Nail polish makes me gay.

mom to brother in law, “easter” dinner: “He’s wearing nail polish – I’m worried that he’s gay.”

It’s taking so much not to rip her to shreds.

Besides – it’s such a beautiful blue, and goes so well with my bluefurrycoat.

mom to me on our way to dinner, as I pull the coat out of the car: “Are you *sure* you don’t want to leave that here?” Me: “Now I am.”

And now, off to be sewingslave and do what I can to help create some stilt leggings with a beautiful new friend – another thing that happens perfectly. I want to have clothes created for characters I am thinking of, and happen to find someone that knows how to invoke the magic that I want.

Strange, how things happen these days…

blahblahblah I’m done and out.


I drink too much.



Yeah. I think that is the best way to begin this. That way I won’t expect to much from myself and in turn might get more for lack of trying. That way I set imaginary boundaries for myself, and perhaps evoke the subconcious lust to surpass them.

My hair is now a deep purple. Fin, something I haven’t done for a while. A long while.
The color is different from what I remember – I remember it much darker, almost black, and I’m tempted to put some black in it, leaving a few streaks purple. Maybe.

Fuck. I;m talking about hair color. What an idiot.

For the first time I had the assistance of someone else in dying my hair, a delicious woman who catered to my whim – not a bad way to first meet a person…


Bob is back for the weekend, so I’m now sleeping in the main bedroom on a huge four post bed surrounded by crimson walls and furnitue of rich woods. An authentig Diane Arbus a couple feet away from me, as well as a number of other beautiful photographs, but none like this…


I know I should sleep. I want to – but I also want to write. I want to say everything, scream at the top of my lungs how wonderful life is even in the midst of all its challenges.
No. How wonderful this life is *because* of all its challenges. I find myself becomming the person that I have always dreamed of being, not only in the direction my life is going but in the human I am turning into. It’s all working together, it seems. In working through something that I had serious doubts that I could willingl survive, the world opened up for me. It acts is ways we at times don’t understand, but hell, when i open my eyes and see, there is a tribe based out of necessity that is lettong people ask, and as a result, get answers; I have escaped the secrets inside that I didn’t realize I was becomming; I have lost a job that wasn’t me as a result of a benefit that showed me what I was capable of, and am now using the knowledge from both to do everything I have dreamed of; I lost my home, and found such an overwhelming love in people that care that at times it makes me actually cry – and then laugh with a heart that is lighter than I have felt beyond memory…


Such a mundane writing, lacking the lustre I want to share, but still with value like unpolished silver…


I’ve rambled on hoping that this might become, but it’s only ended up words that lack in all whiy want to caress you with – so perhaps the last ones should be gooodnight, and make good dreams.

…sleep. I can hardly keep my eyes open…

~ C


The bats are in the belfry
the dew is on the moor
where are the arms that held me
and pledged her love before
and pledged her love before


It’s such a sad old feeling
the fields are soft and green
it’s memories that I’m stelaing
but you’re innocent when you dream
when you dream
you’re innocent when you dream

running through the graveyard
we laughed my friends and I
we swore we’d be together
until the day we died
until the day we died

Repeat Chorus

I made a golden promise
that we would never part
I gave my love a locket
and then I broke her heart
and then I broke her heart

it’s here again. In so much of everything I have always wanted I find that there is a wanting for the everpain, the part of me that can find the words i need to let use me in order to feel oike sonething is poetry.

Why do I feel like the only poetry comes from pain? i know I’m wrong p but that has been the only inspiration I;ve ever had, and I don;t know how to write happy shit that contains the passion i feel lost without.

I have my dreams unfolding before me. I am an integral part of something i believe in more than anything I have ever experienced before, creating beauty and discovery in it’s wake. i am apparently going to me a key figure in a DVD that will be distributed worldwide. I have the incessant emails that let me offer a bit of creativity, yet without ever writing for me, to cleanse.

I feel as if I am too greedy in what I desire of myself, but perhaps the sacrifices are more than I imagined…


This IS all that I have ever wanted for me, because it continues to grow. The loss of words happens – i just need to remember how to brong them back for myself. I need to remember how to write. I need to remember how to find myself in it. I offer a bit in my email replies at times, but it’s not fulfiling to the point i want it to be…

I was given today a beautiful penning by someone else, which was enriched with tears and blisters and I love it all except the lack of words for the PASSION I have.

There must be exercises for this. if i could o=nly match how wll it was written.

If I could only find myself outside of the necessary emails again.

if only the thoughts would flow with the right words…

Am I foolish to wish for the past, when every piece of paper was an outlet? Am I foolish to wosh for the past, when the pain was so immense that all I could do was write?

There must be a medium, happy or not.

I miss writing the things that people talked about, I miss writing the things that i was proud of….

It’s the punchline. Somewhere between the replies, it lays in waiting…

I remember you.

I have buried you with my own hands over, and over, and over again

wishing you would only stay below and forgotten

so I could deny that you ever existed and pretend that i was happy, but

I saw the beauty in the flowers petals, so I picked them for you, and brought them

to your grave

in times of broken loss, in wanting, only to find you breathing again

waiting for me, hoping, looking at me as I tried to avoid your pleading gaze.

Over and over, the flowers were thrown on the ground in frustration, and you were again


I did all I could to fosake you, to be one of they who forget

so i could bury the pain with you and the blood would

finally dry, and stop dripping from my heart.


But you’re all I’ve always wanted, and even though, in time

I couldn’t believe in you, you wouldn’t die

and as much as I tried to forget you

I could still feel your breath on the back of my neck

trying to hold me again

trying to turn me around 

so that i could embrace you as well.


Yes, I remember you.

I have turned. We hold the flowers together, and through everything I have done to try to disavow your existence,

you forgive me

and this time, I let you come back to me, and we are both so much more alive

because if you had let me forget you, the flowers would go unnoticed, and if I had ever truly said goodbye to you

if my dreams had stayed buried, and just once not waited for me

we would both be dead.



I remember you. It’s good to see you again.

away and back

I need to step away. The emails are swarming, swirling around my head lifting me up and I have again left the ground. I just open up the emails and stare at them the past couple of days, answering the simple ones but not having the capacity to do more than that.

I should know better than to let them consume me like this.

I need to go for a long walk around the words of a book, get away for an evening and come back tomorrow after I wake, stretch, go for a walk and breathe.

For the first time in months, I now close my laptop without the intention of moving it. It will just sit here, silent, letting me rest…

Day two: The Adventure.

There are things I can’t say about where I am staying right now, knowing that others will be reading these silly little words.

Let’s just say I love this place.

I woke his morning on the perfect futon, tucked into the bay windows on the first floor. I grabbed my laptop, said hello to anonimity and exquisite solitude, and tried to catch up a bit on emails from the everywhere. This consumes. I seldom sleep more than a few hours at a time anymore, trained by the European tour to wake up at fourish, in orer to have a conversation that will anser questions the may have a few hours before the show.

They give us what they have, they’re beautiful, and I need to be there for them.

I do what I can in this insanity – my own.

Off to packing my things. I get on the bus. I love looking at the people – but unfortunately, I have to smell them, too. Someone who was a man at some point gets on, reeking of stale piss, and sits a few seats away from me. In unision, everyone within ten feet opens the small sliding windows – the sad woman sitting across from me, a lifetime of thinking her pain was her punishment etched on her face.

If only she could see how beautiful everything was. If only she could find her shine again.

It hurts me to see these people – the people who have given up. I want to take them in my arms and let them know that it is okay, let them know that they can change what they see…

I have high hopes. Fuck. I sound like a goddamned missionary – but these are the times – the only times – seeing people who have so much inside of them who have let themselves fall and deny and rot, decaying into the world they think is around them, that I hurt.

because that used to be me.

I get off the bus, walk the rest of the way to my apartment. I don’t hold it dear anymore. It has only become something I need to pack up and get out of – but hell – I’ve been there over a year, and wanted to make it home. Everything that is dea to me, scattered and needing to be packed away.

I do that. Books, trivialties, then, a selected box for my altar. There is space, so I lay the 13 dried roses for her on top, and seal the box. They couldn.t have had a better place.

More packing, transition.

Excitement. A new life, things unfolding.


I can’t express how much I love my life these days.

“Whatever you can do, or dream that you can,


Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it.” ~ Goethe ~

Tired, I look to dreams of peace and nothing, and sleep.

And I love you. Never question that – and remember it. I always remember that you love me, now that I have taught myself to acept it.

That’s the trick…

(This was supposed to be a bit more fun to read. Sorry that my intentions were clouded by where it took me…)

With love and a beautiful adventure,



in beauty it begins


Spent most of the day packing up, trying to deciding what to keep, tossing quite a bit. Sentimentality is no way to achieve an effective move, but still – one day I will want to remember some things. I’ve already forgotten so much…

At my new temp place in The Mission, been here since last night. It happened faster than I espected or was prepared for, but that was probably for a good reason. The peoples’ place I am watching were headed for Hawaii this morning, and at the last second decided that they wanted me to look after their house, so it was grab what I could, come here to get the details, hit the poetry reading, then to go pick up Bean.

Yeah, that’s the cool thing. Bean is entirely welcome here, and is sleeping with me right now on the futon tucked into the bay window on the first floor.

Maybe tomorrow night I’ll sleep upstairs in her bedroom. She said wherever.

Exhausted. My back and neck hurt like hell from crouching over the computer all day, everyday. I actually am conciously aware of the pain these days. I need to do somethng about that…

I finally recieved my first check from The Dresden Dolls today – it took a while to get here for some reason, but now it’s here, and I need to figure out a way to cash it, as it is an east coast bank.

I was almost tempted to make a copy of it. Even in my jaded ways, this is somewhat surreal.

It’s much more beyond doors closing and opening.

The next door always has more to offer on the other side…


Maybe more tomorrow, if I can get this check cashed and get some food…

Goodnight to my new temporary home. The adventure begins beautifully.

Sweet dreams, Bean…

fucking quiz things.

can’t stay away from ’em.

My back is sore and I’m tired. I’m going to take a bath. You should see my new temporary bath…

(needs a waterslide)

You Have A Type B+ Personality


You’re a pro at going with the flow
You love to kick back and take in everything life has to offer
A total joy to be around, people crave your stability.

While you’re totally laid back, you can have bouts of hyperactivity.
Get into a project you love, and you won’t stop until it’s done
You’re passionate – just selective about your passions

Always an adventure…

I sit here in my bed, really wishing I would stick to a regular stretching regimen so I don’t feel like my legs are folding up under me. This is when I notice the tightness. I should know better – there is too much I want to do in the near future which will require at least a little bit of limberness…

I was delivered the official eviction papers last night, and the time here is quickly getting whittled away into only a memory. Each time I walk in the door these days I take a brief moment to look around, remembering the dreams I once had for this place. Painting it, creating a home, a paradise, a sanctuary that I could come to to escape the world. A place to bring my friends, a place that offered comfort and peace the moment you walked through the door…

There has been a tremendous amount that has changed in my life since I first moved in a little over a year ago. I can’t even begin to describe it. These walls are saturated with so many incredible memories, so much beauty and pain that has brought me here, to this day, where i am wrapped up in the bliss of valid purpose.

These walls have seen the old dreams dissolve, and in their place the new enlightened ones form. The ones that are now an exquisite reality, and I will sacrifice – and have, everything necessary it takes to follow them. Amanda recently said in an email that I was now the “permanent” Brigade ringmaster, following in the beautiful footsteps that  and Em have laid for me.

So, as these walls will soon become nothing but memories and as I have forsaken the idea of falling back into the world of a “regular” job, an empty life of dreams that are only that as I act as a pawn making money for someone elses, I am now looking for temporary couches to rest my head on in the evenings. I have the best dog in the entire world, but I would much rather find a stable place for her while I bounce around. She is very well mannered and the most loving creature you could ever hope to meet, so if you are a dog lover and have the space, please – let’s talk. She loves attention, but is very low maintenance.

I, on the other hand, need accesable storage for my stuff, and a place that has internet access (preferably wireless) so I can so what I need to. During the week days I have started a new gig that necessitates me being at a good friends house in the upper Haight, so as close as I can be to that the better. As soon as it picks up i will have the scratch necessary to find my own place rolling in, and on top of that I will have another salary from The Dresden Dolls coming in soon.

So hey – got a couch? Want a surrogate best dog in the world – ever?

I’m tired, and done writing for now.



Always an adventure.