It begins.

Almost two weeks since I’ve returned, I shift into gear. The thoughts that swarmed through my mind in the oppressive yet beautiful silence coming to life.

Today I cut the steel drum out of an old washer – the first piece of my fire drums. (Cutting torches are fun.)

The rest of the pieces will come together – I will find the appropriate metals for the sound I’m looking for to cover the drums, the details already worked out in my head. Through the welding of these I will gauge my abilities, nurture them, work on what I need to until I fee I am good enough for my firefall heart – 11 to 13 feet high, shaped like the organ. It will be able to be entered and exited on the other side. Fire flowing inside like blood all around, a fuel carried on water. Falls, flows – Images of my life – the places the pain came from, inside and washed over by this fire, cleansed from my heart, released in the flame. A metal walking grate over a whirlpool of fire, if I can figure that one out. The entrance holds pieces of thin wood and pens, all who pass through it will – if they choose – write their own sorrows in the wood. Upon exiting, two cauldrons on pedestals, where you can put what you have written, the things you need to release – watch it burn away, let it go.

Just the beginning. Small details of the intricacy in my head. This will take some work – but it is my piece, very likely my only one – and I need to do it.

Regardless of how long it takes.

I need to find large pieces of sheet steel – not stainless. It needs to oxidize, to rust, to decay – and eventually, crumble into what once was.

Nothing is permanent.

So many other things going on – a circus gig on New Years, maybe a modelling thing if I decide it would be worth my time, slowly beginning to stretch and exercize these atrophied muscles and let them grow again (Gods, what happened to the BMX racing, cross country running, soccer, Track & field, baseball & Lacrosse playing, surfing, swim team, snowboarding, 13 year old almost summiting Mt. Whitney climbing, skateboarding, roof jumping, running like a fevered cheetah little kid that I was?).

Gods – when a person gives up on life, all else goes away as well. Heroin, Meth, Coke, whatever I could get my hands on, and there was never any shortage. Almost 20 years of decay. Time to get me back. Good thing my muscles have much more memory than I do. Some crunches and leg lifts, some stretches in the boredom of the brief moments of time we didn’t spend on our asses at the meditation thang, and my abs have already come back. The legs, however – with all of their wounds from the past, will take more work. If only there was something like a steady income so I could nourish myself as well… Workin’ on it.

Fuck, I’m babbling. So damn what? That’s what I do. Freight train of thought. Ain’t nothin’ stopping this fucker until it decides to.

Got an email from Em, the Dresden Dolls manager yesterday. In stead of sending me just one of their DVD’s that they flew me out to Boston for, she said she’s sending me “a few”. Why? Dunno, but I find it pretty damn cool. They’ve always been good – very good – to me. I should have known better than to date Brian’s ex, though – regardless of the fact that she didn’t tell me until much later in our game, and broke up with him *after* we had already begun. Such a fool I was. It should have ended there. I can’t help but laugh at myself.

babble babble babble.

Tomorrow, First Thursday, making money to support my habit to occasionally eat. Enjoying curling up with a nice warm Tea and sharing smiles. Loving the solitude of a closed tent and coming towards the end of The Bone People – a book I want to read over and over. Strange how I associate so well with all three main characters – also strange how in two completely different books the one I feel the most connected to is named Simon. Two of my fovorite books. I need to read Lord of the Flies again – it’s been years.

babble babble babble.

Love me some bourbon. Love getting out of my head, dropping the curtains of caring and consideration, imagining that no one is reading this, but loving that a few people might be. Wondering what happened to her, the unique one, one of two and one of one that never rightfully began and never rightfully ended. I get weary, daily thoughts, not yearning for the past but the possibility of the future. The past is dead. An email today that I couldn’t resist, a talk. With nothing returned, an innevitable disconnection. Time is short. I write too much.

babble babble babble.

I find it amusing how some people call me a poet. I certainly don’t see myself as anything like that – but perhape if Bukowski & I had drank and written together, there might be something to that. When people call me “beautiful” I can’t help remember a story of his, “The Most Beautiful Woman in Town” a story of a woman, remarkable in her beauty but loathing being known for it and only it – her flesh her figure, no-one knowing her, who disfigures herself… I need to read that again – I’ve forgotten most of it, read over 19 years ago when City Light Books was so available & I was hooked on Bukowski. As far as I remember, that’s the jist – or at least that’s what I took from it.

All the scars on my body, the poisoned blood, the diseases that could bring a slow and excruciating death to you and certainly will to me if I don’t jump in with my own actions – that is my deterrent. As much as I would love to – as much as I yearn to believe in the possibility of a beautiful family, I know that is truly impossible.

Fuck you. There may be a beauty inside of me, and I teuly believe that there is – but it is tainted with a strange self loathing based in past actions. I will never be a father, I will never be always. I will ove you as deeply as I can and push you away, for your own good. I stopped taking my meds months ago, with the permission of my doctor. The Fucking Austin clinic has not answered my email sent five days ago. I need to monitor my blood counts, I need to know where I stand, but – silence.

I’m really fucking sick of silence.

I think that’s way too much for tonight.

YAAAAAY, bourbon!

(Sorry for spitting all over your computer screen.)


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