No Less Lonely

Shortly after noon, a Thursday that I have decided to re-edit my books, perhaps begin with a more grandiose beginning than the first entries, perhaps entering in the story later – because, well – the first entries are somewhat boring, don’t catch ya – and although it leads so perfectly into the entire story, it’s all about being able to sell it to the publisher.

 

I think about the book “Go Ask Alice” – but her journal was found and published after she was dead, and I don’t intend to die. I write because I want the enemy that I can’t harm anymore to read my life, I write because I want to be known. I write because it is the best addiction that I have, and I’ve given up most of the others.

 

It’s strange reading, again, my past. I’m a product of it, but not one to dwell. Everything is now, and I’ve been able to make things right as time goes on – all, but one, recently. One without words, one with the disgusting politeness that comes from nothing else to say when I see her.

She took my heart, made me believe in something special – then went away, in silence…

You knew so much better than to do that, miss sensitive. I told you the thing that hurts me the most, destroys me. The silence, the unknowing. Your own walls are no excuse – unless you meant to truly do me harm. Whether you did or didn’t –

 

Fuck you. I still love you – and I need to find a way to let go, to write again…

 

Much better to let you go, at least to try. I say Goodbye in hopes that we might meet again. Small hope, but a deep one.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

 

Beans teeth hang above my head on my narrow bed as I write this, I try to forget the words I have recently sent to someone who could have been, and as I think about what I have written, know it was necessary. I think. I don’t know. Something needed to happen, is all I know. I push back my hair and it falls in my face again and loneliness has a new meaning, again. With all of my grand plans for the day, I haven’t left this fucking box except to send

One

Fucking

Painful

Message…

Fine and fuck it all.

 

A former lover and new friends have visited, bringing the beautiful candelabra of my grandmothers which is now sitting by her picture until it finds the perfect place, bringing rum and easy conversation.

 

Strange how I am no less lonely when friends are near, I just hide it better and you’ll never fucking see it.

 Is this the life I have chosen?

Perhaps, a fools mistake – because gods, I want you near. Someone, the perfect ones – all three of them, have gone away but I still have the friends who just wont let me fucking die.

 

Nor will I, and I

I would do anything to keep you here

I would do anything for you

I will do everything for my dreams, and

you are a part of them, and as strong as I am,

I don’t want to do this alone

and I can’t explain why

but as strong as I am I need you

I need you

because Katrina showed me, ages ago

who I am

and perhaps she thought of me as she exchanged vows

(but I hope not)

and that is the person who no one has seen

the person who I wish to find someone

strong enough to know

strong enough to bring into their life, as

I only build, I only dream, and

all of my life I have been hated for this

but it is what I chase and it is what I am

I am nothing short of my dreams

much more than them, and

they keep on growing

 

And in these writings I don’t have any secrets anymore, and in these writings I don’t want to because I’ve lived a life wrapped up in secrets pain but there is always more to say and there is always a way

 

Always a way to do something better.

 

But still I search for the man I am supposed to be

and I live  for one day, in any book

someone using the she pronoun instead of he

and someone that is able to accept me

for who I am

for who I have become

for all that I am,

and are not afraid to accept my becoming.

 

I do what I need to do

I say what I need to say

and this little boy has grown up

this little boy is bitter, hungry

and this little boy is now a man

that burns in his search for someone

because although I am a warrior

because apparently I am supposed to be alone

I don’t want to be. Simple.

 

I want to wrap myself around the perfect woman,

I need a friend in this fight

I need someone to look for, to look into, to believe in,

when I need strength when I cant find it inside of me.

I need the perfect princess to wrap her arms around me

for I am nothing less than magick, 

I am nothing less than a King.

 

This life has been hard fought for in its becoming

immeasurable pain that any fool would crumble under

just like I did, and that fool became stronger as a result of it

and then I knew so much more, and I became again me

and my life has been nothing but blessed

cursed and won, and this is who I am now, with a fucking vengeance, realizing the lonelineness of my voice on these pages, in these words and there is no quiet inside and FUCK you.

I love you.

A king has found a ridiculous throne but still I write and still it is love and still it is you and I am only me because of you, all of you.

You and all that can’t be given back.

 

I just want to be me, and have someone understand me in this dirty mirror. See me, reflect me, know a similar pain and we can shine so brilliantly together.

 

I will never let you know the pain, you never will – the one who knew understood married off, the other two have nothing for me but more pain, Goodbye to both and I am stronger than that but fuck, I miss someone, I loathe this solitude and I hate you and I am better than that and I am – well, I’m a wee bit drunk, and then some. It’s been a rough night.

 

I don’t need to talk but still I pull my hair out of my mouth as this goodbye is said and I LOVE YOU, surely I do. I can only hate the ones that I have love so sincerely, loved with such abandon.

There is nothing left

nothing left

to say

I already  miss you, and fuck you – you reminded me of Katrina, Striggy, and fuck you, the third. Unnamed, you know who you are. I still have grace.

 

I stumble. I need to sleep.

 

and my ass hurts, is weary of sitting on nothing soft.

 

 

2: 10 am this ends

 

 

 

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3:am, Wednesday morning

3:00am Wednesday morning. Freezing balls in the belly of the Beast, mainly because now I’m sitting up and don’t have the comforter to keep me warm. I seldom seem to be able to sleep an entire night through these days…
One of these days I’ll get this fucking heater working, which more likely than not will only take capping the gas line I took off of the stove, turning the LP tank on and lighting the heater. A small amount of heat coming from the five votive candles I just lit, the cabin smelling deliciously of the purple sage I recently bought from a random woman who came into the café as I was thinking about smudging this thing. Funny how that works.
I still haven’t smudged it, but all of my other stink-pretty stuff is gone and done burnt up, with the exception of my Nag Champa – and honestly, I’m sick to death of that. Tomorrow (aka today) I’ll make it a point to get more incense – maybe even head to upper Haight/Cole valley area to the Sword & Rose after I get the needles stuck in me and my leg checked out. We’ll see. Perhaps, as usual, I’ll sit in Mission Creek Café for hours drinking crappy coffee and getting shit done on the interweb.

Oops shit – caught the string that holds the sage together on fire. Oooooh, lovely – more warmth…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I don’t know what to do anymore. In saying that, it almost seems like I did at some point in time. Maybe I did – but that was months ago, and I’m still haunted by memories and things left unsaid. These days, just a polite and stunted conversation in the rare times I see her. How does the saying go? Fall for you once, shame on you; let the walls down again and keep falling in an odd bliss, I’m a fucking idiot. Something like that. Anyway, that fits – though I wish it didn’t. An unexpected meeting last night and I stumbled over words, and unfortunately these days I find myself believing in the walls. Those mother fuckers are strong. Break my heart once, shame on you, break it again….
and perhaps I’m so very willing to see if I am an idiot. At least get some answers so that I can either stay, or move the fuck on and push everything into the back of my heart. It was far more than a lover I lost in the silence, it was a profound friendship – and I haven’t had many of those, ever. Always keep ‘em at arms length…

Fuck it. I’ll figure it out. Everything inside of me is screaming to act with abandon – I mean fuck, look at the rest of my life – but this, this is different, somehow… Right now however my feet are freezing and my fingers are about the same. Under the comforter I go again. Maybe I’ll get the heater working tomorrow…

skipping along – Monday/Tuesday, 11.19.07, 1:23am

Monday/Tuesday, 11.19.07, 1:23am
Fucking hell, I’m losing my mind, and feeling dumber by the second. I mean really – how difficult can it friggin’ *be* to grab a downloaded instrument, plug it into the super-duper fancy software and record a little bit o’ somethin’? I’m usually pretty decent at figuring things like this out, at least to the degree that I can create *something*. But – nope. I do believe I’m in over my head for the time being on this one, at least for now – but goddamnit, I’m going to get this shit working. Eventually. Apparently not tonight though, it seems..After a few hours of figuring out just a little bit more than nothing, I return to what I know. I return to words. The easy stuff.

This has what’s been going on over the past few days: I’ve recently been turned on to a site that enables me to download some of the most sophisticated uber-crazy-professional (which I am absolutely not, apparently) music creating and editing software available, and now the shit is on my computer, along with a decent drum machine or a couple, and hells – a fucking actual digital Moog synth that sounds like a hot-buttered orgasm.

I must admit that I’ve spent far too much time with the headphones on simply rolling in the delicious sounds that my MiniMoog makes and exploring them, and each time I hit on a good preset sound a whole performance scene begins to play out in this deranged noggin’ of mine. I’m actually a bit overwhelmed with the excitement of what I now have the capabilities of doing, all packed up nicely here in this beautiful little lappytop. There’s a whole dark and beautiful opera in the works, birthed by these sounds and years of wanting to create something so much more than the little things I have been – but damn! These programs were created for people who know what they’re doing, and maybe even have instruction manuals for them.
I’ve looked. No instruction online, not for the MiniMoog, and as for the other stuff, the recording and editing applications – well, it certainly *looks* like it’s written in English, and probably is – but hell, so was James Joyce. So far what I’ve been reading may as well be, except at least Joyce didn’t make you flip back and forth looking for the little non-existent buttons to find parts of the little drop-down menus that take six other drop down menus to get to before anything started to resemble something this dope could work with.

I need some kind of sound engineer to give me some learnin’. Anyone out there want to help? Knows the whole Cubase platform and can explain it to me in laymans terms? Gods, the sounds this Moog makes are so deliciously sweet, so warm, so inviting. Begging for what I can make it into, if I only knew how to use the software…

There’s something bouncing around in me head that’s pretty big – right now just the conception, but the scenes will unfold simultaneously with the music I intend to create. They feed off each other, and I feed off of them…

HELP!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Pfffft. Exhausted, woke up before the Sun had *it’s* cup of coffee this morning in order to make it to a job. It’s a bitch rolling from the eastbay to San Francisco on an early Sunday Morning, but still – good to feel needed, good to make a bit of scratch. Right on time, I was, and life goes on, my pocket a bit more padded as I left a job well done, despite another worker there who didn’t understand that the little book that came with the thing actually told you how to put the storage shed together the *right* way, in order. Really nice guy, probably about fifty-five or so, maybe sixty, and I needed him as this was definitely a two-person task, but damn, the guy needs tranquilizers. I’ve found over the years that you don’t get a job done by guessing or pounding harder if it doesn’t fit right. It was like working with a two year old jacked up on sugar… Regardless, he really was a nice guy, and as long as I kept the reigns tight, he was useful and we got what done what we needed to.
Time to sleep now. Time to fold myself onto this narrow rail of a bench, wrap myself in the comforter, and see what dreams come

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Monday/Tuesday, 3:53am

The more I look at this thing the more excited I get. This van/truck/RV thing. My beautiful home, my glorious sanctuary that I can do absolutely anything like with, design any way I wish. I know exactly where the bookshelves will go now, along with many other smaller things. I know how this is going to work, and damn, this will be an extraordinary vessel.

My home.

There’s the possibility of actual steady income for a bit, just waiting for a call. If that happens then I’ll be able to get the mechanical things done that I need to, and since, if this job comes through, things will be a bit more secure and I won’t have the ever-present concern and lack of knowledge of where the next bit o’ scratch is coming from, I’ll even be able to begin making good on some personal debts. That would fucking rock.

Dear gods, I need to get cushions in this thing. Type a little bit and my ass really starts complaining of the lack of softiness.
The cow goes mooo. The rooster goes cock-a-doodle-doo. My ass goes ouch.

~ ~ ~

Bob has WiFi now which kicks ass, and therefore I can play on the interweb in here! – Well, that was the idea, but seeing as I am inside of a big steel box, I am thankfully protected from the horrible distraction of the internet. Unless, of course, I open the window, find and stand in some odd and inevitably uncomfortable position in order to snug Clotho up to the side of the box so that my wireless card protrudes the slightest bit outside of the window, and then – and only then, can I get a connection. Hmmmm – what to do, what to do. Theoretically, I could open the door and sit on the steps, but – hells no. I prefer the door to my loverly home shut to the foot traffic that wanders by on this street. Not that there’s anything unsavory about most of the people that walk by, but I like my door shut, and I love my solitude.
Hmmmm…
Fuck it. I’m turning this whole thing into an antennae. Somehow. Played with that idea a bit just before I went out tonight, and I do believe I can make it work. Took off the plastic housing on my WiFi card revealing the antennae, grabbed a stray wire and toyed with ideas, hooking the wire to the body of the vehicle and then to my card.

It was quick, just a slap-dash test, but damn, I think it will work…
(Next eve after trying a few things; – nope, no go. Inside the beast is a wireless flatline. Frustrating as hell.)

Okay, the rest, then rest. Fun evening, good crowd at Death Guild, saw some people I hadn’t seen in a bit which was nice, one in particular… Met some other people and had good conversations with others. Great crowd, good day, lots of stuff to do tomorrow so I’m going to read a bit and then sleep.

Can’t wait until this thing gets rolling. I’m itching for another adventure – or at least to friggin’ be able to drive to San Francisco, and call that home again…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tues 11.20 9:00
Next eve, eating some delicious soup inside Bob’s place, still no interweb in the box of wireless doom, goddamnit. Since one of my favorite things to do is listen to some good music, get comfortable, sip on a drink and see what kind of crap comes out when my fingers start hitting the keys, all of it is going to be delayed. There is no real time, and my “now” is not yours. This paragraph is as close as it’s getting’ for a while, it seems.

Tomorrow (Wednesday) head to S.F. for acupuncture and to have them kick-ass nurses at SF Gen look at my leg again. They do treat me right – and it will be wonderful to never see them again, at least in that setting. I must admit, though – it’s really nice, just for those few minutes every week or so, to have someone looking after me, taking care of me…

Still wondering what’s going on for Thanksgiving.

A few more posts and then to the beast.

12:41am Friday night/Saturday 11.17.07

12:41am, Friday night/Saturday morning. 11.17.07

Hat hung, coat in the closet, changed out of the day clothes into what I will sleep in tonight. I prop myself up against the wall of my sanctuary, select This Mortal Coil to listen to and set Clotho on my lap. I pour the tiniest bit of Disaronno into a glass. A new discovery for me actually, this stuff. Sure, I knew of it, but what use did I have for it? Lower alcohol content, expensive, and, well – kinda pointless in my world of drink until I could barely type.
I don’t visit that world too often anymore. It hurts when I come back…
I love this. It feels almost decadent, in a way. As decadent as one can feel sleeping in an RV – which honestly, gets more comfortable each night. Not the sleeping, but just the feeling that this is actually home. I cut the oriental rug that Jennifer gave me to fit yesterday to cover up the horrible linoleum floor that I found when I tore up the astro-turf that was in here when I got the vehicle, and that added quite a bit – even made a door mat with a piece of the leftover rug. Ties it in quite nicely, if I do say so myself…

I lift the glass and let the smallest bit of liqueur slide past my lips, and savor the delicious flavor that fills my mouth. This – this is exquisite. The solitude, the sanctuary, the peace of finally having something of a true home, as peculiar as it is. It’s been far, far too long since I’ve felt this. I’m happy. I’m home. For the first time in quite a while I almost feel grounded. Hell, I can even invite friends over to visit! I haven’t really even had that…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Today was beautiful. Woke up, a wet cloth wash, brushed the teeth, ate a Tasty Bite (damn, those things are *perfect* for living like this!) and headed over to the city. Went by Quan Yin and filled out the necessary paperwork which puts me on the waiting list to eventually, within a couple of months, be able to receive acupuncture and therapeutic massage at an incredibly discounted rate, as well as, very likely, Qi Gong. That done, a leisurely walk to the café where I do all of my interweb stuff, stopping by a book store to grab a couple of things I haven’t read. Got a coffee, sent an email to the person I needed to in order to sign up for the eight day “Yoga of the Breath” course beginning on the thirtieth. I tried to make it to the course a number of months ago, but as you need to be there eight consecutive evenings it didn’t work at the time. I was still doing street performance then, and couldn’t afford to miss any nights. This time, nothing is stopping me, and a few weeks ago I made a commitment to myself and a dear friend to take and complete the course the next time it was offered.

Never in my life have I been so pro-active in my health. Feels pretty damn good.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Stuck around until the café closed, then slowly walked down Valencia, deciding to walk down to 16th st. BART instead of the closer 24th st. Didn’t want to head back to Berkeley yet. Too much life, too many smiles to walk by, and damn, I just wasn’t ready to head back. I walked, enjoying the people and the energy on the street, a subtle smile on my face, and having taken the very rare painkiller earlier because my leg was a-hurtin’ quite a bit more than usual due the trek (as short as it is) from Quan Yin, the walk didn’t bother me at all, for the first time in a while. Man, I can’t wait until this leg is back up to par and quits being such a bitch. I miss just being able to walk, to look at people, to notice the small things, to stop and look in store windows, to not have to choose the very shortest route between two points, and not look like a limpgimp while doing so.
Got down to 16th, then decided to turn right back around and head up to 24th, slowly, enjoying every step. At 24th turned down to Mission, then walked down to Mission back to 16th, where finally it was time to head back to Berkeley.

An absolutely exquisite evening.

I think the pain pills really make me a lazy writer. Gods, even without reading it, just writing this bored the hell out of my fingers. Whatever. It was a beautiful day. Things are pretty damn groovy, and I’m getting my shit together.

About fucking time.

Time to read a bit, finish the last few sips of the amaretto (man, this stuff is great! I poured maybe about a centimeter of it in the glass, and still am enjoying it. Usually by this time if I were drinking like what was common for me I’d be on my second or third glass of bourbon…) and get some sleep.

Can’t wait until this thin little bench is built into a proper bed.

Fete bon reve…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

 

floating

Tuesday night/Wednesday morning, 12:55am

 

I look around as I sit on my bench, my back propped up against the wall, candles adding to the fabric shaded glow of the brass wall lamp behind me. Hats hanging, coats in the closet, curtains closed. My Sanctuary, my Sacred Space. A perfect solitude, mine, finally. I lock the world out tonight, and tomorrow I’ll be better for it, better for this time spent, finally alone – finally, truly, my very own space. Gods, it’s been far too long. The van didn’t really cut it.

 

It takes so very little to pretend that I am living on a boat. The whisper of the cars going by is the sound of small waves splashing against the hull, or sometimes the distant crashing of the waves on the shore of a remote and empty harbor. The interior is not at all unlike many of the smaller boats I have been on, with its wood and brass fixtures, the odd little rise in the ceiling somehow adding to it. I’m below deck right now, in the cabin. The sails are down, I listen to This Mortal Coil, my ass is starting to get sore because the damn bench is hard, and it’s a calm night…

 

Beautiful.

 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

I stared at the pill for a while tonight before I took it. A little pink pill, once a day, is perhaps the thing that’s going to keep me alive a bit longer. After two years and three months being off meds, here we go again.

 

I found out that that the clinic just added acupuncture to the things that they offer, announced on a single flier in the waiting room. Wednesdays, 1- 4, walk in, no appointment necessary. I’m definitely going to check that out tomorrow, see how they are. I’ve been wanting to get on a regular acupuncture schedule for a long, long time, but my income is so unstable that even if I could afford a few appointments at another place, I wouldn’t have been able to maintain a regular schedule. This makes me all kinds of happy. Even if they solely treat for immunodeficiency wonkiness, that’s fine – I will be able to supplement it with treatments at Quan Yin for general health, and getting all of this shit back on track.

 

Yeah, It took beating me over the head with two severe infections in my leg to get me to listen to what The Great Ooh Ahh was trying to tell me, but it worked. Scared the fucking hell out of me, in fact. I realized that it wouldn’t be some little poof of smoke and I’d be gone, no simple little onething that would instantaneously slap me down with only enough energy to slide a blade, knowing all was said and written and done that could be. Nope. Not that clean, not that quick. A slow and disgusting decay which lacks horribly in any kind of grace, goddamnit, and really takes all the romance and beauty out of dying.

If this kind of death is that much of a pain in the ass, I’ll show you, motherfucker – I’ll live! HA! What’s the problem there, schpanky? Scythe getting a wee bit dull? Your death Kung-Fu is good, yes – but my Life Kung-Fu is far greater! Come back when you have something worth my time, and it better be really fucking good, because I’ll fight like hell until you get it right.

 

And I know how to fight for life.

 

Wheeee!

 

(Which, I just realized, that along with the omnipresent Yum, are the two most important mantras in the battle for life. When you get out of bed each morning, tuck your leg under and allow yourself to fall a few inches to the floor before your foot hits. As you do this, enjoy the ride and shout “WHEEE!” then, as your house-mate yells at you for waking them up because you didn’t realize that I only meant shout in a sense that fits your surroundings, stand up, stretch to the sky with your arms raised and with a really big internal smile say “Yum”. Have it reverberate inside of you – kind of like Om but yummier, ya dig? Then go about your day. Keep the Yum. Wheee whenever appropriate, whenever possible – like riding BART or whatever your form of PT is, or if you happen to stumble if you’re walking – that’s a great wheee! Getting the picture?)

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

I received a message today from a friend who helped me out by purchasing a couple of my photographs a while back. Thanks to Nightshade, they were printed up quickly, but due to the turmoil and constant change (flux?) in my life it took me far too long to actually send them to her, but finally, recently, I did, head over heels with apologies for the time it took to get them to where they needed to be. About a week after I sent them she emailed me again, asking again where they were, and I started to get worried that they were lost in the mail, and needing to start the whole process again…

I received a message today, she said that the photos had finally arrived. They arrived just shortly after her cat, a girl of 20 years, finally passed on.

I am a firm believer in “everything happens for a reason”, but even though this was due to my lack of getting things done and then the US Mail, this is glaring.

 

My photo of The Virgin now adorns the altar she has created for her cat, and the other, the first addition to her new home which she just moved into.

 

Everything happens for a reason, we are all connected, and there is no such thing as coincidence. Boo boo pe doo.

 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Now, it is time to sleep, or at least stop writing.

My boat lists a bit to starboard. I fall asleep to Dead Can Dance and This Mortal Coil. I took drugs that apparently create strange dreams, and I’m looking forward to joining them.

 2:57am

~ ~ ~

Sanctuary

 

 Monday night, wrapped in the belly of the MotorBeast

I fight this blank white screen, the forgotten words. It’s been a long time since I’ve written – actually written. I’ve been feeling incredibly ungrounded, absent, disconnected. It’s time to come back.

In a beautiful way I feel like I am back at The Enchanted Forest in Austin, no internet connection, writing on Word words to be posted at another time… wrapped in the comfort of my new sanctuary. It’s been too long. Any amount of time is too long.

 

I look around this small box and all I can see are the possibilities and I feel an exquisite peace beneath the frustration of how I’m going to get it done. I listen to the peace, ignore the frustration, I’ll get it done.

Tonight is my first night in my MotorBeast, an odd vehicle that has been destined for the junkyard twice (known) and rescued once from the person who I got it from, and once from me. If I remember correctly, he said that he intended to take this beast there a few days before my email, but not so strangely on that day they were closed.

She was destined for me.

 

I’ve done quite a bit of work on her already, mainly on the interior. I can rip shit out and clean for almost no money, and I needed to give Bobzilla his space back before his new roommate moved in. I had some wonderful help yesterday by Nilambari and later Tyler, which I value greatly as my left leg is, once again, fucked up, and I could barely walk without excruciating pain due to a muscle that got screwed at the Misfits show on Thursday. Yeah, I’m forty years old and haven’t been in a pit for probably about seven years (except for the lovely time in Boston at a show where Sarah & I started a ballroom dancing pit – hey, I can’t help it…) and I’m out of shape and… and, well other things – but there’s something inside that makes me need to do this. Not sure what it is, it’s sure as hell not searching back to my past, although that may be a very slight underlying reason – I just need to. There is an aggression in me that comes alive and is released in ways – in a pit, or in words, in performance – it’s always there… Whatever, I had a friggin’ blast, and I’d do it again. Maybe I’m an idiot, but also – maybe I just want to experience every fucking thing I can, while I can.

Still tons of work to do on the Beast – interior paint, organizing, carpentry work to make the thin plank of wood into an actual bed and creating the most optimal storage for the back of it, and getting soft squishy sit down and lay down stuff. The wood ain’t too comfortable on this beat-up body.
Then, all the other stuff. Finding a sendingunit for the fuel tank, figuring out all the switches and electrical and gas, cleaning out the fresh water tank and getting the shower working, and everything else that it will take to get her running and carrying me off to wherever I want to go…

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Gods, it’s good to type on Clotho again. It’s good to have my own space, as incomplete and somewhat uncomfortable as it is right now, until I get this narrow plank of wood built out and find some decent cushions to let me sleep well, let me dream.

I finally made it to my main doctor the other day, and tomorrow (Tuesday) I hopefully get my script for meds, and start taking them again after two years, three months. These infections in my leg have made me worried. I really don’t want to not live.

 

There is a very clear distinction between the fear of death and the fear of not living, in the way I think – the way that perpetually haunts me…

I want to live, in this life, long enough to change just a wee bit of something – and I am terrified of not living this life to the fullest.

But – I don’t give a fuck about death. I made my peace with that long, long ago, and frequently welcome it…

 

But perhaps that is why I am still alive, perhaps that is why I live when at the time I was diagnosed beautiful people were dropping left and right because no one knew anything.

I have no idea why I am still alive – but that’s not necessarily the truth.

 

It’s been twenty years, and by all rights, I should be long dead. By all rights, anyone who I have met in the last ten or fifteen years never should have known me – because I simply wouldn’t be…

 

My my, that’s an interesting thought. Glad I somehow stuck around. I’ve been blessed with the most extraordinary life, and have seen so much exquisite beauty and have met and learned from the most incredible people that I can’t even fathom not being around…

 

This thought breathes a new life into me, reminds me of how precious each minute is in our lives. A lesson in living in the Now, of opening my eyes and heart and truly seeing how beautiful it all is, even through the darkest of times. Yeah – even when things seemingly are fucked silly and I feel like I’m pretty much done with it all, that is probably the most important time to realize that each moment I have here is a blessing and a gift.

 

 

I guess there must be something for me to do.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

So here I sit, in an odd and ancient vehicle that is crippled, a sanctuary, *my* sanctuary,  but still not something that offers too much for comfort yet, and I dream of the places we’ll travel, and I smile at the thought of friends coming over for cocktails relaxing in the comfort of my mobile living room, my sanctuary – and all is good.

 

 

 

Apparently the new meds I get on tomorrow have one main side effect – they have a tendency to create incredibly bizarre and vivid dreams. I’m looking forward to this.

And I’m looking forward to getting my health back on track.