I need to take this time from wherever I initially was going to use it, and give it back to me.
There is the strange pressure of something that I am neglecting if I don’t write at least…something, so I take a moment, sit at Mission Creek Cafe, try not to listen to Chris Issac played far too loud, sip my coffee, and wait to see what happens…
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Creation, Destruction, and everything in between. All in a block in New Orleans.
From the window of the amazing flat we were blessed with on Decatur & Barracks in the French Quarter – almost directly above Cafe Envie, where I used to spend so much time when i lived here, I look out the window at two beautiful homes.
They’re working on one, almost done it seems, bringing it back from the destruction of The Storm. At night we see people on the balcony, having a few drinks, laughing, relaxing in the caressing heat. Light from the windows, movement – life.
Next door, what catches your eye first is the balcony. It looks like Mardi Gras threw up on it. Beads tangled and broken, strung and thrown everywhere, haphazardly, odd statues, more like what you would find after the street sweepers cleaned up St. Charles after the parades – inside the trucks themselves. From there your eye takes you up to the next floor, the third from street level.
The windows are dark, lifeless. The paint ripped from the wood of the walls, some of it remains hanging in strips.
Then, the top floor, with the small window that is level with the one I look out of just down the street – no glass, broken panes – nothing you would expect to find on a deserted farm, perhaps – but never in a city with hundreds of people walking by just underneath it each day, shopping, laughing… This must be one of the people who didn’t come back. I don’t know. It’s hard to tell, hard to consider someone not coming back – though in strange ways, not because of the city itself, not because of the storms, but because of the way the city has been forsaken – I almost might be able to understand…
I spend the rest of my time there seeing old friends, and in many ways, it was as if I never left. In many ways, I never did.
Tea came down from Austin to vistit, a truly special treat. So much I could talk about that visit alone, but I’m feeling pressed for time, and wouldn’t be able to give the words – or her – the poetry they both deserve. Not right now…
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Off to Lightning in a Bottle tomorrow morning. The van needs a name.
Laying in my beautiful sanctuary of solitude last night, having random pleasant thoughts about how grateful I am for that magick that my life somehow is, all of the adventures both beautiful and challenging, the friends I am blessed with and all of that other nauseatingly mushy stuff, I start to drift off… then “VanDragon” popped into my head. At first I thought I remembered it from the character from The Mists of Avalon, then remembered that was Pendragon… Wanting something a bit more distinct, I looked around a bit for dragon names (as I myself have been called a dragon quite a few times…), and found this:
“Falkor is a Luckdragon. A creature of air and fire who always seems to keep a good outlook on life. He once told Atreyu the boy warrior:
“Never give up and good luck will find you.”
A luckdragon’s typical answer to how it is going to accomplish a nearly impossible feat is always “With luck!” Despite such carelessness, it seems their luck truly never fails. Another special trait of luckdragons is the ability to fly despite the fact that they have no wings.
Considering naming the van Falkor, after the Luck Dragon in The Never Ending Story.
(The attitude & outlook of this Dragon sounds strangely familliar…)