In San Francisco. Lots of hills and homos. Such an expansive feeling place. a lot of bigness here. big hills and mountains and oceans and bays everywhere. of course like everything this causes me great anxiety. But I say nothing to the Princess. Just keep quiet and try to breathe. What can I even say or do or think about it myself, let alone to anyone else. not at home anywhere in the world. just always feel as if I'm not at home anywhere. I think that's why I'm traveling so much lately. Looking for something... wonder if I will ever feel at home anywhere in the world. or will I always feel as though I am a visitor, an estrangeiro...

Huntington hotel spa. Aromatherapy massages. Floating in space. Steam sauna Jacuzzi sitting by the pool drinking cucumber and lemon water, ginger tea, fruit plate with honey yogurt dressing, sliced avocado and olive oil. A little Italian bread please. later in the night the San Francisco symphony. Evening of Bach and Handel orchestral works. Water music of course. four glasses of pinot noir. Crazy cab drivers here. roller coasters. They're fucking insane. I don't spend a minute without dramamine in my body here. with all the hills and mad drivers. Chilly and windy man, someone once said the coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco. Steinbeck I am told. Later that night, an intoxicated early morning at a dennys for onion rings and a shake and a couple of sprites.

Tossing and turning all night. my mind going mad from the situation with Cleopatra and the most recent report that NIC dropped in the charts a bit. Instead of rising, it fell this week. I am fully aware during my entire night of sleep that I am slightly awake but trying to sleep. A most uncomfortable predicament. Every hour or so I lean up in bed to peer at the clock. I tell myself that I must get up to write but I need to see what time it is... I look at the digital clock on the nightstand next to me, but I cannot read it. it says something like XU:%#. Strange I think. I must wait for the real time to come back. then I can get up and start to write some of these mad thoughts out of me.... an hour later it seems and I lean up again to look at the clock. Again it reads something like UV:DD. I rub my eyes. no luck. It will never go back to real time. I am lost I think and lay back down to suffer in the crazy maddening thoughts.

How can I be in a conflict with Cleopatra? how do you go from mad passionate undying love and romance to so much conflict that you can barely speak and need attorneys between the two of you to communicate? How does this happen? what can I do but hold a space for reconciliation and continue to uphold what I believe in and at the same time continue to forgive?

Current spin: badly drawn boy, one plus one; don't hear it yet. interesting but no cigar. Benjamin Biolay. FINALLY. O.k. I found another great French artist. Not an easy thing to do actually. Don't know who he is. but its good stuff.