Archive for October, 2013


I write better when I think I’m in love

October 31, 2013

3:14am (my time)

If my voice could echo
like perfectly skipped stones
with just enough momentum
to slide across an ocean
I would hide surreptitious kisses
inside every syllable
so that every intonation became a song of joy
every noun became a verb,
an action of love
so intense
it would rain nothing but vowels
steadily for three weeks
a downpour of desire
set fire to this skin
and slowly slipped in, filling every pore
and leave you craving more
which I would happily fulfill
and leave you dreaming
satisfied and still
and still wondering what would happen
if this wasn’t just a dance
a mere conveyance of passion
cybernetically enhanced
to encompass all that goes
with sunshine dripping barefoot toes
alas, for now
I’ll take one step back from that dream
of flesh and ecstasy
and just be satisfied to send
kisses across the sea
to you
from me



Paris, 2005


The summertime rolls experiment

October 4, 2013

Having a place to come back to and having a place to come home to are entirely different things. I have many places to go back to, some of them feel very homey. One of them is the house I grew up in, can’t get much more home than that. But I don’t actually live anywhere. I’m transient, wanderous, without roots. The majority of my stuff is in storage, the rest is scattered about friend’s houses, garages, vans. Even my dog friend, Gala is (happily) with a friend who has a bit of land and graciously allowed her to come and stay for a time (longer than we both expected) until I worked out exactly what was going to happen next.

The summer happened next. A summer incomparable to any before it with a plethora of parties, a font of festivals, an excess of events, an array of alliterable adventures. At one point, it felt there was barely time to breathe between one and the next.

There were many moments when I was grateful to my mom for overlooking the invasion of totes filled with dirty rope lights to be cleaned and recoiled, tent and sleeping bags airing over the balcony railing, laundry, decompression, laundry, sleeping for 15 hours, laundry.
I was also grateful that I didn’t have a place of my own in those moments. No plants to be concerned for, no rent to be paid on a place I would have barely been living at( which is good because I’m still working on the balance of festival work vs being paid a living wage) no food rotting in the fridge, no responsibility beyond making sure my truck is running smoothish and I have enough cash in pocket to get me to the next show.

And it was amazing. I am unbelievably fortunate to be in a position where I could have a summer like that. I’d like to find a way to do it so that I can find that balance between the festival parade and the living wage. That will take some time and it’s okay because I see the light (often literally) and I can be patient (I’m learning).

But I can’t do it without a place to call home. It’s so time. I’m so tired. As has been reflected in the last few posts I’ve written. Yes, travel and adventure are exciting. Yes being nomadic is liberating. Am I crazy to want the other side of the coin? There is a part of me that is screaming yes. But there’s a quieter part, further down, who is gently reminding me that I worked two jobs for a time in order to look good for a bank in order to buy a property because there’s a very real appeal to having something that is mine, however tenuous the reality that dictates we can “own” a piece of a planet we were born on seems to be. That quiet voice doesn’t change her mind a whole lot. She is not distracted by shiny like the upper voices. She is not swayed by sounds and smells and sights and the inevitable adventure that waits around every corner. She would be like Henry Beamish except that she doesn’t seek to escape from everyone to find the quiet place to read, she would like to incorporate the quiet place into the existence we already have. As quiet as a place can be with a black dog on guard from squirrels and bears.
Now that the activity is slowing down and the seasons are shifting, so is my focus. Towards a place of balance where I can have the adventures and then come home. Or have the adventure of creating a home so cozy and appealing, I won’t need to leave for a time. That will be lovely.


Feels like a manifesting kind of day.

October 4, 2013
Ok, here it is in a nutshell. A seriously detailed nutshell filled with destiny.
A place of my own.
With a bright well appointed kitchen for sunshine brunches and dinner parties and experimenting with gluten free baking.
Enough space and healthy soil for a garden with action to keep me in fresh veg with room to expand and learn.
Enough land for a black dog to race about happily and feel like she has something to defend from squirrels.
Trees worthy of climbing and spending the day in, comfortably.
A rope swing.
Fruit trees.
Accessible wilderness, magical hidden groves for secret garden parties, dangerous tea parties, picnics and outings.
Outdoor and indoor space for practising hula hoops, roue cyr, aerial silks, circus fun, cartwheels, somersaults.
Clean water consistently accessible from a deep well or artesian spring.
A river or stream on the property.
An outdoor bathtub.
A firepit.
An indoor window seat.
A bedroom that is sanctuary, bright and filled with dreams waiting to be experienced, a place where sleep is restful.
A living space conducive to creativity, to work, to thoughts that become form, indoor dance parties, midnight musings, love affairs, giggle fests and joy.
A well made wood stove that easily warms the whole house.
Windows to allow enough light for live plants.
A reasonable amount of storage.
A cozy zone for rainy days when the only sane thing to do is watch a whole bunch of french gangster movies. Or westerns. Or samurai movies. Or screwball comedies.
An indoor bathtub with a ledge large enough for plates of strawberries, glasses of wine, books, candles, a friend who tells stories.
Properly wired electrical and a rational number of outlets.
A space for a piano, other instruments, a home filled with music.
Far enough from the road for quiet, sheltered enough for privacy.
A solid, well built foundation.
Off the beaten path but close enough to civilization that I can easily have or seek out company.
At the end of the road but within walking distance of the sea.
Something that is mine, for a reasonable price.
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