This is still happening, and we need it.

You can do direct help through Paypal, if you don’t want to read about hos beautiful a pup Ruby is. is my paypal addy.

Ruby in her favorite place, after playing in the park.

Ruby in her favorite place, after playing in the park.

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Because we need you, now.

Because if I didn’t need it, and have something permanent lined up, I couldn’t ask. Recently, my left leg took a dive, but remainder herbs brought it mostly back. I literally could not walk at all for two days, scooted up the stairs on my ass to the roof, so Rube could run, poop, and run.
Can’t figure out the perks thing, but if you allow yourself to give, you will be flooded with puppy love – and more video of her, if not being able to immediately see her in person – but we WILL get to you someday.

from the depths of the heart, you remain.

What takes you back? Back inside your memories, back to who made you into you are today? What takes you back?

Is it any one particular thing above others, or is it everything – a chance sighting of someone who looks like someone you once knew, a certain passage in a book, so many songs…

For me, it is all of these. Something happens and it turns into an avalanche of nostalgia, adored yet almost unbearable. Can a person live too many lives, feel too much? Remember too much?

I don’t believe so. If our experience escaped the bounds of our memory then we couldn’t be nearly as strong, nearly as full of heart – nor could we remember what we fought through to become who we are today. In a strange way, it is different and the same for everybody. We all have our bones tucked safely away in a locked box, the key to open it being moments of perfection and pure love, giving everything to a person in hopes that they don’t run away.

For me, it is everything when I listen. I hide well my anger, choosing love. Tonight, it was a song. Redemption Song by Bob Marley.

Someone posted this on Facebook, and it took me back. Took me back to ninth grade at a boarding school, my first taste of Marley and the first time hearing this song played for me by one of my very few friends, the only black person at the school, Monte Jordan – though quite honestly, I liked getting stoned, eating avocadoes by the bagfull (my next door roomie had a dad that owned an avocado grove) and listening to Pink Floyd’s ‘Animals’ over and over on his record player.

But this brought me back tonight.

From there I remembered Monte, then Jesse from R.K.L. and from there all of the brushes and friendships with people who were “famous” – from Daniel Ash, a good friend, to Lemmy who bought me drinks while we shot the shit, to finding out what an ass Axl was backstage at his show and Daryl Hannah calling me “cute” in the same place. (I helped build his Harley piano bench for the November tour. ) Jimmy Gestapo from Murphy’s Law was a great friend, a violent temper but a phenomenal heart. – and ironically, the first leather I ever called my own had their symbol on the back before I knew him., a girlfriend in Cycle Sluts From Hell Circus of Power , Blitzpeer I think they liked me because I saw them as people, as equals. I gave them unrelenting shit, they gave it back. We never fought, but could have.

I am no better or less than any of them. Neither are you.

Just remember who you are, the strength that you have. I don’t drop names, I only use them as an example. They are my past. Because of YOU, I have a future. They are only moments in time, memories.

You are my family. We are bound, and to the best I have to offer, be it only kind words, labor or cash, I will always be there for you because I love you. You’ve been there for me, kept me alive – but you had no idea what you were getting into, did you? If you gave me anything, I owe you, I owe the world – and I have plans.

(Insert maniacal laugh here.)

In The Light Of The Moon.

We’ve all done it, haven’t we? Had an event or gathering that we wanted to go to, looked forward to, but as the time was whittled to hours, then minutes before we had to leave, as we grew more interested in a project we were working on, increasingly loving our solitude, or, in my case, a good book with my puppy finally sound asleep resting her head on my ankles, we begin to make excuses.

It won’t be the end of the world. There will always be next week or month, the City just stole my car and I have a disdain for the bus and besides, don’t have the four dollars to spend, don’t want to wait.

The worst of all – I won’t be missed.

That was me tonight, thinking of any reason I could not to go to Mark Growden’s beautiful manifestation, the ‘Calling All Choir’. Any reason… but especially getting there and back. They were the strongest. I love driving, loved having a car, and absolutely adore getting out of the Tenderloin – loathe walking Ruby in it for the most part… but I digress.

I received a message, straight out of the fading blue by someone who is becoming a dearer friend by the day.

“Hey darling! Are you singing tonight? Do you need a ride?”

I remember to listen, and I hear. I accept. The world does not work in mysterious ways. It works, and we only need to realize how perfect they are.

I remember Mark, so many years ago, driving by and seeing me in my garage on Paige and Steiner, holding a garage sale to hopefully pay rent. We waved at each other, and he pulled over. (I have permission to say this from him) – and then, said a brief hello as he walked quickly into the breezeway to do what he used to do after copping. I could say that he isn’t the same person, make this a lie – but he is the same person. Full of passion, determination, desire and… and love. He just changed direction. Now, he channels everything from the former past of the crack stem to the world, creating magic. Magick.

Then there was tonight, and for the first time, my voice wavered fighting back tears. Tears of appreciation for him and all the others, tears for… for everything.

We began with voice exercises, Cameron and I bumping each other out of love and appreciation and so long unseen, holding hands, exorcizing our demons, exercising our voices. We needed to be here now, needed to let go of everything. I tend to hold on to so very much… I have let go of more, but always remember.

Part two. Moonlight.

Mark crated a song out of a single word, which he wrote while it was streaming through his window in country. Moonlight. If I didn’t know better, I would call it contrived, but I see, I listen – and some, I cannot help but hear. A four part harmony, even the least of us were now singers with his humor and instruction. We look to him not as a teacher, but as a true friend, he us just that way – and as I said before, I would die for my friends. Hell – I would even sing for them. WITH them.

Mark requested that we sing all parts, find our range, find what we preferred to sing. I was, and always will be, Bass. (In an opera, I will always be killed. Ain’t that fitting? A New adventure!) Wandering again.

He asked us to form unclosed circles – imagine a flower. We were pedals. Bass, tenor, Alto, Semprano. Might sound difficult, but under him, easily and quickly done.

Then, he asked us to sing. He asks us to sing, and the heavens opened; He asked us each to sing the part we had chosen and then led us outdoors, to sing “Moonlight” to the full moon.

I didn’t look at anyone. I looked at the moon, singing my part. Everyone else was so perfectly singing their soul. My voice wavered with tears… and I was home in the light of the Harvest Moon.

One word, and a song so powerful.

It is nice to be back.

Listen. You just might hear us – or better yet, come join us.

FIRE at a dear friends warehouse. They lost everything, and more. Please help.

Very dear friends of ours lost everything in a a fire early this morning, only barely escaping with their lives and the lives of their pups – apparently without even shoes on their feet.
They are beautiful people and incredible members of this far-reaching community, so if you can help with *any* amount, please do – and also I ask that you keep pushing this.

Their goal has been reached, yet it is only a very small amount of what will be needed to replace what they can, vet care for the dogs (I read they were being treated for smoke inhalation), and of course, finding a new home – so please, keep the donations coming to them!

Update from Muse about an hour ago from the hospital. I really hate finding our the truth is far worse than what was originally heard:

Update from Muse:
For those who don’t know, we had a massive fire at our warehouse early this morning. Two of our dogs, Bunny and Wiley did not survive. I have two broken feet from jumping out of the second story window and will be in the hospital for another day or two. John is far worse off with a broken Femur and burns over much of his body. He underwent successful surgery for his leg today and was then transferred to a hospital that specializes in burn treatment. Eduardo experienced some pretty severe smoke in halation but is otherwise fine. And, most importantly, I have the most amazing community of friends in the universe. I love you all!

I see.

5. 38 am, and still, sleep eludes me.

I hate to say this, but I Envision my death. I have constructed it. I desire to live forever, and know that is possible, if only in dreams.

I see, see the world fall down around me and the struggle  of all. I  SEE.

I cry, the tears find no home

pick up  coins and set me to the river. Set me to the River of the Underworld, to Charrion.  Cary me on, when it is my time.

But it is not my time yet. I find love, beauty and humor on almost all and every thing,

I hear you, everywhere.

I don’t commonly post things like this so take notice. This is special,

To be bold and simple (because quite honestly that is all it takes) some dear comrades need help in  saving children  from the streets of crime and early death.  What they do is beautiful – it begins with a skatepark, and grows to life without death. It can happen in your community, too.

I know how far this journal reaches. I have given you words, spanning continents, uniting us, and I have no fear of loving you. If you are able, if you have a single bill  in your pocket, give it to your new life. Give it to your children, your home, your peace.

It is never too late.

all, with grace.

HOLY SHIT. Seconds ago I awoke from a crazybeautiful  dream where I was SKATING again, ollies, kickflips, running from cops, one empty pool to the next, The Jesus Ramp in San Diego at the entrance to Highway 52.

I mean hell – I had buttboard races (where you’re sitting on your board) with the kids in my hills, no helmet, no pads, leaving an absurd amounts of flesh on the streets. I  can show you the scars.

Yeah, I was good, fearless but never competed. I remember skating down the hill to Allen’s house on metal, then clay wheels. the vibration of the road literally turned me 360 degrees while my board remained straight and determined. So many hills, so much flesh paved over. I won many of the races. Not all, but most.

And then bikes. I had the first freewheel bike with a handbrake in San Diego. I will always adore the people that paid  $50 for it, used. David Baily, my introverted and only friend at the time, taught me how to use it. We rode together. Up to the top of the huge dirt wall with speed, pivot in the back wheel or hop the bike 180, then down. Yes I was a child of the stars. At the top of every ramp and pool I wanted to go higher. Fuck what everyone else was doing, I needed to fly. To the moons and heavens, to the stars and beyond.

But this is not about bikes. This is not about skateboards.

I only just realized that against all odds and imperfections, I am still alive.

DAMN, I skated with Tommy Guerrero at Safeway on Market & Church, I called these streets my home even after  hitting the goddamn stupid truck that got in my way at Haight and Paige. Sorry, couldn’t stop, and you, you asshole, did. I saw you through your window, and now I have a miss set leg because fast is always dangerous,  and danger is always better than peace.

I don’t want peace. I want a challenge around every corner… and I can face them all, with grace.

Maybe that is peace.

I take it personally.

It’s actually quite funny. I got fired from a gig for being drunk when I was quite sober. Tired, weary with little sleep but as always ready to work – but not intoxicated in the slightest.

I got there late due to the train (and yes, me) but once there, at a bar on the wharf cheering for New Zealand and as requested, dressed as a pirate to inspire, entice, and engage the customers – I WAS a damn pirate. The very first thing I did was find my co-worker, who offered me a piece of minty gum after saying I smelled like alcohol (which didn’t surprise me, I had just celebrated the best birthday of my entire life with a dear friend the night before) – and then, and this is a key point – I grabbed one of the poles that was supporting the long tables they set up, and, quite honestly, did what I was supposed to and dressed to do – to be a Pirate. I hollered for New Zealand. (Oracle can suck my a**) And gods, what happened then…

I had – I guess we had people coming up to us in elation, one girl even said she changed bars, came to us, because she saw me on the table. I danced with people, I played with them, I held little back, but some. I played with kids. We passed out their schwag (eye patches) until we were dry – and yeah, pictures taken of me and us everywhere.

I engaged in no one improperly. I held good and fun conversations. I am not bullshitting. If I were in the wrong, I would be the first to admit it, but – I truly believed that is what they wanted. Seems like the patrons did.

Maybe it is just an excuse. Maybe everything is. If you don’t want a performer, ask for a pawn – or at the very least delineate boundaries – but don’t fire me for actually being a character that you asked for.

Yes, I  take this personally in ALL that were involved – Some people are weak, some are impetuous, some just try to survive.

I choose to not try any longer. I will just simply live.

I admit – this is was a very difficult post to write; leaving out names, most anger and words. In forty-six years, I have never felt any anger to a recent ex… I have felt passion, hope, and well wishes – but never anger. I have studied this, and know it is only a small part of me, where this comes from. I have always striven to be a better man – and I have always written about them all, in understanding or trying to find it… until she asked me not to. Doomed from the start, and she is beautiful, and people tell me I am, and…

Life goes on.

I’ve fought far too hard so I can give my life to others. I believe your life is yours, and that is good – but…

Six of a life finally justified.

I turn the key to my mailbox last night and find in it six cards, each different in size and saying, all sent by one person yet still all silent in their screaming. I, in silence, scream as well.
The person I have searched for from the moment I was ripped from the quiet darkness of her womb, her loving breast, her scent and heartbeat – and given to strangers so we could both have a life.

Six cards, all from my Mother.

This is the very first birthday I have lived that was not wrapped up in darkness, a silent, unspeakable pain and longing. I couldn’t tell you, as this is a sorrow that is my own to try and understand.

I learned a valuable lesson these past days in the world that Scott made real – that first, you must find the suffering in a person’s eyes. If you can find that, if you can see… then look for the strength in its shadows.

We all have our sorrows. We all have beauty. Our pain creates an appreciation for joy. Never be afraid to cry for both.

Last week I put words down on paper, a quick moment of thought.

“All I ever wanted to do was make you proud of me.

All I ever wished you could see, was how much

I need to be


These words were directed towards the people that raised me. I left them there, and moved on. Both words and people.

Then, one of the six birthday cards brought it back. Outside of the card is printed – “Three little words that make me proud…” I opened it to find the words that made me dissolve into tears. “That’s MY SON!

She waited forty six years simply to finally be able to wish me a happy birthday. I have waited my entire life to make someone proud of who I am. I was looking in the wrong place.

I should have known… but how could I?

At long last, I have the blessing that I yearned for, and now, finally – am proud of myself.

This brings up a question – are we in such need to be accepted by others that we sacrifice our true Self? Our friends, our classmates, our parents, our peers, our society to lose ourSelves? REACH for the unknown and take it into your heart. Grow.

I dare you.

the depth of listening

First, as I settle into my bed, thank you Scott & krew for making the day I was thrust into this world so beautiful. I will tell all of you how magickal it was soon.
Thank you Angela, Pieter, Ken, and all the others for knowing I am your brother, forever, Spoken or not. I know my true family, and quite honestly, would die for you.
Yes, that carries weight in words, but also is heartfelt truth. I mean hell – I fucking LOVE adventure, and there is only one way to find the final one… but I digress I ain’t gonna die, ever. There is a supple strength inside of me, and I will always be here, because of, and for you. All of you, and all of my dreams.

Second, and this is where life gets real. In the past two days I have played a part, have, as The Hobo King, had the blessings to speak with people who ripped open their hearts for me. I only spoke to entice, encourage the next wave of immeasurable love and determination. I somehow was able to fight back tears as a man my age old me his truth was his four month old son, and in speaking with him, in listening, he gave me the answers to the questions that I needed.
I was not playing a part anymore, I fucking AM the Hobo King, and in being myself, was blessed with what I needed to hear ~ that life goes on.

Then there was another, a beautiful Sufi Muslim who sat beside me, beside us, the Fairy Queen and Hobo King, and spoke. A young woman from Pakistan who was there fighting for women’s rights in a world that we don’t know – but as she she opened her heart and spoke in this exquisite creation so humbly called The Mystic Midway, I was silent as she spoke so eloquently, fiercely, and in all that she fights for, in watching her best friend stoned to death at sixteen years, in the stories that she shared… I could not help but cry.
I try not to talk much, only give direction and entice the heart that is being shared, but
but I needed to say something. She has only a few months left to find a husband before she is given away. This is her belief, even after running way, after… everything. Believe me, these are just notes that I write, moments I will never forget, but just notes.

I couldn’t avoid myself. I cried when I told her how beautiful she is, how, in hearing her, she has a strength that is not born out of intimidation, not out of fear – but out of love.
I don’t remember exactly what I said, but when It it was spoken, she, this glorious human who has hugged Oprah, met Desmond Tutu, and will soonmeet the Dalai Lama, asked if she could hug me. Me, this simple man brought to tears by her words.

This is why I exist, I think. To feel her arms around me, to feel arms that had an incomprehensible hatred for men in a religion and culture that we as americans cannot even begin to imagine… and she gave me such an effortless, beautiful, glorious gift. A hug, her arms wrapped around my heart, a touch that spoke of us all so beautifully, intricately intertwined.

So much more to say, but it will have to wait. I need to be a Pirate in a few hours.

Gods, I love this life.


And we do what we must. We sacrifice hope because we know better, to have the anonymous satisfaction of letting them grow.
It is never easy, seldom mutual – but I have debts to push forward.

I watch, I see, hidden in the shadows
the women they have become
the mothers and the strength
a brief moment of giving
pushing them away,
and leaving me, making them
always searching
for the light.