missed

just talked to my pa. He just called.

He’s in town for a few days from San Diego, leaving tomorrow. Had a nice dinner with him, my sis and “the best brother-in-law that anyone could wish for” the night before last. Kinda funny, that. Each of them at three different times throughout the evening asked “So where ya livin’ these days, Case?” Answer: Right out front, until I drive away, then… wherever I park.

Three seperate blank stares. “No, really – I’m fine. This is almost perfect for now – comfortable, I don’t need to worry about intruding on friends, and my home gets me where I want to go. No mortgage, I own it – and the only utility bills is the fuel that this beautiful beast thirsts for. Really, I’m fine.

My sis, Bro-in-law and pops are your somewhat typical people, everything by the books, lives lived by the numbers, catholic school for the son & daughter (can I get an amen?) a lovely home in the Sunset district.
Beautiful people, and gods, I love them dearly – but hell, something went incredibly wrong or right with the boychild. I do believe that they are finally understanding it, and have been for a while – though not entirely comprehending.

Each time I go there I want to give them great news – this time I spurted on about being flown to New Orleans, our shows in Santa Barbara and L.A., of the festival in September that Vau de Vire has been confirmed for as a featured guest. Yeah, things are good, don’t worry, I’m happy, I’ll make it. Everything’s fine. “How’s your health?” “Well, I *feel* great.” No more details. Good. all is fine. All is fine.

I just talked to my pa. He just called.

He went down to the Wharf, looking for me, but I wasn’t there. Woke up late, exhausted from the previous days there, and need to head into the city to buy fire breathing fuel, pick up and drop off tickets for tonights Spectra Ball, drop of a wallet to a friend, errands. I wanted the Wharf, (that bitch) but can’t pull it off today. Two gigs tonight. Lots of shit to do before.

I just apologized to my pa, I thought I would be able to be down there. He wanted to see his son doing what he does. My heart still hurts, the tears still run down my face. I wanted him to see me. See what I can do. See? See their smiles, hear their laughter? Do you see the way the childrens’ faces light up? How that couple just stood there, smiling, watching in wonder and appreciation? Do you see this the way I do? Can you feel it? Look, pops, this is me, this is the magick I have been given the talent to create. Your son is doing well.
 Gods, I wanted him to see.

I just talked to my pa. He just called.

He said that though he worries, he believes in me. He said that in some people he doesn’t see hope, but he sees it in me. He sais that he is amazed by the positive attitude I am somehow able to keep, and that he learns from me.

I just talked to my pa.

He said that he is proud of me.

and now I can’t stop crying.

“Mother mother”, by Tracy Bonham

Mother mother can you hear me Im just calling to say hello
Hows the weather hows my father am I lonely heavens no
Mother mother are listening just a phone call to ease your mind
Life is perfect never better distance making the heart grow blind

When you sent me off to see the world where you scared that I might get hurt
Would I try a little tobacco would I keep on hiking up my skirt

Im hungry
Im dirty
Im losing my mind
Everythings fine

Im freezing
Im starving
Im bleeding death
Everythings fine

Yeah, Im working, making money Im just starting to build a name
I can feel it around the corner I could make it any day
Mother mother can you hear me yeah Im sober sure Im sane
Life is perfect never better still your daughter still the same

If I tell you what you want to hear will it help you to sleep wellat night
Are you sure that Im your perfect dear now just cuddle up and sleep tight

Im hungry
Im dirty
Im losing my mind
Everythings fine

Im freezing
Im starving
Im bleeding to death
Everythings fine

I miss you
I love you.

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and in other news…

I love having a working knowledge of electonics. I know the shit, yo. Logic. Virgo. Hello?
Not to mention $10,000+ in general mechanical and electrical theory, centering on Harley Davidsons. If you can fix a Harley, You can fix any american non-computerized thang. I ya ain’t schtupit.

Damn, what a spaghetti clusterfuck this wiring is on the van.Still though, it tittilates me, and I long for the day I have the time to spend on making everything work. Soon, I hope.

Funny thing – when I was visualizing the van I needed to get from New Orleans to Burning Man, the picture in my head was always of driving ont to the Playa, my windo down, arm hanging outside.

The van that came to me had no drivers side window.

This time, I was a bit more carefull – Careful – whatever – and visuallized the windo there, and up.

Well, it’s there, and it’s up – but it doesn’t work. The only window that doesn’t. It won’t go down. The guy who sold the van to me swore it did before, and I believe him. He’s an honest kind of fellow…

I need to work on my visualization technique.

Buuuut anyway, I was able to cut and splice and cut and splice, measure current crimp fasteners clip and (why does the current drop there?) and find the wires in this wirepastavomit – and get the only thing I have bought for the van besides a bajillion dolars in fuel – my beautiful power inverter which makes the 12v current into a computer powering savvy 110v. I have ‘puter!

Happy boy am I.

And wouldn’t you know it? Clotho fits perfectly into one of the overhead storage spaces, about 4 inches from the wires that wil power her.

I love my van. I really, really do.

Can you convert gasoline engines into vegetable oil? Dunno. Signing off for a bit, but looking into that before I go.

All work and no pay makes kSea…

Wharf, oh Wharf – why hast thou forsaken me?

We once were pals – I remember those times fondly – down at pier 41, the summer of ’05… there were times I had to force myself to stay away from you, and every day on the train towards you was met with anticipation for the beauty that day would bring.

You’ve changed. Of course, I have as well, but I think for the better – unlike you. You have started hanging around with unappreciative oafs, people who stand and stare for minutes on end and then saunter away as if I was simply there for their amusement. Idiotic fucks who push me from behind, or throw an empty pack of matches into my box. I swear, I have never accumulated so many pennies so quickly.

I keep looking for the answers to this in me – am I not giving enough to you? Am I not still enough, quiet enough? You know, don’t you, that it is a two way street. I work hard at having the right energy, of radiating love and beauty – but it has gotten more difficult. Incredibly difficult.

Of course, there are those times that you remind me of what it’s all about – the 80ish year old woman, dressed in black on black elegance, who stood in fromt of me and whispered “You are the best one here! Beautiful”! and, of course, the children – all of the children – but what’s with their parents these days?

“Is he real, Tommy? You think he’s real or a statue? Go touch him!” TOUCH??? No, ubercheaptouristingratefuckhead – TIP.

The moments of beauty are there, and I savor them. Either a sincere and beautiful smile, a lovely compliment or the infrequent five dollar bill which tells me that what I gave was worth more than the obligatory buck – I roll these moments around on my hearts tongue tasting every last drop, every succulent atom of them, preserving them as long as possible. Those moments are why I do this. Why I still do it, and always will. These moments are the ones that enable me to get out there when it’s the last thing I want to do sometimes, but these days, it’s more out of desperation to pay back debts I owe in a timely manner than anything else. I try however to put those thoughts behind me when I step up on my box and focus on the people and what I want to give to them. We all know the strange sense of desperation and how it repells. Go to any bar…

Still, oh Wharf, I will change for you. Try something new. At the reccomendation of a friend down there, Kenny da Klown, I have downloaded some David Bowie (for some reason my external hard drive – where just about *all* of my music is, isn’t being recognized by my computer anymore…) and for you, I will temporarily the beautiful Bach Cello suites and selections from Cirque du Soleil for a more upbeat type of music – and Kenny says I should definitely do Bowie. Okay, Easy enough.

Perhaps we might find a compromise – I’ll change the music I play to something that has words and doesn’t confuse and scare away tourists with it’s unfimiliar beauty, andin turn, you fill up my tip box with more than the completely absurd and pitifully low amounts of tips I’ve been getting.

You dig?

Oh – and by the way, Wharfy-wharf – in the slim times this week, I’ve been thinking about trying to put together a fire performance – but that takes gab, so I really need to work on that, and I will – and if you *don’t* start filling up my tip box the way it should be, then I swear, I’m going to set yours, and all of those idiotic, ungrateful, inbred people that you have invited down – I’m going to set all your asses on fire.

Do we have a deal? Good.

It starts tomorrow, first thing. I want to have to take money out of my box like I used to do because it was getting too full.

Nice doin’ business with you.

And no more fucking pennies, unless they come with a whole pocketfull of change.

New Orleans, we're coming!

Airline tickets bought. Show confirmed. Plans made.  Just a tiny bit over a month away.

Hell, YEAH!

Had a meeting tonight about it with the Gooferman folk, and I found out that the budget has been stretched so far as to not allow room for a hotel, so we’re going to be needin’ a place to rest our weary heads, and costumes, makeup, and gear.

There will be seven of us – Boe and Vegas of Gooferman, Neil, the young-un, who is a photographer, meself, Christine, an aerialist, and a couple of very cute belly dancer/fire eaters coming down from Atlanta to join us for the show.

Would any of you NOLA folk happen to have room for a couple of us or more? Preferably in the FQ, of course – as we’ll have a bunch of schtuff to tote around. We’ll be coming in on Monday, April 3rd – Four are leaving on Friday to go to a wedding in San Diego, two are leaving anytime they want to head back up to Atlanta, and I’m sticking around until the following Tuesday morning to make sure I get as much NOLA & Friends time in as I can.

We’re all very clean and respectful, wash almost daily, are potty trained, and I promise not to breathe fire indoors. Or stilt, for that matter, but that’s mainly because I’ve found that ceiling fans hurt.

So, yeah – anyone happen to have some extra space, or perhaps know of anyone who has some, or, (ahem) just maaaybe, an empty house in the Quarter that could use the warmth of some inhabitants for a brief time and will leave it cleaner than it was?

We unfortunately (at the time of this writing) no extra scratch, but very likely could come up with at least a bit – or something from San Francisco perhaps? Some sourdough bread? One of those stupid Alcatraz shirts? Absolutely anything with a rainbow flag on it?

Please let me know, and thanks!

New Orleans, we're coming!

Airline tickets bought. Show confirmed. Plans made.  Just a tiny bit over a month away.

Hell, YEAH!

Had a meeting tonight about it with the Gooferman folk, and I found out that the budget has been stretched so far as to not allow room for a hotel, so we’re going to be needin’ a place to rest our weary heads, and costumes, makeup, and gear.

There will be seven of us – Boe and Vegas of Gooferman, Neil, the young-un, who is a photographer, meself, Christine, an aerialist, and a couple of very cute belly dancer/fire eaters coming down from Atlanta to join us for the show.

Would any of you NOLA folk happen to have room for a couple of us or more? Preferably in the FQ, of course – as we’ll have a bunch of schtuff to tote around. We’ll be coming in on Monday, April 3rd – Four are leaving on Friday to go to a wedding in San Diego, two are leaving anytime they want to head back up to Atlanta, and I’m sticking around until the following Tuesday morning to make sure I get as much NOLA & Friends time in as I can.

We’re all very clean and respectful, wash almost daily, are potty trained, and I promise not to breathe fire indoors. Or stilt, for that matter, but that’s mainly because I’ve found that ceiling fans hurt.

So, yeah – anyone happen to have some extra space, or perhaps know of anyone who has some, or, (ahem) just maaaybe, an empty house in the Quarter that could use the warmth of some inhabitants for a brief time and will leave it cleaner than it was?

We unfortunately (at the time of this writing) no extra scratch, but very likely could come up with at least a bit – or something from San Francisco perhaps? Some sourdough bread? One of those stupid Alcatraz shirts? Absolutely anything with a rainbow flag on it?

Please let me know, and thanks!

dancing past the waves

the days have been good. The van (as yet unnamed, but I really dig the suggestion by

 – though I need to think of a proper anagram) keeps becoming more and more appreciated.
The later part of today was spent in S.F., mainly to pick up a bag that I had to leave at one of the houses I stayed at as I couldn’t carry everything. I was hoping the white shirt I use to statue might be in it, as it has gone a-missing – which was somewhat humorous this weekend down at the wharf, at least for me. I didn’t know it was missing until after I had picked up my street gear from Anastasia, and was getting ready in the van. (OH, the VAN – MY VAN!!!) Not finding the shirt anywhere, and having no idea wher it could have gone – which house I stayed in, falling off my stuff as I pulled my cart from one place to the next – no idea…

Most importantly, No Shirt for the costume.

I thought of my options, the situation. I had found a parking place not too far from where I set up these days, it was Saturday, I desperately need the money to make good on loans.

No shirt.

Hmm.

I began thinking of when I first started to statue – with not much more than the shirt and my billowy skirt, and makeup. Pieces and parts safety pinned, sleeves to the shirt, black boots – I was a mess compared to these days, but still – people stopped, people smiled. I still remember the first time in San Francisco, I tried the Cable Car stop on Powell St. & Market with Naia. A commonly cold, windy night – and it was then, with the wind, that I realized that I would need to get wome white pants, as well. Some people certainly got more than they bargained for as I was doing the best accidental Marilyn impression I tried not to do…

I chuckled to myself, put on the two thermal underwear shirts that I wear under the costume shirt, kept smiling, kept laughing, and called it good enough.

It was actually a fun lesson – here I am, so proud of the way the pieces of my statue costume have come together over the years, of the ways I have refined my performance and continue to daily, of the way I had grown so comfortable to hitting the streets, knowing through the smiles I receive simply walking to work that I make people happy, that I look good, that I am just a bit of magick and wonder and beauty and a good feeling in their lives, if only for a second… and yeah, while the thermal underwear probably didn’t necessarily pull the costume together, I still shared smiles, I still made the young girls blush as they put some money in my box, waited with anticipation not knowing what I would do – then catching and holding their eyes,and blowing a kiss.
Simple, but for that moment they are the only thing that matters, and I think that most of them know it. For that brief moment, there is nothing but them and me. All the energy I have, all of my heart, everything I have is focused on them. I don’t think about my situation, I don’t think about my debt, I don’t think about anything. I draw them in, they are the only thing in my world, and we share that beautiful moment.

Highlights of this past weekend:
A child, a little girl, perhaps around 18 months, perhaps 24, in her fathers arms, looking over his shoulder. She’s looking at me, one of the most adorable babyfat faces in her confused frown as she tries to figure out what is going on. She keeps staring, pouty lips and overblown baby cheeks – but then I look at her, and though they haven’t tipped me, as her fathers head is turned I catch her inquisitive eyes and blow a kiss, smile my most sincere and warm smile, and give a little wink. She blinks, her brow furrows – and then still seeing me smiling at her, her face lights up. Her babyfatcheeks expand as her smile pushes them out of the way to wrap around my heart; her eyes light up and catch the sun, and I was blessed with one of the most beautiful and innocent smiles I have ever seen. The wonder of a childs heart. That is where we connected.

A boy of around seven or eight seeing my box, screaming “MONEY!!!” and almost diving for it. Good thing his mom had good reflexes. He was cute as hell.

The guy – his name is Russ, who caught me on break while driving by and said that he has a statue that looks exactly like my character. He runs a fishing/tour boat at the wharf. Nice guy. He said he’ll bring the statue down.

Everyone. Everyone who stopped and smiled.

The weekend was busy with people, but they weren’t exactly generous. Lots of appreciation, little money. I talked to other people who depend on tourist business, and they said the same. This needs to change. It frightens me. This is my meat, my constant. Over the weekend I made a total of $100 – which is far, far below average. Less than half – but things will work out. They always do. This weekend hit me hard though, as I have loan commitments to come through with and I don’t want to screw that up. I won’t. I’ll make it happen – though it may be a day or two later than I thought.

And the Great Universal Ooh Aah covers my ass, I think. A gig scheduled for Friday which would pay incredibly well is cancelled due to permit stuff – not some small thing, mind you – the Spring Schwing put on by Exotic Erotic Ball. A big chunk of scratch that I was depending on, poof !- but then, and email today from Mike of Vau de Vire – a paid gig on Saturday, details to follow. Working Spectra Ball on Friday, but no money, only comp tickets – which I will do my best to sell (interested?)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Wow. Sidetracked like… like… like a sidetracked guy.

The Van becomes. It’s the pieces that I put into it that makes it mine, makes it my heart, my home. My home has always been filled with pieces of those that I love – small things, but things that mean everything to me. Like I have said before, i’m a sentimental fuck – and I am a part of everyone in my life. They are a part of me.

Today, on the shift arm of my van which was missing a knob, I makd a few small modifications and it now has the beautiful cut glass doorknob that

 gave me many moons ago, with my intention of making it into the head of a cane. I touch her when I go from park to drive. And baby, I drive.

On the dash now is a beautiful stylized skull that

 sent me while I was in New Orleans, keeping the way clear.

Memories. Loves. Remember everything. I keep everything, I try. Everyone in my life. Remember everything. I can’t. I want a piece of you to call me back. I want to remember my struggles, I want to remember my love I want to remember how much i can love. It grows, fades, waxes, wanes. Sometimes I just wamt to go, but not now. Not now. I can’t wait to give everything back in some way. NO – not back – forward. Forward, forever.

We dance. We enter calm water, the Sea – and it’s easy so we step forward – then the waves, the challenges, try to push us back. Try to make the calm of the ocean unreachable. Hell, it would be so easy to just go back to the mundane shore, wouldn’t it? Go through the waves, find the open Sea. Find the peace in its’ gentle rocking, and fuggin’ ROCK with
it! Go further, reach, dream, believe, keep swimming, keeep dancing. Same thing. Keep going forward, at all costs.

Get past the waves. I learned this lesson at an early age, growing up as a surfer. Get past the break. Just… get past the break. Breathe, and don’t just sit there – study the way things are happening that day and work with the way it is breaking. Every day is different, every day is magickal. PAY ATTENTION TO NOW.  Nothing else matters when everything depends on the perfect ride, the perfect wave, and gods, I have had them – I have. Not only surfing, but adoring life in general.

Get past the break, get to calm seas – then jump on anything that propells you forward and do it, return, with more passion than you have ever felt.

THIS is magick. This is the magick that I know. I am uncomfortable. I like it this way – I am one of the few that thrive in the unknowing.
I am one of the few that follow my bliss, at all costs.

Join me.

Because Whitney is cruel and tagged me…

and knows that I don’t have any of *my* books close by…

The Taggy Booky Meme Thing:

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 23.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next three sentences in your journal along with these instructions.
5. Don’t dig for your favorite book, the cool book, or the intellectual one: pick the CLOSEST.
6. Tag five other people to do the same.

“”It’s round boys, it’s round. We knew it all along.” Cezanne showed the viewer objects seen from a certain angle in a certain light and they attacked his canvasses with umbrellas at the first exhibition.”

From Three-Fisted – Tales of “BOB” — Short Stories in the Subgenious Mythos

(Luckily, this book was pretty much the exact same distance away as “Teach Yourself TCP/IP”.)

Ummm – tagging. Hell.

I tag five of everyone. It’s up to you to determine which five.