last night i dreamed i was staying as a guest on the flaming lips' compound. only instead of it being situated in oklahoma it was in the desert canyons of utah. the dream started with leon and i and the lips and all their friends and hangers-on standing at the precipice of a huge canyon, 1000 feet down, and looking across to the other side, at sunset. across the chasm the desert was on fire. every scrubby bunch of shrub, every cactus, anything that could light on fire, did. and it was spreading, quickly. wayne coyne seemed unperturbed. i asked him if we were really going to be safe or if we should start to pack up and move on. he shrugged and said that if the fire managed to leap across the chasm, he would be very surprised. he didn't seem that interested in talking to me. i got the distinct impression i was a nuisance somehow. i tried to just stay out of his way as a result.

everyone wandered back into the house after the sun went down. the fires across the way kept the light level even. i found my way into a deserted guestroom and lay on a single bed in the gloaming, a mexican-style blanket tucked under my feet. i looked out the window to watch to make sure the fire didn't spread across the canyon to the FLips' property. i was shocked when suddenly a large flame licked up at the window, from directly below me, and jumped down my throat. it didn't hurt. it felt, in fact, kind of nice, though my entire body was immediately dulled and soothed and made slow and incredibly warm. i tried to get up to tell everyone what had just happened, and that i wanted them to check the perimeter of the house to make sure no more rogue flames had appeared, but moving was incredibly difficult. i could feel the fire in my belly, hot and hard and firm, more of a coal than a flame. i managed to open the door to the room i was in and make my way down a long, dark hallway covered in pictures of the FLips from when they were touring. wayne coyne was crossing the hallway from one room to another when he spotted me stumbling along. alarmed, he walked towards me, saying, "hey, hey there, girly. are you alright now?" i was bent over at the waist and the heat from inside me was making sweat drip from my forehead. i had one hand on the wall as i moved, and i accidently knocked picture frames off the wall as he approached me, and i felt embarrassed.

"i think i'm sick," i said. "i swallowed fire." he put one arm around my waist and his other hand on my forehead. "you're burning up," he said, "come on, come with me." he started to lead me down the hallway to a different, more brightly lit room. his wife was there, watching television and chatting with a bunch of other people. i tried to tell them about how i'd see fire right outside the house but every time my mouth opened all that would come out was smoke. as wayne laid me down on his bed, i could see my skin was turning red from the inside out. little splotches of redness would bloom on a the backs of my hands and then spread quickly from one to the other, until i couldn't see normal flesh colour at all. "she has a fever," wayned told everyone, "a real high one. come on, now. let's help her, okay? i'm going to get some medication. michelle, you make her smile or turn the channel, whatever she wants."

michelle, his wife, was a good nurse. she pulled the blankets up around my chin and kept her cool, ringed hand on my forehead and told me funny stories. i could feel my feet turning red, then my legs. as the burning rushed up to my crotch i started to panic a little and writhed. "i'm going to burn from the inside out because i swallowed fire, michelle." she laughed and said, "you're delirious, hun'. just try to relax." the t.v. was flickering and people were smoking cigarettes and pot and i would have given anything for a margarita or a beer or even just water. but it wasn't happening, because i realized that if i opened my mouth, the fire had gotten so big inside me, it would jump out of my throat, desperate for more oxygen, and set everything in the FLips' home on fire. i did not want to be the woman that burned down their house. i kept my lips shut. i started to doze a little, feeling hotter and hotter and unable to keep my eyes open.

finally i was shaken awake by wayne. the room was empty then, and dark, the t.v. off. he was sitting next to me on the bed. he'd opened the curtains on the windows so i could see how the desert across the canyon was completely in flames now, like a great wall of fire, held back from the house only by the chasm. "look," he said. he turned so we were facing the same way, and then held my hand nice and tight in his. "everything is burning," he said quietly, and i felt in love with him suddenly. i wanted to talk to him and tell him this, but i was still afraid flames would come out of my mouth. "it's okay," he said, "we're safe." he leaned in and kissed my forehead. the bliss i felt at his cool lips, the feel of his beard and mustache pressed against my sweaty forehead, was too much, and i opened my mouth to say, "thank you, thank you," and my throat felt raw and dry and no sound came out and no flames did either. i was happy and feverish and turned my face up to meet his, and he put his lips on my cheek, then my mouth. we kissed and it felt hot yet chaste. when we parted, i looked down my legs and the bed to the window again and at the great desert fire. wayne stayed silent next to me. and that was when flames erupted from my toes, under the blanket, and burned through, casting an eerie, flickering light across the room. it didn't hurt. we both stared at my feet, but neither of us seemed particularly amazed or shocked. "i'm burning up," i said, softly, almost to myself.

"that's alright," wayne said, "when it's all over, you'll lay your fertile self down on the ground, and make rich soil, and everything will grow out of you. my sweet volcano."

"this is the worst fever i ever had," i said, watching the fire climb to my ankles and begin to consume my calves.

"the tylenol did nothing," he said, sadly, shaking his head.

as a small girl i was given a sterling silver spoon, miniature, with my three names engraved on its stem. an apparently solemn and priceless keepsake, so tiny and delicate, no one would ever actually use it to feed a baby. i found this spoon recently, while shifting through a steamer trunk that stunk of mildew and yellowed papers and stiffening teen magazines, the only smells remaining from my childhood. i turned it over and over in my hands and rubbed my fingers along the names that aren't mine anymore, then i spun it 'round - the scoop pointed at my solar plexis - and dug in.

it wasn't hard because my entire being has softened somehow in the last ten years: flesh to wet sponge, bone to goo, tendon to sodden strings. so i shouldn't have been surprised to find that it was a simple matter of pushing directly through to a lazily beating heart muscle. and i moved that tiny spoon so delicately and dug a little hole no bigger than the size of a newly-conceived fetus fist only slightly to the side of my apathetic aorta.

i say "apathetic aorta" because anyone who's heart is a normal heart would probably have died if they tried this same thing on themselves: taking a small metal spoon from the early 70's, inserting it into their heart, and removing tiny scoopfuls of pulsing muscle flesh, to deposit at the bottom of their cardboard steamer trunk. but my heart didn't care and well, it was just another day, to that lazy lumpful of lethargic tissue.

i didn't do this just to get all my angst out, either (for that i would have tried trepanation). i did this unthinkable thing because i thought maybe if there were a hole there, gasping and sputtering, there'd be room for you to come along and put your finger in and stop up the emptiness so nothing could continue to pour out of me. i wanted to put those little pieces of soft moist flesh on a plate or pillow to present them to you, a gift from on most high, so you could see truly how much i am willing to fork - or spoon - over.

but you didn't return my call when i left messages, dear. you didn't check your email for a month. you didn't sneak past my bedroom window to peer in through the gauze and check to see if i was being well-used. you didn't wonder, you didn't ponder. you went vegetarian and heart-meat was off the menu.

so i'll just wander around, okay, with this stupid fucking useless spoon hanging out of my chest hole. it catches on everything and hurts sometimes. it's cool at parties to pull off my shirt and show it around, how it gently bobs up and down with each beat. it will know before i do when i'm dead. but mostly everyone just ignores the protruding baby spoon, at best giving it an uncomfortable, cursory glance. all they want to see is my new bra and big tits. which is fine, you know, because the filigree names on the stem haven't been mine since i was just under three, or so. it means nothing. really.

i had a bad dream last night. my family and i were camping. or at least, staying in this kind of run-down old cabin. it was a 20 minute walk from a gorgeous sandy beach. there were tons of people there all the time - a real party atmosphere. everyone was loaded and acting goofy and children were running rampant and i started to feel overwhelmed because i could not go anywhere without there being tons of drunken people around - even in our own cabin. finally i succumbed to the partying and started to get loaded, too. this cute boy i know was sitting on the counter in the kitchen, just swinging his legs back and forth, and asked me to come over to talk to him, so i did. he asked me if i was hot for him and i drunkenly said yes, i was, and i had been for a long time, and was he hot for me? and he said yes, he was, and then gently nudged the toe of his boot into the crotch of my jeans while we were staring into each other's eyes. i thought about how leon had said that if i ever felt i wanted to explore feelings for other people i should but still felt guilty even though it felt good. a bunch of other drunk people burst into the kitchen at that point and i backed away from the cute boy. another guy, a big old bearded biker guy, came up and threw his arm around me and breathed beer fumes on me and said, "hey, christa! hey! how's it goin, you hot slut?" and the cute boy shouted at the top of his lungs, "SHE IS A SLUT! she just came on to me! i stuck my boot up her crotch!" and everyone started laughing and laughing and leon looked over from where he was playing with liam and looked hurt and confused and i ran out of there so fucking fast and still couldn't escape the crowds because the beach was thronging with millions of people and it was like this weird sunny-with-dark-gray-storm-clouds twilight and the sea was roiling and uninviting and i could see children being sucked out by the undertow but no one was paying any mind. and i tried to run but the sand was too deep and i kept hearing my knee clicking and finally i woke up.

mother's day mania

all the mamas with your hair spun round worry and your fingertips rubbed raw from loving!
all the mamas with your feet bound up in pinchy heels as you grace the plate of brunch and
accept all those flowers and wet kisses!
all the mamas with empty arms and swollen hearts!
all the mamas with frazzle-dazzle capabilities,
pulling off dinner parties on two hours sleep and sugary blue and pink birthday parties
where the guests throw grape pop on your carpet and scream into your oblivion headaches!
all the mamas with sore backs from trying eight different slings and wraps
sore knees from bending the wrong way cooing into a vomiting child's ear
sore minds from letting go of all self-absorption except for this one day a year!
i love you because i am you!
put up your weary feet and hang up your sleepy caps and let it all wash over you
just for today.
everything hinges on you and you should be permitted to crack up now and then and when it happens,
shit, girl,
i'm coming with you.