Crash, Burn, Make Magic. Maybe that will be the title of my next book. Last night I dreamt I married the dead under a long Spanish veil. My Mom wasn't surprised. "She just couldn't ever connect with the live ones." she said, as the family cleared up the guest chairs. I was sad about it. I woke up perplexed, unable to think of anything except that dream and photographs I had to send to a magazine.
I sent them out, gathered my ipod, and set out to clear my mind by walking around the neighborhood. I forget sometimes how little I actually explore the place where I live, how there are restaurants that have been there for years that I have never set foot in, parks I walk past but barely see. Something has shifted in me lately, something huge.
I'm going to take you on a journey, backwards of course, rewinding itself, weaving back and forth to Friday. My life partner in witchiness Sherene Schostak is getting married in France. Her engagement party fell on the evening before Venus retrograde in Scorpio. Beautiful women gathered in Duane Park to toast her marriage and celebrate each other. Kiki T and I sat next to each other commenting on the attire. Each woman was dressed like a different era. We laughed ate, listened to the music, and watched beautiful burlesque performers. The night was like magic. I wrote in journal, how unbelievably amazing my life had become in just a short period of time. Yes, I keep a paper journal.
The next night I greeted Jill Tracy in a feather boa and lace gloves. We had a glamorous dinner at a locacl resturant and spent the rest of the evening telling hilarious tales over pinot noir. Jill has been an amazing inspiration for me over the years and meeting her was like seeing an old friend. She's playing this wed at Union Hall at 8:30 with Army of Broken Toys.
Jill gave me an amazing JT doll by Kerry Kate of October Effigies. Other treasures I have received recently are Kai Altair's album and Walter Sickert & the Army of Broken Toys. I also finally got my mantilla and comb from Spain for the upcoming Dr. Sketchy's.
Fast forward to today my mind kept flashing back and forth, images of people, and places. It wouldn't calm down, I couldn't paint. I wasn't angry or sad or anything in between, just off. You see, this is where the story actually begins. Last week everything changed; the muses, the trust, the alcohol, the creation. Mike Lala and I did an impromptu piece, a prayer of sorts, at the Jazz and Wordsmiths event. Between sips of wine and absinthe we wrote and spoke. I knew things were shifting, our projects coming together but I didn't know how or why. We spoke in secret that night, codes only we knew the combinations to. All of this will make sense in a minute, I swear. I told him at a Speakeasy. "I think you've become my muse." We had both been on the muse journey recently. Late into the evening we parted ways. "I have to make peace with my past." I said. "Do you need me to come with you?" He asked.
"I think I have to do this one on my own." I walked away waiting until he left and walked to C-Squat. I sat on a stoop nearby and drank absinthe from my flask. I tried not to cry. For years Holly and Brian had been my muses and even after their deaths, they still remained. There was a part of me that just didn't want to let go, that thought that I could never have this kind of passionate, creative relationship again, or maybe was afraid of replacing it and them. But time changes, and people change, and sometimes you can't hold onto that anymore. And sometimes new people come into your life, and you have no idea why you're so connected to them or trust them but you do. And it's ok. Mike texted me, "Are you okay?" I texted back. "Always." I finished my flask and ventured back home.
I got home and snapped two images of what I was wearing and stripped down. I cried again. Mike had texted me to see if I had gotten home safe. I wrote him back. It was secret and cryptic. He understood. I sent him a picture the next day. It wasn't sexy, or smart, or anything in between. Just a captured moment of someone letting go of something that was holding her back. We are not our past, we're only what we make of ourselves in the present, and what we will make of ourselves in the future. I tell Mike half jokingly, "My next book will be all about you."
For an hour I sat on the swings today, in one of those parks I always walk by, and just let the motion take over. Sometimes you have to let go in order to move forward.