Final Countdown

Two years in San Francisco is an eternity. A forever of nights on your own rooftop. Working in loud nightclubs. Walking from Castro to Church, having finally found some sense of peace, I am leaving. It may seem I am running from peace, but what I am doing is running towards something else. Coop told me once, everyone runs. If you’re going to run, run towards something.

I let the pavement know me, step by step. The night is so warm, so mild and musky, the jasmine smelling like nights in Jesse’s orbit thick with their syrup-heavy vanilla scent. Tiny roses by Market street walking home from Brad’s, a paper grocery bag of my great-grandmother’s china in my left hand. Did I even begin to touch the spine of this place? I let it touch mine. I broke open my ambition on its doorstep.

Nights on the rooftop on McAllister, looking over Japantown and Fillmore and the Western Addition, towards the glory of the downtown skyline lit up with all my vagrant war mongering. I would wage war on those streets, my own private war of one, fighting against everything everyone told me I could not or would not do.
Maybe Shaun had it right the first time. We spent the second 20 years of our lives undoing the conditioning of the first 18.

If I went on the roof tonight it wouldn’t be that same skyline. Altogether different here, the hills of Twin Peaks lit up like a faerye carnival. San Francisco at night; no, California at night is a magical place. You have no idea until you’ve seen it, the hills lit up in honey-bright tones of wealth and wanting. It goes on forever, this bay, and I may never find the end of it.
It was the sailors who found it, wandering through the straight to find where the sea led, until they came to the wide bay with the future fetch of Berkeley on their left tinged with Oakland, and the bright cameo burn of San Francisco waiting on their right. Nothing would be the same. Now I won't be the same. It satisfies the least of my demands to have this much, knowing I came here, I did this, I made this real and now I am leaving it.

I miss my cousin completely when I walk home from Brad’s. This would be the time when, for a year we waited our whole lives for, we could say absolutely anything. There is nothing I could say that I would find her incapable of understanding the source of, and that is a very fine thing to be able to say about anyone. Turning past Noe I see the flash of her feet in flats, and her face that is my face in other colors, and all our mother’s differences resolved in how I love her.

Saturday was Bohemian Carnival at DNA Lounge. Can I tell you how much I love white face makeup? It's like getting a new face. I fucking love it. Here is an example from a Boho Carni last winter:


How embarrassingly myspace.

This will probably be the last Boho Carni I see for a while, since I won't be around for the one in June. My moving plans are those of a crazy person. But what else is new.

Quixotica.

This time last week I was packing my ass off to go see Seattle/Sir Scorpio/HUL and Lady A. This week I'm having my coffee before Vau de Vire rehearsal and generally enjoying the meat realm. Impending change has always been one of my favorite states of being. This move is bigger than me, and that's how I like to do things. I can't believe I've only been here for two years...it feels like an eternity. My poor little face has aged a millenia. I've packed on an inch of muscle on my shoulders and given up on selling out. Now to go north where the lion and the unicorn keep urging me to go, to open up a can of San Francisco whoopass and see how they smoke it.

I can't believe I just wrote that sentence. Sounds like macho bullshit to me. In reality, I'll be myself and hope that those northern carnies allow for the transplant. I need a rigging space and a coach, I can't just be a silent douche and go sit shyly in the Circus Center telling myself I don't give a damn that no one will talk to me. I have to be a PERSON! Agast.

In other news, I cannot cook dinner for one. I try every night basically, but it's virtually impossible. Last night was another example, and since I now don't have a fridge I took it outside to see if the guy who looks like a warthog was hungry. I caught up to him on the corner and he was in one of his mumbling moods, so against all reason I interrupted him and asked him if he were hungry. He waved me off shaking his head and kept mumbling. The REALLY interesting part of this interation was the sense of rejection I felt at this time. I pondered this while spotting another dude on the corner who did in fact turn out to be hungry, although when I asked if he were allergic to rosemary he seemed to be quite scared. Who asks that? Who ever fucking heard of anyone being allergic to rosemary?

Anyway, on with the show. I miss my supercousin. Everything is turning over, I can see and smell that, and when I turn with it I can almost see the outline of greatness to come. Because I am optimistic like that. And I have the capability of romanticizing just about anything to suit my tastes. And shall continue to do so.

More beauteous soul-ripening coffee now.

The Time Has Come

the walrus said, to talking of many things. Of shoes, of ships, of sealing wax, of cabbages and kings! Of why the sea is boiling hot, and whether pigs have wings.

My time in this Gemini city is running out. The things that keep me here have been peeling away, one by one, and the full moon hollers in at my windows once again, calling me for movement. And move I shall.


Do you see what I see?

Today

Scattered Showers

Friday

Chance Rain Shower

Saturday

Chance Rain Shower

Sunday

Rain

Monday

Scattered Showers

Tuesday

Scattered Showers

Wednesday

Chance of Rain

Tis a lovely rainy week in Seattle. If you know me very well, you'll know this is basically the best forecast I can imagine second only to thunderstorms at 80 degrees. Since I've only ever felt those in Louisiana, I know I must trade in thunder and heat for wind and cold, but I don't have to trade in the rain.

The thought of leaving my mercurial San Francisco has terrified me to the core. Not because I am still in love with it, but because I was afraid that leaving it meant giving up.

Anyone who has ever drained a relationship/location/situation down to the last bloody dregs may be familiar with this feeling.

I am no longer terrified. Even if I were a science-based creature- to be in Seattle means being within an hour of my love, the King of All Scorpios. There is circus and rain. And my brother by some kind of blood other than blood, His Insufferable Lordship, meeting me there with Lady A for the same intensive purpose of intention.

After a while it ends up being about the math, if it weren't about anything else.








**note for my sisters** Not long ago I was walking down 14th street on an obscure little corner with Shaun (TKoaS) and he stopped me and pointed down. Carved into the sidewalk:
"The Goddess Lives. Do not forget it." Love you.