Your story, “No Other Choice”, has been selected for the Cirque du Soleil “Celebrate & Win” contest and will be posted soon on www.20angels.com . You have won the Cirque du Soleil book 20 Years Under the Sun. …
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This is what I woke up to this morning. Fuck YEAH! The Grand Prize is a small handfull of VIP tickets to thier newest production in Los Angeles, where 20 years ago their dreams came true. The short story I submitted was about how finally seeing them made me remember mine, and how I haven’t stopped making them all into reality since – through all the pain and beauty.In 250 words…
Then, another email from someone I don’t know but connected with him through a person – this person, a woman named Frog – one of Bean’s biggest fans (Frog has little love for humans, understandably – but adores animals, and Bean was how we met – they absolutely loved each other – but then again, Bean loved evreybody – and I carry her loveand lessons with me as much as I posssibly can…) letting me know of a someone who is selling their low-income ticket to Burning Man. I was hoping not to need to play this card and leave that to others – but realized that I needed to just recently, and wrote Frog, who works for BM. I had hopes, but recieved some ungood news…
They – Burning Man – have been flooded, for the first time, with low income tix requests, and there are no more available. They might even have to turn some away, for the first time ever.
How the fuck am I going to make it to the Playa? trust. Things will work out…
Just two days later, an email from someone directed to me by Frog who is selling his cheap ticket – and for the first time in a long while, I actually have the money, thanks to the gig last night.I think I’ll be able to get there…
Then, as I was writing Pamela & Jacqeline, a dear friend and a possible publisher of my journeys, thanking them for the consideration and possibility, I recieved a call from someone I haven’t heard from in ages – literally a year or more – a glorious and glowing woman, PK, who says that she is recommending me for a one-to two week paying gig in Napa. I have no idea of the details, but hell – I’ll slap a few more bucks on my phone soon, call her back, and figure it out. I’ve got talent, I have dreams. I bury my face in my hands to hide the tears, I do everythig I can to hide the anguish that this chosen life brings to me. I write about the beauty of it, but only a few of my dearest friends will ever know how often I cry. Not even they will know. this is my solitude. Dreams come with no simple sacrifice. Give everything you know up. All the comfort, all of the things that you once held dear. trust, entirely, in your friends. Feel like shit. Feel like shit but don’t ever be full of it.Feel like shit, cry your fucking eyes out and believe that someday it might be better. Trust.
Finally, yesterday, I took a few brief minutes where there was silence, closed my eyes, and did a rediculously brief meditation. I asked for direction, I asked for help. Fuck, please let me have the drive to make this magazine happen, please help me to be a little bit better, then a bit better after that. Take my hand the world is slippery. Take my hand, hold my heart. if you can, if you’re strong enough. Not many people are. I’ll work hard to test you, push you away. Nothing I intend to do, but fuck, I want someone, somone to cry on my shoulder and offer a shoulder to cry on.
Who the fuck are you?
Where are you?
I remembered myself yesterday, I asked a few questions, it was brief , but- it was heard. In a way.
I still search for you.
I am extraordinary, but nothing as special as who you might be.
I have been called an illusion, I have been called an apparition. Perhaps I am immaterial. I am nothing, I am everything. I am your favourite fiction. Fuck you. I love you.
and the tears still fall.
This is just today, just a few hours into it. Real time, baby.
Just a man, alone. Just a dreamer. I seems like far too few people believe in their dreams anymore.
It seems sometimes that because of my dreams that I am destined to remain alone. This isn’t any simple dance, this is a gloriously intricate fight. Fuck you, I love you.