Gods, what a beautiful evening.


I don’t get many calls, I seldom get invites. I’m certain that this is my own doing – as much as I would love it, I think I portray myself as a solitary person. Most certainly, I am – I adore my solitude, the space created. Then again – gods, I love my friends, love seeing them, love dancing with them, love talking with many.


I was blessed tonight.


Sitting in my van in the usual spot after running errands all day to gather supplies for the show and thinking about how I can improve my new bag, I had hours of in communication with anyone – even so very little active life on Tribe or LiveJournal. (gods, that sounds pathetic when it’s actually said…)

Yeah, I worship my solitude, but there’s plenty of that these days. I wanted some company, a living breathing being in all of the available dimensions around me, someone with a body to hug hello and in appreciation of their existence, I needed to see a smile unfold on a face in all available dimensions – not just the cold, lifeless two that I usually get on Clotho’s small screen, not a smile that has been in a profile for days, months or years.


(Given, there is one set of eyes that I can’t seem to escape from, which immerse me in them, even on the screen. Unfortunately, the bearer of these eyes and all that is behind them lives a couple hours away…)


 Loneliness crept in. I thought of people – tens of people that I associate with regularly, quick conversations at shows that we do, people I sincerely call friends but – but there isn’t really anyone that I simply “hang out” with, except for one.

I took inventory – I don’t know other people’s lives, I don’t know if this is common – to have those people that you call friends, those people that you adore and trust, but once the show is over, you go your separate ways until the next time. I know so little of them, their lives, and all I know of their hearts is what I feel – and that is why I don’t hesitate to call them friends. I don’t give that title lightly.

I search my heart for someone that could possibly make this lonely feeling go away – I’m not good at letting people know I need them, want them around and want to be around them. I’m not good at needing, and gods, I not only need them, I need a damn shower.

Perhaps that is why I hesitate to call.

“Hi, want to hang out, watch your movie on your screen with you, sit on your couch? Can I use your shower and wash the Wharf and whatever has gathered over the past few days off of me? Can I use your company? Can I enjoy your voice, your energy, your silence, your warmth? I’ll buy the ice cream, I’ll buy the treats. That’s all I can offer these days in return, unless you want to go hang out in my van and stare at the front window for a while. Stare at the ornate skull that Stardust sent me all those lives ago, which stares back with empty eyes…”


It is this thought that brought me to TM Lauren, asking what she was doing as I sat in Falkor wondering what the rest of the world was up to. I needed my friends.


Lauren called me back – about an hour later, inviting me to some party in Berkeley, insisting that I come – and the keys were twisting, bringing the engine to life almost before I hung up the phone. Bounce on over to the Eastbay, fuck the expense in fuel and bridge tolls, the soul is more important. I’ll scrape by – I have almost all of the equipment that I need for the next show due to my errands earlier. Fuel, another towel, batteries for music – I’ll be fine. I’ve lived on less…


The party was incredible. Not only did I get to hang out with the most wonderful Whitney, Lauren and Jess, but holy hell – Holly and Robin were there as well – man, what a delicious treat.


The food was incredible – everything from fried turkey to greens, home-made scalloped potatoes to bacon-wrapped jalapeño cheese thingies. The ever evolving and changing band lineup apparently occasionally consisted of members of Santana and Sly & the Family Stone, everything from guitars, drums and bass to electric violin, sax and harmonica. Met a guy named Chick, who not only cooked all the food but got up and sang one hell of a song when he had a chance. Dig this guy – think I may be seeing him somewhat frequently…


Danced with all, danced alone. Pulled aside a woman because I couldn’t help but tell her how beautiful she was – the mirror image of Lena Horne, with her gorgeous smile and contagious energy, and I needed to tell her, thank her, just simply let her know…


Gods, what a beautiful evening, but now, 1:30pm on Tuesday, parked outside of Lauren’s new place with a cigarette and too many words to write, I must stop. It’s a much needed laundry day, and we’re heading over to Brain Wash in the city to get shit done.


After I take a shower, then stop by Whitney’s garage to get my throwing knives. Need to start practicing again – and hell, I sure have the time, and the whole Bay Area is my back yard. Get my archery target from Xenodrome. Find a place for it in my van. Practice the harmonica. Create a street show.








This life is exquisite. I need to write more – I always do, so much beauty, but dayuum…


Bite, release.


Bite, chew, savor every drop and swallow. Become life.

Bite, and hold on for dear life.

Don’t  release.


3 responses to “bite.

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