yay amazing wine.

Something I need to release so I can sleep tonight – I’m nervous as hell about the show tomorrow.

Not the brathing or eating – that I can do, and well – bot the SHOW. Tje words I say, the entertainment I gove – many nighte spent awake dwelling on what I will do, many nights awake knowing the perfect thing and how it never comes to pass.

A tremendous amount depends on tomorrow eve. I need to capture them, amaze them – and it’s difficult when breathing and eating are so run of the mill to me.

I jsually am able to find the spark, look at them and know that they will be appreciative, but there is a bit of stage fright right now – but only with the fire performance.

Fuck it. It’s just another game, right? I’ll find the words, the performance will go well – smoothly. I have nothing but my talents – I don’t have a show.

I will create one.

Please send me good energy – for eloquence, for wit, for the flow of the show.


I have confidence in myself, I am able to make something out of nothing – but I am nervous.

I am nervous.

With that note, I head back to The Forest – I have snacks and a gloriously comfortable bed that I will enjoy for a very few weeks more.


I love wine.

heh heh.

the lives they have taken from me are only the ones I have given. I swim in a hundred maybee’s. I push away in a thousand fears. I wash almost everyday but my life and my soul still has more dirt than you an carry, so you drop the weight and run, trying to find that place of feathers.

News for you: Broken wings don’t fly.

The fall is far, quiet, and constant.

I soar and look down in sorrow. I soar and prefer the sky. I look for the blue, and it is gone – then I again find the ocean and I am home, all is forgotten. All is the past, and there is nothing but the lack of an end to this particular story.

Like a beautiful book that you check the back binding for, a story that leaves you with nothing, expecting pages to be torn out – but it’s not the pages…

trepidation. few words say too much.

I uncork the 2002 Kenwood Cabernet; pour it into the only glass on my small table. It sits while I light the remaining candles in my tent. I sit, looking at the picture on the bottle – a white silk screened Wolfs’ head, looking back at me with hungry eyes.

I take the first sip in reverence, then breathe in through the profound liquid letting all of its’ flavor and complexity flow over my tongue, into my lungs, into my memory.

There is a reverence for this particular bottle, though the vintage has changed, and

I remember cooking together in the smallest of kitchens
the aroma of the food filling the apartment
the laughter
the certainty of life and
watching her Wolf and My Bean play together
as they argued for the closest space by the open kitchen door, waiting
and I remember eating glorious food,
the sauce from the mussels practically dripping down our arms as we dipped the bread
the looks we gave each other when the last scampi was on the plate,
both wanting it, but
both wanting the other to have it more.
There will be more.
And we drank the wine,
having everything we needed in our lives

to be happy.

I adore swimming in the past – remembering the smiles and laughter, looking back on my mistakes with a grimace and then letting it ease, knowing it is not who I am now, feeling a strange sense of sorrow and peace for all of my friends who I may never see again, but taking those lessons and that laughter with me, keeping it inside to call on.

Things are as they are supposed to be, and I couldn’t be anyone else than who I constantly become, running as fast as I can to keep the kite afloat, securing it when there is enough breeze inside to hold it aloft.

Then, when it begins to dance back and forth in its searching fall, I again take the string and move on, letting the wind carry us both into the air…

I think. There are only three people who I have encountered in my life who I would enjoy sharing this bottle with. Who know silence, with which words aren’t necessary.

Not admitting it, one is close. Not admitting it, I loathe her and she plagues my mind. Not admitting it, I want to spit in her face and hold her as tight as I can so I can say Good Bye. Silence only makes me seethe…

(I wonder how long until I erase this from my entry – but at the same time…

There are so many worthless words. Most words are. We talk incessantly to ignore the void and fear inside ourselves, and we plague the ones who prefer the soul to the wind it floats on.

Bah. More words, and probably more coming – hell, it’s still early, and I have five more bottles of extraordinary wines at my call.

actually, it’s primarily Raven/Crow, but the description is pretty damn accurate…

The Bird of Prey
EAGLE or HAWK – your daemon may be some kind of
bird of prey. Yours is a strong spirit, and a
fierce sense of liberty. You cannot be
confined. You may be shrewdly observant, and
like to be aware of everything that goes on
around you. You will fight fiercely for the
things that are most important to you, and you
are definitely a force to be reckoned with.
Still, you are not vicious by nature and would
prefer to be left in peace. You probably value
your solitude very highly – not that you don’t
enjoy company, but sometimes you just need to
be alone – otherwise you begin to feel caged in
and confined. You might want to take a drive on
your own, just to feel the road beneath you, or
to sit alone on your balcony, watching the
world go by.

What Is Your Daemon?
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