…with trepidation, and not any small amount of fear or uncertainty.
Things need to change for me, and who to change them but myself?
The Wharf is different these days – the hopeful trickle of tips from my statue art have dramatically decreased, even as I have gotten better. No no no, this needs to change, I need to do something different.
There are a few different hats in Busking – a few different ways to make money. I’ve forgotten the terminology, but I remember reading that the one I’ve been using as a Statue – a static being, simply hoping that people stop, appreciate, and give me a buck or two, as a “trickle” pitch. While this has worked incredibly well for quite a time, it seems that those times are changing at the Wharf – the tricke has turned to a drip, and one can’t survive on what I’ve been getting. I’m barely making enough for makeup and gas these days, and if I’m lucky, food for a few days. That won’t do. I need to square up on a few debts, and perhaps, eventually, live a better life. I know it is waiting, and it all up to me allowing it to happen.
I have other talents. I need to use them. I’ve known for a long time that any circle act excells far beyond a trickle act, where you depend on people dropping a buck or two into your box (hat) – such as statuing, like I’ve been doing – and I can breathe fire like a motherfucker – but putting together a show? On the street, the magick is the play with the crowd – drawing them in, having fun with them, creating laughter, creating joy – drawing them in. Drawing them in… Drawing myself out.
I’ve talked with Kenny da Klown – one of my good friends on the street, and we have both decided that we need to do more – polish our acts, work the crowd. Statuing, even as elegant and loved as my figure is – well, at least here, it needs to change. I need to change. The Wharf has become a bit cut throat – saturated with the silver guys, who are really no more than agressive painted panhandlers – I’ve seen them frequently chasing after people rattling their cups, and even, at times, swearing at them if someone took a picture and didn’t tip. These people stain the beauty of street performance, and make it more difficult for the rest of us here – not only with the police – officers Mclaughlin and Noel, the beat cops who are nothing but ignorant fucks and have no taste for art, but they soil the crowd as well. Something needs to change.
Gods, I wish that San Francisco had some sort of Lottery, some sort of permit that a street performer needed. I would happily pay any dues necessary, simply to bring beauty back to the wharf and not have it saturated by the silver crackheads. I generalize, but I don’t think I’m too far from the truth. I know I’m not. The street has gone to shit in San Francisco.
Time to change. My statue doesn’t draw like it used to – and though I can think of many reasons, like the ones above – well, until I am made Emperor of The Wharf (and Kenny, bless his heart, thinks this is a wonderful idea – it was his idea, actually) where I can decide who is worthy – until then,
I need to change. My act needs to completely transform. No more the meditational discipline of the statue – it’s time for fire.
I’ve been brewing ideas for a while now, researching, learning from others thanks to youtube – but afraid to reach out of the comfortable little circle I have created with my statue. Afraid to actually have to do something new in a world where there is no forgiveness.
I realize, now, that as much as I live outside of the box, my comfort circle has become one. Time to REACH further. I know I can, and I will – in terror, in uncertainty, having no idea what to do, but knowing how to breathe, knowing how to read the crowd, and knowing the vibrations of love. I will make them all mine, if only for a moment. I will entertain, delight, and draw in. Draw myself out. This is necessary for who I want to be. This is necessary. Reach outside of the circle. Always become more. My statue could – I could easily be anothee Jerome Murat – but that has been done, and far too beautifully to improve upon… http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=If6gUDsEbkA
I will be me. My heart is the Sea, my soul is Fire. I am me. I need to be me, and stretch beyond comfort.
This Friday, at around 8:30pm, I will do my first Fire breathing show on the street, with Kenny da Klown. We will fiid off of each other, draw them in, mesmarize, enrapture, and delight. This coming Friday will be my forst Fire breathing show, on the way to a circle, reaching beyond comfort, giving more.
I could never be worthy of you if I were not true to myself – and only in being who I am can I express my love for you. Yes, I watch you, more closely than you may ever know. More closely than I will ever admit. I watch you, I read you, I love you, and that I am not afraid to say.
All of you. Ths is my life, my life is you. If you don’t get it yet, you will. We are ONE, we are souce energy. If you don’t get it yet, you will. We are love, and we are all. We are all, and I believe in you. REACH. Reach further. Be constantly uncomfortable. This is the world now. There is no room for comfort, we need to change everything. Love your life, and want more from it. Manifest. Allow what you have coming, what you want.
Gods, I sound like a fucking hippie. Most of you know, I sure as hell am not. I’m a dark motherfucker dripping with light.
Dripping with light.
I’ve had my share of pain, of sorrow. Most of you know this, and some sadistic fuckers actually read what I need to write. I will not offer any apologies, this is just what I need to do. I write. I need to. This is only the smallest bit of what goes on inside this noggin’.
Gotta release somehow, yes?
Life, if lived properly, is not all about rainbows. The storms are who make us what we are, and I want more. Life is nothing but beautiful challenges, and how we grow from them. Life is now. Wait – NO – not more storms. Just a pleasant wind for sailing. I thirst for experience, and I learn.
I babble, but fuck it – I’m getting shit out. I’m missing Shredders party, and I would love to be there – but here I am, in my home my van my sanctuary my solitude, and loving writing. It has been a while. This is my time. This is a bunc of dribble – does anyone ever read this far these days? Does anyone have the time?
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My book is my journal. I don’t know how to end it, but I need to work. I never want it to end.
I love you. I want to keep you.
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If anyone has a DiGi camera and is free aroune 8:30ish on Friday, I would love to see and learn from any footage that can be captured, I’ll be in front of Hooters and In n Out burger, at the wharf.