i’m not admitting that I’m a little nervous about statuing for the first time at Fishermans Wharf to anyone.

So, don’t read this.

thanks.

off I go.

So, where the fuck are you this morning, beautiful crackhead? She gave you her home, we gave you our time and love. We grab at a desperate sleep – we are tired, my friend. We have things we need to do.
We will give you all we can, but through lessons learned, that won’t be everything.

And this morning, you are gone – all of your things here, door propped open as if you intend to return, she leaves for the weekend in a few short minutes and you are my charge, my responsibility.

If you read this, know that you are welcome back – but only under some circumstances – I’m certain that you know what they are.

Good thing all my rope and restraints are in the garage below. May come in handy…

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the most important things…

Getting a ride from Vanessa to Whit’s, I think of how nice it will be to do what I need to do to have some solitude and a internet conection that works for more than a few minutes, excited about my first time statuing at Fishermans Wharf tomorrow and seeig where that will lead. Thinking of the replies that are so necessary for a post I saw on the forum that I have been yearning to get to, to brin more beauty into what we are doing…

Whitney receives a message that can’t be ignored, and everything is changed. A dear friend of ours – an extremely talented, loving, and tormented soul has found his way to crack again after being so fucking good for almost two months, and has sent out a cry for help.

Fuck the money I so desperately need. Fuck the sleep. He called her, and needs us.

No, I am sure as fuck not happy about this — I thought I had escaped these situations years ago – but it’s here again, and there is a reason that, on this night, I am at Whitney’s house.

I think about the money that will be lost. Down to a little over four dollars in my pocket – just enough to get over to S.F. and make more, and realize when we go to fetch him and give this boy a place to escape that he will be my charge for the time coming – Whit needs to leave.

I’m exhausted, I have no poetry. I do what I need to because I need to, and hunger comes second before friends.

Fucking asshole, I love you. I will be here for you as much as I can, and I will not statue tomorrow, and I will be hungry, and I will give you all of the love and understanding that you need until you sober up – and then, I will kick your fucking ass.

The most important things are the people we believe in. The people who give us joy and love in the midst of their own hell, and who the fuck are we to judge?

He asked for help, we’re here.

I can’t write. I’m tired. I never thought that I would ever have to deal with this again, mut he is worth it.

He deserves it…

tired.

no more writing, just the hope that soon this boy who has been awake for three days will find sleep, so I can as well.

There are more important things than money, but when all hinges onwhat you may eat or not, the decision is much more difficult.

When his mind clears up, I have the intention of letting him know how much I love him, then knocking his ass out.

Done it before. Sommetimes it is necessary, and as much as I loathe swinging at someone, sometimes there is nothing left to get the point across.

As I have said before in another place, you just don’t fuck with the people I love – even if that person is you.

(edit)

Okay, no smaking the shit out of him. I told him of my intentions, and it brings back past damage.

No one can make the past better except those whose past it is.

This sounds stupid. I’m wrapped up in drama, and I LOATHE drama.

Next time I go anywhere, I’m hitchin’ up the mules.

Or not bringing anything – except maybe a personal assistant who will get me to the airport on time – like not a day late. I seem to need something like that lately.

I made it to Oakland, but my stilts and the big bag they were tied to with clothes & everything practical in it are in Vegas. Supposedly they will deliver it here tomorrow, at least. Still yet to be seen.

Fuckin’ hells, I’m tired. Time to read, and sleep.

Then get back to work.

stutter

An awful lot to think about, so much to do and write and conjur and organise and expand upon,

but no.

Not right now.

As I listen to the muffled sounds of Girl A beginning over and over and over again as Pope edits the DVD below me, I will crawl into A’s bed, turning on the small lamp, opening a book and reading until my eyes force themselves closed.

I’m looking for reccomendations for good books. I need to start setting aside time to step away and lose myself in someone elses world. Make time for myself to escape. I’m open to suggestions…

I’ve been on quite a few flights in my life – not a tremendous amount,
but a decent number, so I should know what I’m doing by now, right?

 Well, that’s the theory, at least.

Actual fact is something else entirely. My flight was yesterday. Yeah.
Leave on the 24th, arrive in SF on the 25th.

Not leave on the 25th.

oops. heh heh.
See everyone? Told you I’d be back soon.

All of the buildup about
leaving seems a bit silly now as I sit here at the Cloud Club again…

In other news, we all (well, almost all) got a wee bit intoxicated last
night as a going away thing. It was wonderful, we all had a lovely
time, and among the horrible drunken photos I took, there was one gem caught by someone
else that I feel is beautiful, and pretty much embodies
everything I’ve felt the entire time I’ve been here.

The lovely Michael Pope & me, sharing a moment:

reluctant

…just a few hours left in Boston. Time to pack, say farewells, perhaps find a brief amout of time to simply be quiet inside.

It’s been a beautiful dance, full of love and wonder.

My heartfelt thanks and adoration to all who joined me, and

let’s keep dancing…

The house is quiet now.

I sit in Amanda’s room because of the better wireless, drinking milk because – well, I got milk. It won’t induce the vomitous ramblings that I enjoy with the bourbon, but hell – it’s probably better for me.

As the time of my departure draws nearer, I find myself walking slower around this beautiful home, taking it all in, storing the images in my mind and the love that saturates this place in my heart.

I’ve tried to describe it, but have fallen far short of the beauty in the words of Katherine, found here: http://www.livejournal.com/users/scarletdulcinea/

Leaving this place will be incredibly difficult. Nowhere else have I found an atmosphere that inspires such awe in me, nowhere else have I felt so comfortable.

Nowhere else have I felt as if it was all coming together so perfectly in and around me.

I don’t know what to expect when I arrive in San Francisco, getting off of the plane at 1:30am, still without a ride from the airport and still homeless. I trust that things will work out, but I’m not looking forward to returning to the perilously fragile and uncertain life that I left there…

Clotho’s batttery is just about sucked dry, and it’s also time to walk slowly up the stairs to the top floor, staying awake as long as possible as I absorb the beauty of this place for one last time – tomorrow night, my last one here, will be full of farewells…

love.

beauty.

love.

two days.

I look around me, again taking in this beautiful home and these incredible people…

and I don’t want to leave.

Okay, start.

Start?

Yes. Begin. You have a few minutes, in the dim light, on the top floor of the Cloud Club. This is almost what you wanted, so ignore the thoughts in the back of your mind that you may be interrupted soon, and start writing.

Okay, I see what you’re getting at – but wouldn’t it be starting again from a different point?

Okay, yes. Well, in that case, why don’t you continue?

Thank you. I will.

…

Well?

Oh, sorry. I was looking for a place to begin again. I’m not certain where. I could write about New York, how wonderful it was to see the people I needed to and how, fourteen years after I last stepped food into the pool hall I managed, waves of nostalgia swpt over me as I found that it is now a place called the Corova Milk Bar, where I met Ronny after experiencing Tiki Hell where I met Silke earlier – but that seems so trivial, yet fun. A strange circle of time…

No. I won’t talk about that. There is so much more, but I’m not certain I have the words for it. More if a feeling, more of a drive and passion and all of what I have ever wanted coming to fruition and I’m having difficulty seeing it as the very physical reality that it is and not this obscure dream. I’ve spent most of my life dreaming, wondering why and what was wrong with me and dancing in a perpetual mess always searching for that one thing that might give me everything and might make me feel like I was making a diference and might make me feel as if I could live forever and guide and find myself in the dawn of something that might be and always counting on the dream to be crushed and maybe just maybe making sure it was because we all know dreams are only that and who are we but silly people to believe in them. Get out there. Set your alarm clock and put on your work attire, sacrifice everything for comfort, sacrifice the way you stared out the window of the car on long drives with your parents thinking of all you might be, all you wanted to do, everywhere that you may go and all the people you might meet and all of the lives you might change if they wanted to be changed and have a donut and a cup of coffee as you bad the dreams and leave them by the door on your way out to be collected by a person wrapped in sorrow as again they do their job, taking away the gleam in your eyes and the passion in your soul and the thirst to givea ll that you are and all you can be in order to have three meals a day and a secure home.

Three hots and a cot. A term I learned in prison.

How appropriate.

FUCK that.

The dreams continue. They have never gone away, but the always thinking that if I had this or that then I could do this, if there was security and comfort and a good amount in my bank account then and then I could do what I need to do for me and then and then I could step away and travel and create and enrich and give…

FUCK that.

fuck that.

I have given more having nothing but the dance and dreams inside of me than I ever could have dreamed of before. I am able to give more homeless and hungry and free than I ever have before. This stange and beautiful thing called The Brigade is beauty and fucking beauty and love – and only the beginning. It gives me life, it reminds me how much beauty needs to be shared. Love. Creation. Giving. I keep being told that I (me? yes, you.) am part of the hub of this movement this dream this reality this insanity and one by one by one we will find everyone I will find everyone who searches like I did like I do for simply a beginning and from there will take it everywhere it can go to reach and find and question and alter and fuck with and through beauty and love and LOVE and reminding people of their dreams and waking these fuckers all over the world up there can be a change and no I don’t expect everyone to come only the searchers and the dreamers the dreamers the dreamers who have been told all their lives to give up their dreams and follow don’t dance it’s not your song to dance to and I’m sorry dear whoeverthefuck you are but since when have we needed a song in order to dance?

Start dreaming.

No no no, wait.

CONTINUE dreaming – but listen closer. Sit back in silence and find the person you once were who knew that the world and your life and your love were as limitless as the ways to express, it and again find the romance in just simply being who you should be, and find passion in the desperate need to give your love to others and find every fucking thing you have ever wanted to be behind the walls we have created inside of ourselves the walls that it takes thunder and rain and lightning to get past but hold it and LISTEN to your dreams.

In them, in the dreams I have held onto so dearly and, at times, seeming irrationally, I find more music than I could ever hope for to continue dancing, and yes, I accept this dance.

I can’t tell you how long i have been waiting to be invited – but then again, it’s not in the asking – we are always asked, we are always invited. I’ve seen beauty everywhere I have been when my heart was open, always with the ooh ahh and I wish and someday I might – each and every one of those was an invitation to join this dance, and it took me 37 years to see that. The invitation is out there, it is sealed with wax deep inside of you, buried under bills and drama and the struggles we think are struggles and all it takes is digging deep enough to find that invitation – and accepting it.

””’

A finished random thought, the love and manifestation of a Tigers Eye and the beauty that I need to try to accept, just now bringing Lee to tears trying to make him realize how much beauty and love and magick this HOME is and as much as it is old to him how much it offers others and how special this place is and Becca was so fucking right on in saying that this is a place that you don’t come to to expect answers but you come to to grow into what you already are and need to nurture and you better have something of an idea because everyone here is driven and the search is over and here is where we manifest and it is needed but not…

…

Yeah, this is probably taking up your whole LJ page, but fuck off. I’m not writing for you – but you are what I am here for.

…

Amanda, don’t know if you read this, but I’m almost out of bourbon and about to go down and steal the Gin on top of you fridge. I don’t really like Gin & I would have had more bourbon, but Sarah & I decided to spend the scratch on breakfast for Pope, Noah, & Zea. We cooked it on your stove. Breakfast at six fucking PM, yo. You need a dish rack to dry things on. If Luba ever gets his shit together and gets me some *#&$^@(Money, I’ll buy you one. I’m going to go pee and steal gin. I’ll be back. Fuck LJ cut. Fuck you.

Love you.

Hey – ya know what A? Since you left, there appeared a bottle of Cuervo. I broke the seal and poured myself some. I like tequilla much more than gin. All hell breaks loose now. By the way, the piss felt rally good. I thought you should know.

…

And now the what the fuckness.I just (well, just a bit earlier) found out that I was the cover and the main menu on the DVD.

A strange dichotomy, being an attnetion whore with the want for obscurity, but then being told my image will be so prominent. I don’t know how to spell that. Prom-inint. Whatever. Honestly, I can’t wait for the finished product to come out. Strangely enough, I don’t have anything DD realated – the music I have is downloaded, no posters, no stickers, NOTHING. Silly, yes? Yes. I sign off now. Fuck you. I love you.

And then some.

Statuing in Union Square, NYC – no problem.

Getting from Brooklyn to Union Square in full statue garb and makeup – should be interesting.

Barely a few moments to myself in weeks, where I might simply step back and collect my thoughts.

ground.

This world is a beautiful insanity, but I notice the need to step back a bit, of only for a few hours where there is a door to shut and a wall in a corner to sit and lean up against and the small comforts in a glass of bourbon and a cigarette and escape into words or nothing at all. I notice eloquence and sharpness of mind rapidly deteriorating, and know this is what I need. I can’t ask for it here – there is still so much to do in the short days I have left and still the pressure of homelessness in San Francisco…

Soon.

Five days, then back to San Francisco, where again I will need to find a place where I might be able shut that door to the world and know, at least for that short amount of time, I can be alone.

soon.

Sleep calls to me.

Heading to NYC tomorrow for just a few days – a few days filled with insanity and rushing around.

Off the bus heading to Ronnys in NJ, then possibly statuing in order to make a few extra bucks, then meeting up with Silke in the Lower East side in the evening. Monday brings more performance for the lunch hour traffic, we just need to find a good space, full of tourists who are walking slowly and getting in the way of the New Yorkers bustling about their day. I’m open do suggestions.

At three I meet with Michelle, get an accupuncture treatment from her and then spend a few hours reminiscing about the past, looking at her growing belly and knowing the decision was well made, but will forever make me winder what might have been if things were different. She will be an amazing mother.

Monday evening, who the fuck knows, then Tuesday getting back here by four and then running to Waterfire to statue some more.

Time for sleep, time to crawl into Amanda’s lovely bed, open one of the books resting beside it, and see how much I can read before I succumb to the dreamland.

I fucking love my life.