Hm. Where to start.

A lovely exhaustion. One bred of things getting accomplished, though they have been consuming my days. Tightening the reigns on the Brigade thing, catching up to it, answering a rediculous amount of emails and kind of loving it for what it is creating. No. For what it is creating, loving it dearly. There are so many brilliant and talented people out there, just looking for an outlet like this – a safe place where they can do what ever they want, and feel a part of somethng. It’s fun to be there for them, to feel the excitement, to hear of the amazing things they have planned, to help the ones who are unsure about themselves find the strength to be who they are.

It makes me wonder how things might have been different for me If I had found somethng like this when I was their age, but hell – I have it now. It started with the Porn Clown Posse, being introduced to it by Jess, and to all of the people that make this place shine so brightly, and encourage everyone to do the same. All of the sudden, I was me. The person, the rediculous ham, loving being able to create and delight – and disturb. As long as it evokes something. Being a part of an incredible group of people, and – most importantly – feeling as if I am a part of them. This is everything I have ever looked for.

Now, I have the honor of helping others do the same thing. This is beauty…

Lucinda. Her name needs to be written in italics. Someone I met entirely accidentally, when I was looking for a house mate the first time. Her plans were changed, but we remained in contact. She began writing the most incredibly beautiful things to me – things that overwhelmed, and made it difficult to write back in fear that I would fall short. Perfect things.

then, she’s here. She finally made it. In meeting her, everything was confirmed and increased. This is her city too. She belongs here. She needs it, and it needs her. Such a beautiful being, fun, delightful, knowing – she does her name justice. The Light. Such a tiny thing, but only physically. Her Self is enourmous, warm, and encompasing. It wraps me up in the way I can wrap my arms around her, almost hugging myself.

Perhaps that is a message she brings.              Hug yourself.

I can’t wait to introduce her to everyone.

So much more I would like to write about. Tantra, her words and her beauty and her innocent honesty and all that I haven’t said about her, Michelle, and all of the fresh pain that I thought I had walled and cried through, but believe I never will – nor do I ever want to – Ali, and how yesterday after such a long time we spoke, and we spoke of healing, and for a while we were back to what it was like before, and the way she is able to conjure up all I want to say but can’t to anyone but her – because I know she will always understand, even as young as she is.

FUCK. I’ll figure out that cut thing sooner or later, but not tonight.

 

Then, to reassure me that all is only a game that I play with the Universe – or more appropriately, a game it plays with me, trying unsuccesfully to make me hate it – within hours of an eviction notice – a notice that has been extended for days thanks to a rediculously cool landlord who loves Bean, but still needs to be a land lord and protect himself; I get a house mate. A gift for my perseverance? A gift because I wouldn’t deny my acceptance that all that is happening these days is a lesson? I don’t know. Sure – of course – I’ve felt self pity and sheer terror, the knowledge that without any doubt that these past few months have been the absolute worst time in my life, but hell – if it weren’t for the slightest glimmer of hope – if it weren’t for dreams – then I would have left long ago.

If it were not for Bean, I have no doubt that I would have. I was so ready, but see – she and I made a pact. Neither of us would die before the other. If I left, then I would need to be certain that she did as well, and well, that just ain’t gonna happen. EVER.

So life, however precarious,

is good.

 

And on top of all that, my new house mate is such a nice thing to look at….

 

exhume

I don’t know how to process this. Part is thrilled for her, wishing her the best. that’s what I should feel, that’s what she deserves, that’s what I do feel, and I will always be there for her, unwaveringly.

but then, the old wound has been opened again, and in her news the forever sorrow brought back fresh and just as potent in it’s yearning, and all I want to do is hold her in my arms again and cry for days like we did before and have each other in the loss…

no. She can’t be here for that now, she has her own things she needs to take care of.

Michelle is pregnant, and going to have her first child.

she said it doesn’t feel as vibrant inside of her as Blue did…

Thursday. Almost an hour into it. Eleven hours left.

This is where it gets exciting, like running on empty, the car cutting out, knowing if you can just make it a little bit further, and everything works in your favor, you will get where you need to go and be able to breathe a bit easier as you pull into the gas station, looking ahead to whatever else is out there that gets the blood coursing through your veins, making you realize how alive you are – and knowing that everything will always work out. It has to, and it always has. Hell – I’m still here, aren’t I?

Always an adventure.

A good day, working on the chandeliers, these beautiful pieces of art that now litter my apartment in pieces, depending on me to give them a new life so they can shine again, changing obsolete light sockets for current ones and replacing the old and brittle wiring. It must be more – much more – than 20 years than they were last appreciated in all their glory, as I have never seen bulb sockets such as these. Each one different in the changes I need to make in order for it to come to life again, cutting and grinding metal, so deliciously careful with the gorgeous glass that whispers of a time of Speakeasys, flappers, prohibition, wishing I could see all that went on underneath them, allowing a mind that has only movie references to wander, and think grand things…

Emails – to potential house mates, explaining and pleading, to Europe and UK, answering, encouraging, loving and giving confidence where needed, having an absolute blast with little bits on a certain tribe, hoping they are entertaining…

  calls, we’re on for this evening, she says. So happy to be able to see her again, to be able to call her a friend. Some of the others seem to have gone shortly after they vowed to stay… She needs to do other things later, so it will only be short, but simply being around her is enough to please me. There is something about her – a spirit and heart with such an immense strength, yet laced with the honesty of the vulnerable, and being both simultaneously. The knowledge and acceptance of incredible pain, and the knowing that though it is in her, she doesn’t need to let it be her. We meet in this knowing.

As I walk out the door to meet her, there is something that grows inside of me, but has nothng to do with her. I thnk of my current situation, and what I can do about it. There is a strength that builds quickly inside of me, something that hasn’t been felt for a long, long time to this degree. I can feel it surrounding me, enveloping me, and apparently, so can everyone I pass. They all look up. They all feel something, but I can tell that they aren’t sure what by their faces – but they know that there is something. With all the shit that is happening in my life, I finally feel that there is nothing that can take me down, and make me surrender. I breathe.

We eat dinner, crepes at Frjitz, talking little, touching uncontrollaby, finish, and I say we need to leave to find a random wall to slam her up against…

Then. Walking on our way to the BART station, we go to the main branch ot the Library – somethng she said earlier that she would give me a tour of, but i didn’t think it would be tonight. Honestly, I didn’t think it would ever happen, as we all say things that we would love to do together that never happen – but then, we were there. I didn’t realize it until only a few feet away.

Entering the doors – I can still smell it in my heart – the distinct scent of books, a strange combination of musty and pulp, which i have only smelled in breathing gloriously close to a new book – but here, thousands of them, new and old, and the air was perfumed with a million sifferent stories, a million different hearts exposed. She gave me a gloriously slow tour, and I absorebed everything – the sights, the books, looking everywhere and taking it in – and her words, only saying things of importance, only saying things of beauty, and letting me wrap myself around the silence and the soundless words in-between…

 

Okay, I’m exhausted. There is much more I would like to say, but so much with her requires nothing less than beautiful poetry, and I don;t have that right now. I want to sleep. I could hardly write what  I did.

It was a good day.

Good night.

 

“Eat love for breakfast
And spit out the seeds
While dancing
In a circle”

       ~ Tantra~

 

 

 

 

and one day I may tell you about her.

 

in awe at the beauty of three more Art Deco lamps
just delivered to me
loving that I get to update the wiring
and let them shine again
feeling ultra hip and silly as
I use my sun glasses for eye protection for want of anything better as I carefully grind the metal
and seeing the humor
in now having over $7500.00 of beautiful, fragile art in my apartment

and $1.35 in my pocket.