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How can I live in a trough and graben indent between the Pacific and Continental plates so low the sea once through here crashed to shore, the valley of little shells. Uh, it's so hot it takes all effort to not melt, out for dinner at 9 pm and `107 degrees, misty humidity in the streetlights, looks like fog, and wind from the south full of damp air, thunderstorms somewhere. 45% humidity, which at 107 degrees at 9 o clock at night is...being shut in a bathroom with a hot shower going, full steam. Hard to breathe. Reggae is the answer and smooth dancing with tights on, looking into the mirror in my guest bedroom. I think a giant stepped here in between.

The dogs pretty much own my master bedroom now, I haven't slept on my bed for months. Bare mattress and Brindle is on it. He's the new mister of this place. It's his bed. I only go in there for clothes. He wears the gangster chain. Neither Shasta or he will go outside to pee or eat because of the heat. They subsist on dog treats. I sleep on the wicker couch. It started with Christmas ornaments. I have a star quilt and a panda bear. I'm going to my friend Gayle Brandeis' wedding tomorrow in Riverside and a baby shower also there for another friend in the evening, Amy Floyd from my Inlandia Writers workshop. She's having a little boy next month. Tarah is on a dime moving out, engaged, wedding's bumped up, and I'm paying for flowers.

Rosy sunset yesterday. I sat on the rocks above Box Springs in Riverside as the sun began to go down. For a long time. On the edge of wilderness, limned by the merge of freeways. With a safe and nurturing friend. We shared a power spot, inhabited by Cahuilla Indians, until it was more than completely dark. At the base of the sacred mountains, a place I've learned to hike and love when I'm making my rounds from the desert to the I.E., still doing it for now, more than 2 1/2 years and no sign of the pilgrimage letting up. I realize that the best thing for me to do is sit, wherever I am. So yesterday, in evening air that was beautifully cool, I sat on the rocks at Box Springs until I felt the scenery circling around me. Like red-tailed hawks above the Asistencia and Mary Jane Cemetery on the other side of the ridge.

Mike Cluff a poet/teacher friend offered to help me put together Slouching Towards Mt. Rubidoux Manor. As did another of my students. April Durham, co-editing Phantom Seed issue 3 with me. Saw Reggie Woollery, my friend and also the UCR-CA Museum of Photography artistic director at Back to the Grind. And Frey, from my writer's workshop. I'm doing a poetry workshop for Ladyfest on August 2nd. I'm scoring the submissions for Sun Runner magazine writers issue; that's a desert magazine out of 29 Palms. My friend Wendy will meet me at Gayle's wedding, and my friend Michael will go with me. Chrystine my drum priestess held a drum circle in Idyllwild today and then she called me. Kath Abela & Deb Kolodji invited me to a poetry workshop. Very sweet friends. Keeping me knitted in the loop. I'm a kite without a string. Tarah is moving out next week. I am in the big house alone. Me and the A/C.

A friend calls to tell me that there are only two places hotter than where I am tonight: Thermal, California, which is only a few miles down the road from me, and Death Valley.