1.I wanted radical Glamourwith a capital Gwe’ve stayed in the house so long we now seem unglamorousand please let me extend this actof reckless generosityand kidnap youto North Beachand stuff your face with a hundred dollars’ worthof deep-friedCantonesesalt-and-pepper crabno liketwo hundred bucks’ worthwe’ll even get the champagneand forty oystersit’s a beautiful lifeoh oh oh ohI just want to be here beside youhave been beside youhave always been by your sideNorth Beach was not new to usI remember in 2006when I was mopping jizzat the Lusty Ladyand how after that horrible shift one night I met youat the poetry readingat City Lights Bookswe found a bag of cocaine on the floor(and we thought poets only drank)we huffed that bag downin like three secondsand went racing through the storeand snuck into where we were certainly not supposed to beand you almost stolethe entire box labeled“Ferlinghetti: archive of unpublished journals—1968-1982″and I said“But Marcos, this is deplorably wrong?”And weCOULDN’TSTOPLAUGHINGafter you said“But, like, no one’s even reading it!”2.The stop-start freeze-framekaleidoscopic densityof many lives packed into oneI have tothink of time in different wayslest it consumes mebut alsothe line betweenthe past and the presentI have altogether abandonedkeeping score ofit’s Godlikethe poetic practiceof shrinking twenty yearsinto a series of daysMonday: I was bornTuesday: I stepped off BART and into the San Francisco air the first timeWednesday: the day I asked you to marry me and you refusedThursday: the day you never woke up—I called and calledFriday: I became immortal because I wanted to remember forever3.Big Sur: we thought if we escaped for a daythings would feel betterbut the winding highway gave us car sicknessand the epic cliffs reminded meI’m acutely afraid of heightsand Highway 5 is sinking.In undergradat California State East Baymy geography teacher said“Well by definition anything by the water is eroding—the whole thing will fall into the ocean in a hundred years”I am drawn to anything that has finalitymy own Dionysian caterwaulingnow sounded like death bellsI coexisted with so longthey now seemed like the humming of a car enginenavigating this highway—I’m reading the mapthe driver is a handsome porn directorescaping a marriageand I was cross at the world’cause no one had asked to marry metwo harmonious oppositesI remember stoppingbecause the road got so violently curvyI had to pukewe stopped and climbed to the footof a sort of bluff called “Jigsaw Junction”before deciding to go homeif California is falling into the oceana couple of incheseach hundred yearsthen certainly we had enough timeto go homeand die peacefully