to L.A. – a birthday present…

to you, from me, for my birthday, which just became official 2 hours ago, so if you didn’t read it yesterday, yea! You’ll know today (and, is so often the case, I’m writing for the sake of the deliberative process that keeps me sane.)

Well, sane-ish.

You are, without question an “Angel of the Get Through” – however this somewhat older poem from the phenomenal slam poet Andrea Gibson seemed perfect.

LA, Angel of the Get Through, I humbly and deeply, thank you.

[Only 3 minutes and 22 seconds. The video, I mean. Once I start writing, it’s more difficult than stopping a train.²]

At the end of last year you asked me something along the line of what my goal was for the upcoming year? Essentially a New Year’s resolution-type question.

I do remember the look on your face waiting for me to answer. Your expression was all intense, yet patient focus. Your  eyes were as and clever as always, except this time there was an unmistakable little dare in there. The opposite of bullying or being unkind, because not only have you ever been those things to me, but I also know you would never be those things to anyone.

Either way, although I’m unsure of the question exactly, the look on your face and body language is unforgettable.

And I had been thinking about it.

“I need discipline,” I said. “With discipline I could be dangerous.”

“Agreed,” says you. “What would you do with that?”

“I really wanna — no, I’m gonna kick some ass.”

You laughed, and asked, “anyone/thing in particular?”

That, however, I was unsure of at the moment.

Since June 2015 – when I moved here – some of that had become more clear. But since I began seeing you, and most especially since my “ass kicking” statement, it has been becoming more clear.

It hit Wednesday like a bolt of enlightenment lightning, and I’m doing it, one way or another.

I’ll tell you Thursday.

(Funny thing, I wrote all this extra shit assuming that you already read the damn thing and will have no reason to come back — I certainly won’t ask or even hint that you do, yet I wrote it anyway.)

But hey, it’s my birthday, so I get some soserene latitude, I say.

Sincereliest Serene,






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