ON STARTING THE NEW UNDERGROUND (of one): SAN FRANCISCO IS NOT DONE WITH ME YET…
(illustration of a bludgeoned Hicken Furry Fish of Alaska, from my book, “The Girl Must Die: A Monstergirl Memoir” with Jeffrey Hicken, Monster Girl Media 2011 )
i still feel like a fish who’s been bashed against a log, but for some reason i cannot fathom, i’ve been granted a reprieve to not have to move out of my rent-controlled apartment of 30 years, and my landlord and i have “settled.” i was ready for a fight…WANTED BEGGED PSYCHED UP to fight… but my last-exit attorney told me i wasn’t nearly as mega fine as i figured i was and she had a come-to-Jesus rant at me because if i fought like i wanted to and LOST, i could be forced to be all cleared out in as little as two weeks.
so i’m here, recuperating from a year of HELL, as i cannot yet afford to move, and i have a 3-year restraining order and a 2-year probation where i can get evicted if i let my neighbor entrap or bait me again. she’s already tried a few times and thus i take the back entrances now and have actually kinda forgotten about my demon spawn neighbor because my birthday was on august 10 and although i tried to ignore it and its questions for the new year, i’ve accidentally climbed back up on Audacity’s Lap and am already starting to plan my last and final public trick during what’s left of this particular lifetime, with all its skills and hard-won audacity glamour chutzpah and entitlement.
without a shred of evidence to back me up, just my own artistic assumptions, i figure philosophy is the first responder to any new interesting culture being birthed. or maybe it’s music? music is preverbal and instinctual like dance. and dance is a close second because it’s how you move and it has its own intelligence knowing and language.
so maybe it’s music and dance and THEN philosophy because words try to capture what is felt and seen on the low the animal the unspoken the felt… and once the unspoken are attempted to be reigned in captured (then ultimately bludgeoned by) words, then that’s where the fractals take off as each artist musician or designer considers these new ideas via their own interpretations.
the individual takes… we’re all part of a salad. an orchestra.
that’s why artists loathe communisms in reality because we’re first on the scene before others have a chance to impose their structures meanings visions and stories upon us.
that’s why the artist the thinker the natural cantankerous adversarial aggressive assertive asshole is the only antidote to the death of life that is Artificial Intelligence. it is a vomit sampling. not so sublime.
but it is time for the freaks the abused the hated the maligned and misunderstood.
the ones who loved their abusers and killers before they were told to only have one feeling or a reaction at a time.
so this goes back to when i first ran away to Gloria’s apartment… 2 weeks at age 10 that gave me my life’s vision goals meaning…. the art of love in its daily physical manifestations…because no matter how far life took me away from what i saw and knew, the more i was drawn back to that original unspoken FEELING…VIBE…
ya dig?
because while i didn’t get evicted, while i was trying to pack up an apartment of 30 years in weeks, i had moving boxes in the hallway and simone called the fire inspector on me and so it never ends…and she’s legal right and the free one..
and yet she is not free. for all her black bougie-ness she went off on the Mexican workmen as if they were slaves and we were all shaken. she’s losing it.
and i’m kinda chill now that i’m recuperating and avoiding the devil’s hallway and going out the backdoor so’s not to pass her door.
all that i thought was “bad” about my wild early years were ultimately GOOD because by the time i returned to jail as an adult i was the most relaxed one and used my ability to start a scene and then also stop a riot on the side of the road in a broken down bus, i incited an action in jail and in an act of real-life IMPROV, set up the other girls to take over where i was weakest: in negotiating what was actually POSSIBLE because i don’t know the legal heirarchy of the jail system.
and even the meth addict who’d been curled in the fetal position for hours to get through the hell as others pounded on the wall screamed cried and re-raged at us, she woke up and was inspired as we were finally processed and given beds after something like 36 hours in an initial holding cell meant for a limit of 24.
my palms had turned purple with marbling from the off-gassing of our plastic jail-issued crocs and the other womens’ faces went to various shades of grey…. there was no air and we were being poisoned with no water.
i was treated like a queen in jail and i don’t know why. my young ranting cellmate on her own lockdown paused from pacing and talking to herself (“it’s how i survive this… adventure…” she told me and i got it and left her my eyeglasses because the security guard who caught her for stealing pepto bismol at walgreen’s tackled her and stomped on her eyeglasses when they flew off as she was being restrained…but otherwise a shopper sees the guards routinely stand by and let guys leave walgreen’s with christmas sacks of stuff… it’s crazy… in jail if you want a tiny dixie cup for water they say no, you take the non fat milk that takes longer to spoil, dump it out and fill the carton with WATER… it’s crazy here, y’all)
anyhow, my cell mate was pacing and rambling to herself and then turns to me as i’m reading one of her unread library books on my bottom bunk, and suddenly says, “when you got here they cleaned my cell like they’ve never cleaned it for anyone here before ever. they cleaned EVERYTHING….what was THAT about?…”
then she looked away and continued talking to herself.
it was a note to give a lot of extra love to the women who’d feathered my nest and smiled and introduced themselves to me as they passed our cell.
it told me that there’s a fine balance between the passivity and lethargy of humility and the audacity and creativity to serve.
it was something about how James, my finishing school before He left, taught me to Love. to Serve.
someone on ecosophia dreamwidth said what i’d written about James seeming like my imagination…was he ever really even HERE?… said i sounded like a passage from Anne of Green Gables…
and as i read the link they referenced, a lot more MORE sounded like other thoughts i’d had about James, and so i watched an episode starring Martin Sheen and fell in love with the …MY KIN… if this was all written in 1908, i belong here, too… because i recognize whoever could even fathom such a character as my KIN!
and just watching that opening episode with Martin Sheen as “Mathew,” i remembered again that Art is to show us our Eternal Selves and i hear You…
Anne of Green Gables had arrived like a child Mary Poppins to open up the hearts and imaginations of …Everyone around there.
WE are powerful… we have ALWAYS ever been thus. that is why we are dangerous… abused… raped… molested… beaten… bullied….
secretly LOVED envied and …
this is why simone is trying to eradicate me. she thinks i am dangerous. said so in court docs. and yet i’m the one who’s never hurt her or her things or cost her money or murdered anyone with my offensive fear. and yet i am the “dangerous” one..
but i AM! i am dangerous to the Status Quo. to the Game that even understands and CAN understand legalese.
i read Jeff Childers’ “Coffee and Covid” with gratitude every day until he admitted that once a drunken cat was offending his date, and so he lured the drunkard to the station where the bouncers were, and then he visciously insulted him so that the guy would punch him… and he did and Childers, a lawyer in real life, DUCKED, and tricked the drunken man into hitting the bouncers so he’d get kicked out.
i lost all street respect for Childers and it kind of ruined my trust in his perspective because he understands and LIVES this “system” that crushed James and me and in which i will and can never prevail because my instinct is to be forthright and tell the truth at my and James’ peril.
i don’t care what side you’re on politically; because if you can even successfully “play” Their Game, you ARE ALSO THEIR GAME.
James was always always outside of it and never ever played it to His advantage and that’s why i trusted him. he had me do things against my desire or ease because it was always The Right Thing To Do.
James was all NEW GAME. he taught me how to live the Love i first had a glimpse of at Gloria and Lucia Chambers’ life where two twin beds were pushed together in their rooms because …no matter what you got into in the name of love and good music, you never had to fall down.
it’s the art of fucking and the open love affair because a woman like me cannot and has no desire to fuck Everyone.
i learned this living with James because i’d decided to keep our life clean and not bring inferior drama into our world. what Temporary Reality saw as my “bell jar.” not of Sylvia Plath insanity (or maybe so…) but of our protected …
experiment.
so the American Experiment…
it’s related because Generation X is the last superhero salvation of this American Experiment whether we want to admit it or not. it is finally Grown Up Time and we must needs take back The Collective Conversation and leave the kids to eat each other alive and let the ones who listen to us and get it, we have to focus on them.
they are quiet. if we are loud enough they will find us and be our knees when ours our wobbling.
so that’s My Job: to openly be inappropriate and show the art of the open Love Affair. not the kind where you show up on all fours. the kind where we return to anonymous love notes of “MORE! MORE YOU!” because when you know you’re being watched and adored but don’t know from WHERE, you’re on your best sexiest hottest “Watch ME!” behavior.
that’s why i told DJ X1 and then Mr Lawrence Chew on KPOO how they made me FEEL.
because they REMEMBERED. the new young cats who play the old musics, they never played to a sweaty hot grinding populace holding it together until they’d explode… DJing back in the 80s and 90s was the art of the Love Affair… the look across the room… their eye contact… the move…the first drink to long island iced teas in to madness and sweaty beautiful wrong inappropriateness that later became a decade of MeToo tinder regret and fodder.
you had to learn to not get gang raped… you had to learn to be responsible and ride men’s collective sexuality with grace and the DJ helped practice that…gave you room to walk away…
i was there.
so were they.
so was Larry Mizell. he’s my new consistenly favorite DJ on KEXP. coming from South Central LA i see why Larry Mizell Jr is The Blackest Man in The Pacific Northwest. when he does 808 day or OG Thursdays HE WAS THERE, MAN…
he was there when we were hanging out on the corner back when brothers didn’t jerk off and saved it up for later when they’d grind you outta this world and you had to learn a thousand non verbal ways of saying NO….
“….not yet....”
life is grimm faery tale scary but the trick is to flip it so all the horrors make it so you can swagger through a year of hell like i just had.
i’ve had my ass beat, been a runaway, been in group homes, foster situations and nearly been raped multiple times before i was 14, and i’m LUCKY for it. it’s the only way i could go through this past year of mad hell.
i wanted to die but it was worse 14 years ago when i last had a mad gay stalker in new york and my career ended me and i was cancelled before i even knew what that WAS…
Larry Mizell is that DJ from back then… turn that jittery rage fear anxiety and EXCITEMENT into music… dance… your medium is PEOPLE…
that’s Larry Mizell now. i started with gateway DJ Riz and i love the lot of ’em at that new station, KEXP, out of Seattle that’s edging in and taking over San Francisco. you can tell it’s run by Gen Xers teaching the young ones how not to just mash all the best old songs together like they do here in the bay area which has a lot of old people politicking and bogarting the air with musicians they like and wanna promote, or lifestyle mood background music.
nah…. it’s all a story an ARC… you don’t just mash all the old songs like a tedious viagratic techno beat with no foreplay climax denouement and post coital type of cuddling with your clothes still on.
the coda is “hello, what’s your name?”
certain DJs know exactly what i’m talking about.
because you’re playing for people who’re dancing alone dancing together losing it and sometimes fucking but always loving and playing.
you’ve gotta be willing to do it wrong and dance like the girl on olympics or elaine bennet.
that must come first.
i saw that girl at the olympics trying desperately to be a B-girl. people make fun of her; my friend loves that she TRIED. yeah, she tried but she’s not in her body yet and so far from the magic of the slow GRIND…
(this is what Whitney Houston meant when she said Bobby Brown taught her to dance…
dance is just another word another reality for The Art of the Fuck.)
until then you’re all virgins.
all the stuff the frustration the impetus that even LED to breakdancing in the first place…to the fuck yeah party.
that’s Larry Mizell on KEXP.
he remembers. he was there.
i tried to make DJ X1 into that, Mr Lawrence Chew… oh, they both stepped into my invitation THEIR way, went beyond me, my little shtick, and took me to WOW WHAT’s THIS?… and that’s the point, right?
who are you? this is all improv… you’ve gotta say YES, AND…
the moment you get scared embarrassed shy self conscious… you say NO, PERIOD FULL STOP.
there’s no magic there.
even though i’ve gotten fat haven’t worked out all year and feel disemboweled and left for dead, i’m crawling back to my audacious WATCH THIS, MOTHERFUCKAS! self because THAT is the audacity the scream of wild life i must do to exist.
i cannot fight to live after James’ death with quiet restrained politeness.
when i died as i was 14 years ago and wanted to take off and die my own wild death, he wanted me to stay with him here and i immediately knew i could only continue to exist if he allowed for one deal point
“okay, i’ll stay here with you if i never have to BEHAVE again…”
and he put his head down and thought a beat because he KNEW what that might mean, then looked at me, slowly nodded and answered, “…okay.”
and it was on: i started dancing in the streets like i’d seen and FELT in the late ’70s/early ’80s in the bronx. i couldn’t dance then because i was too young, my tits and ass were too big, and i didn’t yet know how to fight back with just who i was.
i had power. female power.
i was only 12 when i did the most girly passive aggressive thing i’d ever done and gave head to my best friend’s man because i resented her bossing me around and putting me down… i brought HIM down and then my best friend, who had forgiven me, but what i’d done poisoned us, her man, her child, and her future.
i have to live with that sin.
but what if i used my power to bring down people and ruin Everything by flipping it for good?
and that is the question the heart of the Love Affair i have learned how to have as an artist lover exhibitionist romantic and dreamer.
it’s how i atone for all the evil i’ve sewn even as i knew better. just because we’re young dumb and stupidly full of someone else’s cum doesn’t mean we didn’t know better. we get to atone.
(even though i swear semen makes me high like a drug, i get to atone.)
but that’s where we’re at now as a society, right?
too many have been evil assholes. until they truly atone it’s time for a new Underground.
Larry Mizell is my new DJ. he REMINDS me. HE WAS THERE.
bougie colored folks, be they black spanish or whatever, they fear their broke ass kin on the corner where everything was raw.
my devil neighbor is bougie and that’s why she’s so fucked up. she uses all that whiteness she pretends she’s against, she is up under their skirts. i was helpless against it because i’ve never been up close to that kind of… the most shamelessly intense house nigger shit i’ve ever seen or experienced in real life.
we’d have gotten our asses beat back in the day and not wanted to show our faces in public. but no one here in SF on this block stopped her or called her out..
that’s why i want out.
but SF, mordor, is not yet ready to be done with me like philadelphia was when it hocked me out like a pubic hair caught in the back of its throat.
so i’m fixing on traveling. spending time AWAY from here to visit kin i avoided to keep my bell jar pure with James. our Love Experiment.
i will go back Home and test what i’ve learned and make it work. otherwise i am all talk.
i’m listening to Larry Mizell’s 808 show as i type all this. he reminds me he INSPIRES me to heal my knee so that i may dance again because it is my way of telling others’ bodies what is POSSIBLE as Gloria’s Jesus Dancing did.
love FEELS a certain way. it is not safe.
it is why i will write about my love experiments with James.
so much to share. so much to tell. i know that if i tell the secrets some will KNOW that their dreams their ideas ARE possible. there is no “stuff” that can give you the freedom and joy of dance and kissing.
you don’t have to fuck everyone even if you started out intending to as i had.
i was willing. but so many protected ME because they knew i wouldn’t make it out alive. a girl a man can get pierced only so many times before you get callouses and cannot feel the chills as you used to.
i’ve learned you can get near death and still get the chills.
DJs… they make people.
Larry Mizell gets it. he was mad that …was it Wu Tang? no, it was Method Man—Larry Mizell, he was specifically talking about a pissed off Method Man at a recent concert just having dead faces no dancing moving… just dead faces holding up cameras …so the audience just TOOK like insatiable consumers… the audience did not GIVE.
performers are not on screens. Method Man’s from New York… he can’t fake it like people on the west coast habitually do. that’s why …the beat is like that. ya dig? it’s mad Truth. no lying. your body tells secrets out loud when you merely move.
the artists on stage are your Beloveds. they need you to GIVE. to be embarrassed and risk enjoying them too much going so far… it’s essential.
you don’t go to comedy and not laugh. i sit in front and laugh like no one from LA is behind me because it makes the comedian BETTER to be loved adored told MORE! MORE OF YOU!
the Art of the Love Affair. and you don’t have to fuck everyone. just act like you WOULD.
a man will happily fuck you if you act like a toilet. but men are the romantics and actually WANT you to remain special. that’s why so many have protected ME when i was willing. they taught me how to keep it special.
James put it all together.
so that’s what’s next.
now that i’ve been hit on a half dozen times even as i’m half dead bleeding and disemboweled in the corner, i laughed to myself after my taxi driver hit on me yesterday with my almost-60 grey hair, CANE and no bra and all this gained weight and exhaustion, i thought, “i guess half-dead vulnerability is a turn on because i can’t run away.”
but nah. wanting to fuck someone in my world simply means:
I LOVE YOUR LIFE FORCE. CAN I HAVE SOME PLEASE?
you don’t have to fuck everyone or even anyone at all.
DJs know this. play to this. be creative and keep it out in the open until you get good at being direct and deflecting all the hard ons because as i’ve said before:
erections and wetness is just applause of a certain kind saying, “I’M SO GLAD YOU’RE HERE! THANK YOU!”
work it. don’t exploit it to your own gains your own ego. because fuckability isn’t only looks. it’s ENERGY.
it’s “GO AHEAD AND MAKE FUN OF MY ASS IN PUBLIC! I’M HAVING SOOO MUCH MORE FUN THAN YOU SO IT’S WORTH IT!”
the ones who’re self conscious are no fun. they are never the pretty ones at the table for long.
so that’s what’s new: my public love affair and Larry Mizell’s shows are my new reminders because HE WAS THERE MAN.
the HE WAS THERE MAN is a riff off an old punch line from a Vietnam vet joke back from maybe my “They Call Me Mad Dog” book, back when humans were funny and Vietnam vets were saying, “you weren’t there, man!”
that’s why i’m going back to the 90s. when things were wrong.
i’ve done some sort of walk of shame since i was a little kid, maybe even as far back as age four when i stole an “EXIT” sign from a hardware store in the 70s and back in the car when my mom saw what i’d done, my mom made me walk back and return it to the store manager and apologize.
i don’t fear your walk of shames because i’ve already lost everything and been saved.
and now saved by so many i haven’t the room to thank here.
now that my bell jar is broken and i’m pushed up against humanity and see how uptight and unimaginative and unloving and awkard we’ve gotten, my work is cut out for me:
i’m starting a new underground of at least ONE: me.
there are actually already others waiting to dance. i’ll find a way of connecting us.
but check out Larry Mizell. he’s what i’d envisioned: he’s DJ as preacher, Reverend… ushering in a new bygone era.
don’t worry, Larry Mizell, if you see this i won’t write nasty generic emails to your producer, Sharlese. i did what i did with X1 because when i was lost several years back he was THE BRONX…he woke me up with adrenaline to the heart and between my legs. he was the only one there and he got the secret nastiness of music and unearthed dirty songs in the middle of the night for hours and hours to tear at myself… to send to me some of the best hottest secretly public love letters ever.
WHO does that anymore in a world that asks for dates with dick pics and beaver shots??? hella hard to be sweet after ubiquitous glory hole hellos and coming in each others’ faces and souls all willy nilly with no aim or care.
and then Mr Lawrence took it public on a last-minute dare and showed me what shivery excitement love and derring do in public dance on the median at 24th/potrero during lockdown could GIVE to others…
HE WAS THERE, MAN… and then some. but if he went back there the madness against today would have him losing everything including his mind because you cannot care what inferior moves think or do.
regarding Mr Lawrence playing dance love songs for me in public… i lost my mind my body and fell in love and so did the WORLD… i knew because of the excited faces of passersby in cars, their fast stories like when i was on the road and secrets were common because they knew they’d never run into you again… and so another passing DJ i’d danced to before at carnaval in his cherry low-rider truck, he’d never look up… that’s how i know how you fuck…
can you look me in the eyes after all you’re DOING TO ME?…
but this time i opened wide and willingly for someone else whispering screams promises and wishes to my body and this time… THIS time… he got it and his cool half-lidded eyes flapped open like cartoon shades on a looney tunes kitty.
this is the underground Gloria Chambers showed me was real.
you went ahead and flirted with all who loved you because you took care of each other on the low without doing anyone dirty.
who knew?
i hate to tell secrets because once it’s public, the magic is gone and over and i cannot write that particular love letter again. people share or they KNOW… so you have to honor each love even …NO, especially no matter how fleeting.
write a NEW love letter. we can everyone can feel the tiredness of a shtick.
James taught me this, too. and his love was specific particular obvious and empowering.
it’s exciting full of fucking without losing our innocent sweetness because that’s what’s needed.
that’s what GEN X remembers and can show and remind the young ones who have an inkling but are staying low because the tattle shameful tailing assholes among their mist have taken over.
no good ART comes of tattle tales or anyone who can make SENSE of the current legal system. if you get it and can thrive in it, just watch and protect us who think it’s mad fucked up. those of us who end up in jail because we’re the drunken guys who’re broken hearted because we’re barely getting by in the system and are too broken hearted to use anyone’s nature against themselves like Jeff Childers and my neighbor who used how she KNEW i’d tell the truth against me. how i’m barely interested enough in ANYONE ELSE to wanna even film or WATCH them as i find most people uninteresting tedious and boring.
and i’m so often RIGHT. / this is why i never looked in anyone’s private drawers when i’d babysit as a teenager. i’d already rifled through people’s porn in the 70s when people used to have company over and i had time to rummage during Grown Up Time when we had to be quiet.
some played board games. i looked for playboy. everyone had playboy in the 70s.
it’s time for the scary monster kids running madness now back off and go play board games while the rest of us rediscover the mad glory of pubic hair because they’re already quietly being taken over by the fun ones who’re remembering to stare outside windows for hours at a time imagining better ways.
a society predicated solely upon an ingrown childish boring preoccupation with gender or racial identity needs to leave new ideas to people who can actually HAVE them.
so my corner is romance and the art and possibility of the indiscrimate and sweetly public love affair which entails surprise and discovery of WHO ARE YOU? on ALL OUR PARTS.
i’ll blow on your flames you set my mind ablaze.
Larry Mizell gets it. i’m gonna WRITE and IDEA to his musics. it’s against all that is good and holy to hold cameras up AT your musicians live. it’s like mooning them and giving them the finger at the same time.
the biggest thank you to repay them with is to feel them in your BODY so you can lose your motherfuckin MIND.
planning 3 hours of a musical art is like the art of beautifully fucking the world and leaving us all the better for it and not actually doing it so you lose the kids and up in the gutter.
i was there, man.
i remember the madness of the confusion of blending beats from one song to the next…and then pulling back just in time before you spray all over everyone in ecstasy.
the art of holding back the grind. not jerking off all the time and coming indiscriminately.
the men in my day taught me how to ready fire AIM beautifully.
that’s Larry Mizell…
he was there man. The Blackest Man in the Pacific Northwest and Thank the Lord.
i’m gonna point to how he makes me feel so you can feel 3 hours of …”it was sooo good it felt like 10 minutes ago!”
he doesn’t fear the mess. i don’t know his day job but my beloved Lawrence Chew pulled back just when it got crazy mad.
James did, too. he was a Libra. there’s a reason for that. the madness made him sick. he needed balance. he needed to find his way back to something he could understand and yet he could handle me 24/7/365.
that’s how even my madness scares ME. because it’s hard to even live up to my own imagination in this current world without losing my mind. i need someone to GROUND me.
rent’s gotta be paid.
things were a lot cheaper in the 80s and 90s. there’s a reason to keep us anxious distracted and whoring.
that’s why i think being trapped by my rent control means i have to GIVE BACK because i can.
because simone is still trying to bait and entrap me to get me evicted during my probationary 2 years, i have decided to TRAVEL via train and other grounded ways (no airplanes now that they’re falling from the sky) in order to reconnoiter with James’ kin who’re now my own, as well as my own kin i left in order to be in the bell jar experiment with my beloved James.
i must test all i know in The Real.
all that i grew up with that i thought was “bad” is perfect for Now Times and going against the constrained terrified madness (for madness is all fear and things done to try and avoid or attenuate it).
i’m still here. and in order to also honor James and make the kind of love i want to still have, i have to fearlessly be like we were together. many will leave and thus save me precious time and i have already been blessed with old as well as new Loves.
secret: i’m already part of an underground beyond just one. saying i’m ONE is actually me being HUMBLE. ha!
Mark Bisone’s most recent post reminds me of the “trick” of seeing colors only hummingbirds see again. what you thought was bad might be GOOD… essential.
artists jobs are to fuck with our assumptions.
stuff is shitty and bad now… but kinda not REALLY. finally things are moving… but because they are moving within ME. it doesn’t really matter what else is happening outside of me, right? but that’s why i hear Larry Mizell and he’s preaching where we need to return to…
getting off the phones and losing our minds in the BEAT.
certain hard drums make me heel and return me to where i need to go. to that, also listen to Mizell’s throwback thursday show featuring The Ohio Players’ music JUST BECAUSE. The Ohio Players are dangerous and hard to play through for 3 hours without driving people mad. it takes a deft DJ hand to play that much Leroy Bonner and funky worm samples and original without driving the entire Pacific Northwest into unexpected convulsions and accelerating into walls and lurching into each other by accident, or causing instant confusion madness and wild grinding and indiscriminate spontaneous frottaging and rampant unguided ejacuation.
remember: fuckability isn’t really looks past the first few minutes; it’s LIFE FORCE. my being vulnerably gutted in the corner is hot to the near-dead romantics because of my vulnerability IS LIFE.
ya dig?
i’m a multiple leo: somehow i’ve learned to flip my vanity and exhibitionism as a form of experimentation and interesting outcomes.
don’t be afraid of your own fuckability. don’t shut it down. be gracious. it’s a compliment. be thankful. be POLITE. and don’t use it as a sugar high ego trip to break up situations and create drama.
because when you give someone swagger, EVERYONE benefits from the joy.
you think you’re cute? GOOD. keep on keepin’ on….
you’ve gotta be able to take a punch to be truly romantic in this world or any of our worlds.
dare to be audaciously loving and court the joy. you don’t have to fuck Everyone even if you …no, ESPECIALLY if you feel like it. because that’s what being a DJ or on stage at its best is even LIKE. making love to the world…
so i’m getting ready for a few years of traveling by train and getting to know what’s left of America again and seeing what us feral can do with it right now. i have to go tits out or i’ll be bored and thus ordinary and not care. i must BE crazy multiple leo and dare to fly way too close to the sun and self immolate in public.
sincerely,
kitten
p.s. i just now remembered the joke. it went something like this:
“how many Vietnam vets does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”
“i don’t know. one?”
“you wouldn’t know, you weren’t there, man!”
i never could tell a joke for nada.
LINKS:
https://ecosophia.dreamwidth.org/289845.html?thread=50222901#cmt50222901
https://etc.usf.edu/lit2go/53/anne-of-green-gables/1044/chapter-37-the-reaper-whose-name-is-death
https://kexp.org/archive [choose Mizell’s show from 8/8/24–you have only 2 weeks) then poof! it’s gone but listen to his other shows like thursdays and his funk shows…HE WAS THERE!…. and ….. https://kexp.org/djs/larry-mizell-jr
