Genesis

As my brother Joshua was helping me move all my wordly crap from San Francisco to Seattle, I picked up a new descriptive term for all things awesome, which is "shidangy" and should be pronounced "shih-DANG-ee!" It is the only operable word for the current state of affairs.

I hauled a 10' Uhaul into Seattle with my brother in the passenger seat the day before yesterday. Don't be alarmed, I am inexplicably awesome at driving big trucks, as Honey can attest.

On the way into the city, I got a few text messages from Mama and Papa Gaines of Vau de Vire. It's decided. We're going on tour. I apologize for the number of you who are finding out via this blog. It still has not struck me as real; in fact, most of my reality feels like a short aside, so infinitely different from what life was like a few days ago.

And the imminent arrival of the driving force behind a lot of this change due in port in a short amount of time... someone slap me. No really. Come over here and slap me. I can feel the innate pull to withraw into myself and go into autopilot, to protect my sense of reality from utter chaos, and I'm working hard to tell it to shut the hell up.

It seems that getting what you want is not as easy as just sitting there and smiling about it. Getting it presents a host of new, strangely uncomfortable emotional waves. You have to care for it, and prove yourself worthy (to yourself, of course), and generally try to avoid fucking it up. There's a sense of gravity and stillness, bordering closely on a shimmery euphoria and a definite sense of shock and fear (again, of fucking it up).
Like the fallen angel on City of Angels describing to Nicolas Cage what it's like to be human: "You wake up all smelly, and aching from head to toe, and hungrier than you've ever been only you have no idea what hunger is or any of that stuff, so it's all real confusing and painful, but very, very good."

Shidangy ol boom man.

Limbo.

Here I am again, hovering in the jump between universes. Only this time, it's super-hover because the ground I'm going to land on is yet undecided, and the decision isn't exactly mine to make.

In other words, there is an opportunity in the air that won't be decided upon until the 15th. At that time I will know if I am going to go to Seattle in the next couple of days and begin new circles full of circus and allure or if I am going to go on tour with Vau de Vire for a couple of months. It is maddening. At night I sleep and dream of seagulls.

And having seen the art of manifestation first hand so many times, my favorite pastime has become sitting and holding the image of our house, the one we don't have yet. And when I say 'we' I mean myself, and the Babs and David (the Newlyweds) and John, (His Insufferable Lordship) and Abigail (Lady A). That's right, we're all moving out of state- out of our states of solitude and out of California, and out of North Carolina in their case. Moving all that way to come live together in a 3+ bedroom in the upper left hand corner of these great United States.

It will be interesting, annoying, fun, and sublimely comforting. I can't wait.

I also have a habit of running my silks act over and over in my head, effortlessly, seamlessly unifying all the stuttering parts into a satiny, unified whole that sings. And a new act on hoop that I'm planning to use for the Pink Door, involving a ribbon and some amount of violin with a backbone that is intoxicating.
Any suggestions for music are absolutely welcome! Approximately 4 minutes long, can't use the word "fuck" or "bitches and ho's" and must be addictive.