live past

I’ll never understand how much or why, when I look at me, I hate you, love you. Every single pill is bitter.

All I can do is live past the wishing I would die.

nostalgia

I remember writing before. It seems like someone not me before, but who I am now but much more me than now, the me before.

In Austin, all the way there and after, even before I left because I knew, I knew I was leaving, I was going, and I wasn’t afraid. my teeth weren’t in the drawer, a couple drawers and a brand new one sitting on the counter, a single tooth laughing at me or maybe crying. Before when everything was leaning forward towards the next while still in love with each day, each of the days that were now then, but now aren’t anything but words. Before when I could stand for hours and jjust by standing cause people to smile, remind them of wonder, where they walked away laughing after showing me the only way they thought right how much what I was doing was loved, a dollar, five, twenty sometimes, and I felt like I was doing something right, something good, not because of the money but because of the way their eyes lit up and would shine.

Before when blood didn;t run down my legs, when I didn;t plan my schedule by doctor appointments. Before when you fell in love with me because of my words, because you could feel the life inside of me too and it was contagious, it made you smile, gave you hope, before.

It’s the tooth that did it, another one snapping off today, right in front, one that I didn’t expect to go, not so soon. Not at all. I expected the other side because of the way I clench my jaw so tight when the leg cramps come and I try not too but it’s hard enough not to scream. Still it’s not the cramps, because you can’t see those except for my tired, but you can see me not smile because I’m so ashamed to. You don’t know why my teeth are gone, and you will judge me by it. I don;t know why my teeth are gone and now when I smile all of the sudden I am ugly, ugly in a way that could have been avoided  you think and I think and therefore hideous, like I never brushed them, never took care of them, but I did, I fucking did, saved up paychecks worth of money for the surgery but still didn’t have enough for all that was needed, and brushed and did what I could that was right but it was all under the gumline and then they started going, going, gone, the one today perfect and once part of such a carefree smile and now sitting alone and shining on my counter top…

Now that I’m broken they’re allowed to fix me. It’s so damn stupid. Now that I’m falling apart I qualify for them to try to put me back together again. Now, they say “uh-oh”. Now that I can’t stand for hours, and make people smile. Now that I am tormented by what is left of my own smile.

Now that I want more than anything to be on the road again, but can;t leave – and even if the rest were fine I don;t want to meet anyone with what I have left of a smile, because even if I forget for a moment, even if my heart is bursting with the happiness of new adventures and beautiful new people, you’ll see the ruins of a smile and that will stand out beyond everything and you won’t forget…

so I need to make it like before again, and I will fight like hell to do it – because there are far too many after nows, far to many “and then I will”s and far too many roadlines to fly by on a pitch black night on my way to the forever tomorrows, and all of the dreams that happen along the way.

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running home to…

Monday eve – the Sun has vanished behind the Ocean, light fades, one more walk along the tide line and I will be on my way back to the Mission.

I look out my window & see the people running, playing with their dogs, and as always think of Bean. A handful of her ashes are out there somewhere, mixed with the Sea, with the sand. Other parts of her are in The Enchanted Forest, a special place I found off the trail, and another handful went up with the Temple at Burning Man in ’06.

The rest of her, along with parts of her jaw bone, dried lillies, and other sacred keepsakes are on the dashboard of my new home. She is always with me…

It’s been a beautiful few days here, almost like a small vacation. In a motorhome it is so different than driving a car here – so much better – almost like I have a nice weekend rental at the beach, but it’s not a rental, it’s my home & I can come back here any time I wish – walk along the Ocean, go to the Archery Range in Golden Gate Park, just a short walk away.

This is perfect – almost. The only thing that would make it better would be someone to share it with. Someone, or Bean…

So many yesterdays float through my heart. So many gray skies & so much beauty. Every day was touched with magick.

I’m still trying to figure out today, & still dream about tomorrow. Thinking that there is no reason why the magick shouldn’t be in these days, as well, but there is a stagnant heart inside this boy, & I need to get back on the road – put today in the rearview & go on the search for a thousand tomorrows, visit old friends, find new ones, & make CultureFlux what it was created for – created by a hopefull romantic.

In the black of night, rolling along the road, nothing but the beautiful beat of the white lines flying by on a two lane highway on the road to the next adventure…

I love the Sea, it is mother, home – but the road is where I belong…

Ladies & Gentlemen, Children of All Ages…

It is ingrained in our imagination, our memories & dreams, and even, perhaps, our darkest fears.

It is the primal calling of the child who for some glorious reason doesn’t “fit in” with the rest – who has different dreams, who sees a world with more possibilities, who looks at everything with a bit more wonder, a brighter shine in their eyes…

This is for those who know what a dream is worth. The outcasts. The visionaries, fantasizers, the few who still believe in romance…

We all have, in our own way, run away with, and run home to –  The Circus.

I light a candle, much better than any other light to write by – if, if I am to write.

A beautiful day at the ocean but I was forgetful, a fool, thinking that a beautiful Sunday at the Ocean would be peaceful, but oh, so very very wrong…

Still, a beautiful day walking around in my motorhome clolse to naked, crawling into my beautiful bed, reading, napping, & hearing the fight for parking spaces a few feet away…

Can’t wrote that much right now it seems, Tired, to sleep.

stronger than

The appetite is still there. I feel it haunting me, taunting me, poking its head out of the shadows now and again to either laugh at this thing that I’ve let myself become or look at me with sad eyes and wonder where the man with such a passion to play the game has gone.

I know where. It is in the flesh and blood under my fingernails every night, the poisoned blood dripping down my legs, my back, my arms, spreading. It is in the fear that brings, the morphine I need to take, the energy I don’t have.

the fear.

Somehow I need to beat this, as it has taken away who I remember being.

Who I still am – the part of me that is not flesh, or blood, or anything that this sickness can take away. In the mirror, if I look close, there is still a shine in my eyes, behind everything else. I’m still here, and I’m still strong as hell, as strong as I’ve ever been – nevertheless, I need to be stronger.

but it’s fucking hard.

I need to keep going. Need to somehow find the energy to continue with CultureFlux, beat this whateverthefuckitis down and let it know that my will is much stronger than it could ever be. I’ve got things to do, roads to travel, people to meet, know & share. I have thousands upon thousands of words that are waiting to be written, and I have hundreds of stages that I still need to be on…

Yeah, I miss performing like crazy. It’s time to do something about that as well – so many ideas, so many characters that I have floating in my imagination, straining to be let loose…

Gods, so much to fucking DO! …

Tomorrow I go for my first acupuncture treatment since those beautiful, tragic times with Michelle, which I’m looking forward to – I know I must have shitloads of energy blocked, so it should be pretty crazy… then Shadow Circus, and either directly after that or very early in the morning, heading out to Ocean Beach & the archery range. SO nice to have my bow back… hells, maybe after all this time she deserves a name. Why the hell not…

It will be a good weekend.

Maybe I’ll even remember how to write when I get to the Ocean again – it’s been far, far too long…

I’ll need to remember how to do that before I get back on the road, as well.