Tonight, more things into the box. More bones, some still with flesh on them.
The rings from Jess and the collar I made for her, the book of friendship from Karen, a burnt poker chip from Headless Point, the pin they gave me for dancing with the rhino’s in the Disneyland parade, the small box that Jess got me – the very first thing – from the San Francisco Zoo as she so patiently waited for me to do my work. Other things.
My heart is full of bones.
I collect them, and listen to the rattle of loves and fond memories past as I dance.
Oh, the hell and eyebrows we raise.
Last night we had almost the full krew – Baruzula, Molly, Virginia, Seth, The Third Line and meself went out to play. To delight and disturb – and we did a find job of both.
First to the Rhizome Collective where they were having a circus party – the cats took a bit to get set in motion so we were a bit late, but managed to make it while Miss Claire, Che and Pierre were finishing up their act, and that blended perfectly with our arrival as it was an immediate call for Gemma to join on stage. Not gonna say what she did, but there were a few people who walked out with their children. The others put on faces of amazement, wonder. I breathed a bit of fire inside and out, then we were off again to see Mote and his band, which I must say kicked ass in a very strange way. He’s always told me that what he does doesn’t make much of a difference because it can’t be heard, and now I understand. I think the most captivating image of the show were the two drummers facing each other with snare and toms, mimicking each other and even sharing a cymbal. If you put them together without the drums they would seem like they were from two different worlds, but on the skins they became one and the image was perfect, a mirror and beauty. Those accompanied by four guitars each on different effects, base, and a singer who looks like your local milkman on a bad acid trip, twisted and elongated and playing a trombone. It made for an interesting and energy filled – and deafening – set.
We tried desperately to create a pit, from running in circles counter clockwise to an interlocked-arm wall of death, but they just weren’t coming along with us. Silly fucks. Give it a shot. Open and live for a second…
Free shots that were procured from a random person named David asking if he could take our picture, and then we were off with my cry of “Third Line ON THE BUS!”.
A beautiful evening indeed. So much delight that I won’t say here, but I am certain that I need to start working out again, Strange acrobatics need to be stranger.
Feels as if it’s going to be a hot fucking day today. We’ll work through it. Last night Albert was finally able to begin letting his sorrow out – sorrow that I can’t begin to describe, sorrow built up in only a month. Someone let him know when September is over, it’s full of death and suicide and immeasurable loss. I look at my own pain and know that it is nothing less and nothing more than his, simply on different planes in the way it passes. As I watched him there was empathy – I know sorrow, and the tears fell for him as I stood hidden by the darkness. I know sorrow. It is my closest friend.
I say goodnight with something I wrote many years ago:
Is this always pain
a piece in everyone
or is it a gift
something special, for me.
Should it be gone
chipped away to nothing
and am I wrong
for holding onto it so dearly?
It’s the only thing that I know and
when things are a little strange
I can always open that door.
It’s the only thing that I know
that has always been there for me
it just doesn’t seem right
and I’m sick of playing the game and
am I sick for bringing back
just to feel human and
just to pretend
that I’m alive
The heat is oppressive today.
I see images of a past float by, pictures from another life haunting me. When everything is given everything needs to be taken away, and it takes a whole lot of bourbon to make the nightmares leave me be. I dig under my skin to peel it from there, peel away the passion and love for them and wash myself clean of their scent preparing my heart for a new home. Fuck you and your business. I squeezed my heart of everything it had. Soon a final Good Bye and then it will be done and no more, a package of the past sent away, only leaving an immaterial sadness which will be healed by time. Everything healed in time. Farewell and Good Bye. I am not a part of you anymore, nor you of me. I wash my hands and am done. The only way out is through. I’ve got more important things to focus on.
Two guitars. A Mandolin and a fiddle. two banjo’s, a steel guitar, an accordion, a saw, voices that sounded like heaven – and me on the spoons – I had to do something – and strangely enough, I was pleased for my first time on ‘em. It seemed to be agreed on. So much swimming around in this sea of creativity. The passion these people have – Whitney and Cole would fit right in, Kevin would fucking love it, Mark would be even more revered than he is in San Francisco, and would be able to play in a setting that fits him better. For most it would be more home than they ever could have believed. It is for me, in a way. It seems as if there are no dreams here, or, more appropriately, they live in a dream which doesn’t seem to reach to far – but that’s all they seem to need. Hopping trains to get to where they need to go, living life to the best of their means, which aren’t much. It doesn’t need to be – they’re happy, they live the life they want. They do what they can. They laugh with all of their hearts.
I am immersed in a song by Tom Waits – surrounded by tramps and hobo’s, young but far from fresh, their lives are the beats of the trains they travel on.
A impromptu jam session tonight – I love this place. I love these people. The South certainly has its qualities.
Yesterday we went to the water – a couple of the waters they have here. One was Hamilton Pool, the other Travis Lake. I won’t describe Hamilton Pool to the extent of it’s beauty, I can’t – a deep pond fed by a trickling waterfall, all I have are pictures. I got a good one of Stumps (not Stubbs, my mistake) as the sun set on the lake. I love the solitude in it.
I guess it feels so much like home because of the solitude. The loneliness that the whistle of a freight train brings in the quiet of the night. The loneliness of the walls that we create when you never know if you’ll see that person again. Travel has its downfalls. We want someone, but fear for them. I collect pictures, and I do my best to set you free. Go home. You have no business here. Live your life. Create, destroy, and do everything in between.
I have a box of the past, of dreams that are but memories now. I will take it with me when I go. I will leave it for you. Collect your things and remember me. That’s all I want. That is all I have. Remember me. Love me. There is no blood to follow; there was no blood to begin with. As written earlier: When the tale is a myth, the author gets to choose his own end.
I have not chosen mine yet. I live only because I choose to.
So much beauty, so many things I want to do – but I am weary. Each dream that is ripped away leaves a scar that I would rather not deepen anyone else’s wounds with…
Silly little self absorbed girl. My dreams have moved on and you are not a part of me anymore. My dreams are lost, but somehow larger. I will always find more. I have separated, detached. Detachment is my gift, given at birth, and though I have found a way to use this gift seldom, the twisted wisdom remains, and you don’t exist – it’s as simple as that. Apparently the Good Bye wasn’t heard.
Of course I have the information you want. I spent time and time and time and all of my heart in gathering it, and it is mine. My property and for a brief time, my life. Thinking I would so easily give it to you takes courage, but it is a courage based in your own needs without consideration for anything else but yourself and your needs are no longer mine. Go Away. If I find the time to get that information to you, I may. I have no use for it, but I don’t have any inclination to make your life easier while at the same time taking precious time out of mine.
I just watched you walk away. The silver compliments the blue, but I couldn’t say that. That would just sound stupid. For some reason I watch you walk away and say nothing, only thinking of things to say after you’re gone. I couldn’t say anything I wanted to, only having wit and charm when you are no longer around to hear it. I was wrapped up in the words at my fingers, the ones I needed to get out, and as much as I wanted to say ‘hello’ I barely spoke at all. I apologize, but that is the way when things need to be released from this head. It’s better this way. Too much going on inside not to let it out.
Somehow captivated, right or wrong I don’t know, but the frustrating familiarity is there. I envision long talks over bourbon or bottles of wine where we briefly allow ourselves to know each other, breaching the walls in the knowledge that I am a short timer and with that there is the safety. With that there is no obligation, and we can invest in something that we are sure that will go exactly the nowhere that we wish it to, except in the dreams we carry with us. You fall into the pattern I now see as I look back – Cole, Betsy, Blair, Courtenay, Gemma, Tracy, Zoe, even Michelle. The list goes on. I always leave or make sure they will, always the stranger floating through your life. Always keeping that safety net and they always agree. The ones I can give everything to and the ones I can leave or know that they will leave me. Give me everything, I’ll give you the same and dream of you in wanting, leaving always my heart under your door mat. Someone somewhere sometime I want to call someone my own, I want to call someplace home.
It seems to me that dreams damage, and dreams are still and always only that. Don’t invest anything in me, don’t give me your heart; give me everything because that’s what I need and that’s what I will always love you for in the sharing. I will offer you mine if I know them, if you ask what they are. I will always hold them closer than you might ever imagine. Step on the devils tail, live in the moment. It’s as lonely as the rain, but gives us all what we need. I love you, and I will keep that with me, always. I am nothing but what you want until you have it. I am the gold you see in rivers, I am the diamonds on the highway. I will open myself and give you everything I have if you promise to hold it near to your heart. You will always find someone else to hold you as I say farewell to all you are and all you have given and whatever I have given you. I follow my dreams and they never cease ripping me apart, and maybe one day there will be something inside of me that finally falls to rest.
Only when you walk away. You probably don’t read this – which is probably good. I am a hopeless romantic, I am lost and poisoned. I have stopped taking those pills that have kept me alive for far too long. Someday, I might be able to show you something that even the solitude of dreams can’t reach. Someday I might even make a little bit of sense.
I don’t know when I will see you again – and a strange insatiable insufferable romanticism is awakened, and digs another deep scoop out of an imaginary hearts grave. In cards it has been said that I am the Sun, and in ways perhaps I am – but The Fool has always seemed more appropriate..
The dawn awakens, I fall into it and yet again fall asleep, as already and again I have given too much – but this is me. I will never be a safe bet, but you never need to take the hand I deal or stay at my table. I give you every option to leave. I try to warn you in these words, but I don’t ever want you to let go of me. As much as I can never admit it, I need you. All of you.
Things are quiet in Austin for now. I have too much time to think.
Scott came by last night and filled us in on their efforts in New Orleans – they have two mobile clinics, a bunch of useful volunteers, tons of work. Some places are still under 20 feet of water, I think I heard him say. They’re going to the rural areas making sure people are taken care of – the people the government forgets. They are helping. I look forward to getting there.
She never wanders off. She sits in her sand pile or in the driveway until I return. I was only gone for about an hour. Maybe she was playing with the other dogs, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. nothing matters. She was found with one of her stuffed animals still in her mouth. Bean was hit by the train.
My Bean is dead.