home.

Is this it?
Perhaps the closest thing I have felt – but still, always in on the outside.
I keep mysilf outside. Nothing to you but everything, everything to you – but nothing.
Nothing.
A few hours yesterday at the Temple of Hope – trying so hard to remember what it was like before. This virus has become me. I have become it. Everything – everything. I keep away. If I cut I bleed poison, death. Everything. The smallest of wounds. Wounds aren’t small anymore. Don’t touch me. Please, please do. My heart is hard to give. Care for it. I don’t give it to many. I seldom give it to anyone. They don’t need that pain. I go away. I go away.

Soon, I will write a letter to myself to be delivered to me in as many years as I choose. An art installlation here. The future.

I know only the forst few lines – they have been in me longer than anyone knows. Perhaps that’s why I find the escape I need.
“Hey. When this gets to you, you will have either cured yourself, or you will be dead. There are no other options. I know you, you are me. I know how you want to destruct, I know how you dream of a simple life, simple love, that doesen’t begin with ‘I need to tell you something’ – and then watch you walk away. It’s never easy. I don’t remember what life was like when I wasn’t infected. I need to. I need to. Cure or death. I want to live, but not like this. Not like this anymore, not like this for years. Every day, a fight. Every day I try to believe things might be better. Every day, every amazing thing I see, I want to share with someone. Her. She goes away because I give them an easy wall. The ones I want don’t want to climb to see what the other side offers. I want so few. I wish I chose climbers. Reachers.
Every day.
Six years.
I give me one. I need to see something. I will believe. I will try to remember what life was like without.
I need to.
Life is beautiful. I don’t want to leave. When the story is fiction the author chooses his own end. I will choose. The friends I have are the only thing that make this life real. I am blessed.
In three days, 39. September 5th. the day after the Temple burn. So much goes up this year. I’ve sat for hours there. So much written.
So many tears.
Then I smile.

I don’t know what home is. I grow weary in the travelling, the hope, the need – I want to rest. Each day.
Each day I believe that it will come.
Rest.
One way
or another.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In other news, Burning Man is wonderful. Friends faces i haven’t seen in years, helping set a world record for the most fire breathers breathing at one time, Watching the Flaming Lotus Girls Dragon show from the top deck of a Dragon art car, so many things. Connie’s ashes to the Temple, Beans ashes to Sean. Dicky buys me coffee. I don’t know why, but I really appreciate it. It’s good to see him. Shine, a Katrina evacuee I met in Austin, gives me a big hug and thanks me for what I did. I didn’t do anything. Just smiled, worked a bit…

So much beauty.
The Man burns tonight, the Temple of Hope – and everything else, tomorrow. Too much to say here. Battery almost dead. First year someone wired in an internet connection. Happened oupon it by chance.
Enough.
I’ll see you if I’m supposed to.
I hope I will.
I love you –
but I think – I hope – you know that.

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