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.
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.
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…
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?
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.
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.