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Diary of a Californicator
THE LIFE AND TIMES OF KIMBERLY NICHOLS


NOVEMBER 2003
"In the most sinful place in the world, I find my salvation. I meet my soul sister Caitlin for the first time ever. It is love at first sight and we partake on a two-day whirlwind in New Orleans. She kicks ass and giggles simultaneously. She wears glitter and fuschia streaks in her hair."

AUGUST 2003
"And then it happens. Dead. Everything. It is surprisingly zen. I discover I need nothing."

FEBRUARY 2003
"I can't stand the politics of living in America so I commit to French lessons so that I can become fluent within four years and get the hell out of this consumerist hell that I dwell in. I start to paint sundowns seen from Brandon's backyard. I draw strange thin girls in black comic book poses that don't speak English."

DECEMBER 2002
"There are beautiful men everywhere. One in particular is my version of a wet dream. He sidles up slowly, whips and chains behind his back, counter-attack plans in his pocket and a major case of early geek anxiety. He scientifically explains his eager predisposition towards girls with bodies half as tall as their brains, slim hips and tiny nipples. Audrey Hepburn-esque."

SEPTEMBER 2002
"My work feels done here. My patchwork quilt is complete. The pyre is ablaze on the other side of my gaze. I open the door and walk right fucking through it."

AUGUST 2002
"I spend the night in San Diego dancing my ass off with a multitude of friends on a plush, white carpet. A girl I don't know calls me an amoeba when she watches me dance. A boy I don't know thanks me for dancing the way that I do. A couple I don't know throw approving glances at me as the strobe lights flicker and the male half of the duo sends me an astral hand on my head that delivers volts of hot electricity down from my crown to my toes and I feel fueled up for one more year among this humanity."

JUNE 2002
"I am breathing underneath Sage, a hybrid dancer in white Tontonian gear, missing nothing but feathers. Her hair smells like strawberry shampoo, her alabaster skirt is taut around strong thighs. I would risk taking her home to mother. I peek beneath her curtain of hair at my lover and he looks like he has lost me."

MAY 2002
"No I am not Buddhist, nor Catholic, nor ghost. I am just trying to spin my wheels here with the rest of you men. I am trying to make amends. I am taking grammar lessons in an old world."

APRIL 2002
"My friend Brandon comes over for creative night. We light joints, sandalwood candles and spread paint all over my home. We listen to Squirrel Nut Zippers and Moby and open our veins. We spill our blood onto canvas. His comes out in bright canary colored yellow joy bubbles while mine comes out in miniature scaled feathers over a deep and tumultuous Irish ocean. The spirit guides are with me as the Ides of March stride in deep poesy fashion out to a crystal Banshee tended water oblivion, neglected of solid guarantee, yet still I dance."

MARCH 2002
"February is luscious and indecisive. It is full of the color red and embers. I find myself ripe with one million emotions and nothing. I feel growing pains in my mind. It is a month of eating figs and livers in a cavern of desire where all of my friends turn into mirrors. The underground wolf with the handful of currants comes asking for a little Valentine's Day parade. My friend P tells me that everything I do is funneled through a love tunnel and I feel on fire."

FEBRUARY 2002
"Sand is blowing over sand. The sky is new, softly shifting, breezes whip around in oblivion. The plateau in the valley is frigid. The sun sets pliant, soft, and bourbon red. I live my life in a giant sienna garden."

JANUARY 2002
"We should all laugh and cry every so often down to that place where the belly aches. Down to that place in the soul where the parasite squeezes right out." Kimberly Nichols ushers in the new year and it sounds like a prayer.

NOVEMBER 2001
"Nick Drake serenades lovers inflated on wine finally rolling into bed half in and out of boxer shorts and mesh pantyhose. Anger dances with forgiveness. Pain seeks solace in joy. Lust and love co-mingle, hold hands and fuck till dawn. Apparitions form within dust motes. The subconscious takes off his clothes. Souls pass from here to there. And the true nature of things sits sulking in corners only glimpsed by isolated visitors in those hours pre-dawn."

OCTOBER 2001
"The day moves on, I swim in a sea of buzzed arousal and I watch the dancer give my lover a lap dance. When it is my turn, the dancer throws her hair around my face and shields us from view of the bouncers. She looks at me from within the tunnel of her locks and kisses me deeply. I kiss her back and dive into the day's fire."

SEPTEMBER 2001
"I drove cross country this Summer, bringing my lover out to live with me. We went from the East Coast to the South to California and ran ahead of a tropical storm for most of the time. I began to feel the truth behind manifest destiny. Behind making crucial changes in your life and following through."

JUNE 2001
"It's times like these that make me want to boycott life and run away to Mexico, sit among the bordello pink buildings and bridges with butterflies, tequila shot in hand, huarachis by the wayside, dirty pigeon colored linen spaghetti straps dropping from my shoulder, Tao of Pooh in hand and just BREATHE."

MAY 2001
"Days go up and down in California between defeat and hope. Oranges rot in Anaheim and cars wrap themselves around trees on drunken Easter Sundays in the desert. Fear, spontaneity, apathy and potential pepper the fault lines, threatening to quake.




 
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