the money.”

“It’s bizarre.”

“Some wacky bride wants us to destroy her wedding… willing to pay us a grand… I’m not gonna talk her out of it.”

“We’re sure this isn’t some shady business? We’re not gonna get beat up by the groom, or everyone?”

“We’re meeting her at noon the day before and she’s giving us $250. The rest we’re getting after. And eh… keep the car running.”

“Alright. Alright, cool.”

Tully and the troll

In 100, by Amy on November 4, 2018 at 11:10 pm

The troll’s lazy eye rolled backwards and twitched like a pleasure reflex. His beard was a junkyard of twigs, dead leaves and highlighter yellow fungus. When he scratched it, flakes of slime mold choked the air.

Tully Blue pulled the arrow taunt at her vile target.

“I’ll have your head for what you’ve done,” she muttered. “Their bones will rest — above this filthy place.”

He stared blankly. Then quietly, like a brook emerging from stone, he begin to chortle, wet laughter gurgling, growing, until glee jerked violently through his stump of a body and maniacal laughter flushed the cave.  

Ode to the obsessed

In 100, by Amy on November 3, 2018 at 11:06 pm

Kiwami Japan — Youtube sensation. Your delicate hands alchemize kitchen knives out of potatoes, jello, pasta, ice, aluminum foil, everyday underwear, smoke!

Are you an everyday salaryman in Tokyo, winding down from the day with your eccentric hobby?

Could you be the guy working at 7/11 in Shinjuku?

With 1.5 million subscribers and over 200 million views, you probably don’t have another job. You probably daydream all day about taking it to the next level.

Can you make a knife out of toenails? Flowers? Hair?

What’s next? What can possibly be next after crafting a knife out of smoke?


Hurricane, Utah

In 100, by Amy on November 2, 2018 at 1:30 pm

Man. Woman. Naked.


Pitch black sky. Speckled sky.

An empty desert. Refreshingly lonesome.

Nearby, a cave with petroglyphs.



“We need more wood.”

Headlamps on and iphones out.

0.25 mile radius expedition commences.

One violently shakes the shrubs, pulling off dead limbs.

The other swigs Jim Beam and squints out at the horizon.

They stagger on, until,

“Enough to freshen the fire.”


Absurdist dancing and howling.

Unknown amount of time passes.

A drunken finale.


“I DARE you to add one more log to the fire. Your log.”  


— one carefully squats above fire.


Oh instigating Jim!




Raisin tried…

In 100, by Amy on November 1, 2018 at 11:24 pm

Theo is stuck outside in the rain, bootless, holding a bowl of dog food. Her ratty white t-shirt clings to her legs quivering in the chilled morning air. Until a second ago, she was sleepwalking– now she’s bleary eyed, conscious and locked out. Raisin, Theo’s dachshund, anxiously yelps inside the apartment. He tried unsuccessfully to nip, pull at Theo’s oversized pjs, and even lunge himself to awaken her using blunt force. A little rocket dog shooting across the room, launching from the couch — steadying his pointed nose. Fierce heart and loyal lover. She persisted. The heavy door shut quickly.