Los Angeles Times, 1995


Pulses of electric blue light sporadically burst up and down Miracle Mile, Godzilla comes to mind. This time, he wakes up and says something, must’ve been a big one. We get the newspaper, but it doesn’t get us. Jade plants and Easter lilies, he looks beat up, but that’s his look. Butterfly Meadow and The Korean Wave yet to come. He sifts flour and packs brown sugar, but his smile and laugh make everything rise. We watch Lexx on the Sci Fi Channel. Buildings defy progress, tires strangle our city, the masses climb golden pyramids, but we’re on team kitten. In our little tree house the sun runs the show, and when it goes down, the candles take over. He asks, “What time do you guys get up?” and we both blush. Squirrels giggle, owls hoot, birds bathe, and lizards scoot. The hospice in Elysian Park grins like a jack-o’-lantern in the dark, with gongs and incense we wait for news from those pink rooms.

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