full plate

A full plate, doing my best to satiate all of my hungers…


24th & San Bruno again, sitting in Falkor, listening to Throwing Muses on the little boombox that Kevin gave me so long ago, it seems…


I try to find a place to begin this, search for where I want to go with it, what I want to say, searching for the feeling that gets me to the place where I just simply write. Searching…


Fuck it, I’ll just start. Perhaps the wine will eventually turn into the muse I need right now. Perhaps something good will be said. Perhaps I’ll stop writing crappy filler trying to ignite all of the stories to tell, and all of the poetry in them. Where does one find poetry if it doesn’t just come?


I used to write.


As I read the past I find a different me, I find a me that was fueled by introspection, where is was so much more than trying to work on myself to make the next buck – but hell, maybe in a way there is growth in that. Have I become jaded even in facing my fears? Is it so commonplace these days that I don’t find it warrants the page – or am I just tired?


Out on the Wharf again tonight, trying to work on and refine the fire breathing show. So much work to do – and damn, Clara, I wish you were here to give me input. The only person who has a circle show these days is a guy named Brian, who I have watched a couple of times but only gotten a little from. A valuable little, but still a little. Different shows.

Brian does Fire Knives – a Polynesian tradition, essentially spinning short fire staffs. He does it beautifully, incredibly seamless and intricate – he actually learned it in Hawaii – but he has a brief welcome, an incredible wordless show, then barely any hat line at all.

His show is fluid, active – talks a bit, does the show, puts out the “hat”.


In my show – or more appropriately, the show I am putting together, there needs to be much more audience interaction. I am getting better at this, but still, I need to make them laugh more, draw them closer – make them feel like the show is specifically for them. Dig deep.

Tonight I tried something new, something I haven’t done before. I asked for a volunteer, singled out one person, a guy named… fuck, I forget his name, but he rocked. I brought him in to the pseudo-circle I had created, and after a bit of banter, blew fire through his legs. The crowd loved it.

Gods, I thought I did well – there were about thirty people gathered for the first show, and they were cheering, seemed to be really digging it.

I made $7 the first show, and the same the second.


I need to work on this.

Gods, I wish Eric Cash were still around – that guy was pure show, pure wonderful banter. Someone perfect to learn from…


So much to learn…


~ ~ ~


The days and evenings have been wonderful – finally meeting Keri of Lapsus on Thursday evening, having an absolutely wonderful time and running ideas around for performance, and space to do it in. Damn cool woman, and then some.

Friday night across the Golden Gate to stilt and breathe a bit of fire for a benefit for teachers of a charter school out there, where Reggie’s daughter attends. Little I can think of as a better purpose to give a bit of magick to people who offer theirs. All of them incredibly delightful people, offering a delicious spread of nice wines and nibbles.

Earlier today, Saturday, another benefit that an old, old acquaintance – now a friend – requested my presence in.

Gods, I could have not have been more honored. I approached it as a chore, really not wanting to have to do it but I gave my word. I mean fuck – it’s Saturday at the Wharf. I’m using precious fuel to get to Alameda, and I sure as hell can’t afford that.

Still, it’s Jennifer, who has turned into someone I deeply respect, and has perhaps found that I am someone she didn’t expect.


We were different then, 20 years ago.


Rhythmix.org. I have never, ever been to a more exquisitely beautiful and well designed community art space. It is, from what I understand, based on the children, with a very decent selection of adult programs as well – and man, it is amazing. I got to spend the day dancing with beautiful children, talking with and playing with them as I stood over eight feet tall, walked up the stairs to watch the Taiko Drummers, and fought the tears back. This is what the world needs so desperately, and they’re doing it – so insanely beautifully.

After the Taiko show (((sigh – glorious))) I walked down the stairs, still on stilts, and was enamored with the crowd that gathered around watching how I did it. Up is easy – down – well, they had handrails, that I took advantage of.


Someone had an insanely long pole, maybe 15 feet long, somewhat like a fishing pole in it’s flexibility – wide to narrow and all bendy, with about a 20 foot ribbon attached, fluttering and moving beautifully in the motions of the pole and the wind. There were about six children playing with the ribbon, trying to catch it, playing with the pole and coming far to close to putting people’s eyes out – then, Mr. Pole Guy gave it to me, and after playing for a brief time, swirling it around  and creating patterns with the ribbon, I remembered the children, still enraptured with the ribbon’s graceful float…


and I decided to put a new twist on the game that Mr. Pole Guy was working on, and instead of offering the pole to the children, doing his best to keep the ribbon away from them – I went for what they seemed to be the most interested in, the ribbon – and all of the sudden, I was a fisherman, fishing for li’l pups.


Swirling the ribbon around in the air, bring it down to their height – watching them jump for it, the way all of their attention was on the ribbon – after I learned the pole and how to work it, I could bring the ribbon down without whipping, but still keep it just barely out of their grasp. Yeah, I made certain it touched them, they could touch it – but then drew it away quickly, pretending that I didn’t see them… then after that, briefly, I let the ribbon be grabbed – then, the fun began. “I’ve GOT ONE! FISHING FOR KIDS!” All of the sudden there was a reel on the pole, I grabbed it, worked the fight, reeling them in, giving slack and drawing them closer, then pulling against – dayum, that was fun. At one point I had three kids on my line…


~ ~ ~




Tomorrow to the Union Street Fair, to statue and hopefully make a bit of scratch si I can eat, the day after that I hook up with Boe to record a demo, hoping to get possible voiceover work – then Tuesday at noon, when the sirens go off in this city, I meet with Frank Garvey of omnicircircus.com to
discuss interaction with my four legged creature and his robots. I will be a piece of his art, perhaps…


~ ~ ~


The motor runs to power my battery, and fumes creep in. I wonder how T-Bucket did it. Took Brian’s car in to fix the timing, hooked it up, wrote a note apologizing to Brian – and just made himself comfortable, and died.


John. T-Bucket. Had the coolest fucking car in San Diego when I was living there last, I mean fuck – how many people are named for their ride? He was good, but had problems. An incredible wrench – this was when I was working on Harleys. Don’t know why I’m thinking of this now…oh, wait – yes I do. The exhaust from Falkor creeps in, and I wonder how he did it, It burns, I need to write, keep my computer going, make certain I can get my van started and get to work tomorrow – today. Hell. 2:37? AM? How did that happen?


Fuck it. I write, I wish I could be more for us this time…


but I write, because that is my closest friend, and even in the mundane, there is beauty.


I hope that anyone who reads this knows enough to find it – but I need to torn off thei motor, it gets me where I ned to go but I don’t need any more shit trying to kill me, and



I have a life to live, I have work to do, 



All I can do is starve us with plates full…


Plates full of dreams.














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