five days and lifetimes ago

I’ve been copying my journal entries, from the second one, for the past five days. Cut. Paste. Cut. Paste. Months fly by, and I try not to read but I do. I see who I have been and
wonder where I have gone.

I am now up to June, ’05. Gone are the days with the Dresden Dolls and the beautiful people of The Brigade, gone is Bean. Life in flux, looking, searching, trying to find something in another warm body or booze. Trying to fill the voids of the two most rewarding loves I have had, trying to erase the pain of their absence.

Gone seems to be the wisdom I once could offer, the comfort, the love…

but then

then I think.

I think of what I wanted then, and what I am doing today. I think of how I wanted to perform and delight, to make smiles, to let people escape into what is actually real. I think of how things move forward.

Regardless of the trials, the struggle, the way that most of the time all I can do is focus on where I am sleeping tomorrow or how I wish I had a home that wasn’t someone elses, I think I am living the life I dreamed of – or at least beginning to.

I dance. I can’t fight anymore. As I walk from wherever to wherever with the straps of the bags cutting into my shoulders, it takes an effort to stop, touch the plants, look to the Sun, and just simply – smile… but only recently that is what I have remembered to do.

The great Universal OohAhh dances with me, blesses me, takes care of me – and it has never failed as long as I remember that it does what is needed. Hell, it never fails in reminding me. There’s a reason that I am going through all of my old journal entries now.
I am being reminded of who I am, who we all are…

and I think that I am coming back.

I sure as hell don’t write like I used to, but then, I don’t have the muse. My Brigade most certainly was, and even without them there was peace until Bean was gone. I look at the way I write, and it seems that everything left when Bean did – but I haven’t gotten to New Orleans yet. A beautiful muse – not for wisdom, but, perhaps, poetry.

I dance.

I travel with friends to shows, I have a monthly gig, I make people happy. I have a ticket paid for to New Orleans in the beginning of May, a week after I return a three day gig with amazing people at Lightning in a Bottle, then at the end of the month back down to Long Beach to perform on the Queen Mary.  Isn’t this what I wanted???

Yes. Yes, Yes – and no. I’m perfoming, getting around, absolutely loving my life, except for the homeless bit  – but hell, there once was a time that I offered more than a pretty picture , a spectacle soon forgotten. There once was a time where people came to me for answers, and I knew them. I was without a home then as well, but they were my ground. I found out so much of myself in the Brigade, found so much of me…

I don’t give enough. Not anymore. Not as much as I want to.

Perhaps that is the main reason I have decided to move ahead with this book – a book of almost all of my journal postings. I’ve been told many times that I should publish this blather, abd looking back, reading – well, someone may just understand. Someone may just relate, and not feel so alone – and I do know what it is like to feel that. More than you probably know.

I Dance,

I dance.

It is not worth the energy to fight – that will only bring us circles. Dance a spiral with me, and we will grow together.

This world needs us.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

And yeah, in current news – still searching for ‘The Van’.  Singular appreciation is coming, believe me – but the one I wanted offers no replies, so I keep searching, and keep  borrowing. Just little pieces, it will all make sense soon, and hopefully within a couple of days. A strang home, yes – bu one, with your help, I can have…

And damned if I’m not willing to be the first one contacted for a ride anywhere, or help in a move.

Soon, I will be back…

I read the responses from posts of years past

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