fight rock city

April 30, 2010

I am talking to Holly on the phone. I cannot type. Pictures:

I love how you can’t even talk about it without throwing some sort of insult in.

I started your monkey last night.

Mural so far.

I want to live where soul meets body.

I have to celebrate you, baby.


a melody softly soaring through my atmosphere.

Purple haze in the hallway.



April 23, 2010

: just to be clear.

big fish, last unicorn

April 20, 2010

Here I am again, with a blank page and an unformed mind. It’s halfway reassuring and halfway irritating to still be here, in exactly the same inner space, although the landscapes have been so altered over the years. No matter where I go, what I do, think, say, try, grow, etc, I figure that this is a space that I’ll always occupy at intervals over the entire course of my life: the vague end of one chapter and the shapeless beginning of the next.
This is why people and peoples thrive and evolve in times of crisis; it’s so easy just to follow the quiet, trickling stream of ease and familiarity that arises after a work has been done. My life is pretty well done as it is right now. My little squares of pavement are established and familiar if not completely home yet, my house is in as much order as it ever will be and really, I have no desire to run a well dusted home…my hair is purple and my new friends abound…in short, my life has reached the pinnacle of its current evolution and it’s time for some sort of change. This is what draws me most strongly to write: the desire for change, as if somehow by writing about my very desire for it I can conjure it out of thin air. And probably I can. Where else would it come from, anyhow?
I want a work. I want a large possessing passion, one that I can pour my not inconsiderable skill and elbow grease into, and churn out tangible and intangible good and difference in the world around me, shiny and opaque and undeniable. I want to make my scratch in the piecrust. I want generations to look at my footprint in the eternal dark stillness and marvel. I want the ability to focus my energy into a beam that can cut and shape; not just a myriad firefly embers that kiss upturned faces with light for one second and blink away forever.
Or do I?
The underscore of every indecision is my disinclination to commit to time and space. I don’t want to live forever in this way, but I want to live on in lore and magic for as long as either of them exists. I don’t want to build empires, except out of summer night glamour air, I don’t want to make a mark on the world really so much as I want to leave a trail in the sky. It’s not that I need to be felt and remembered by humanity, I just need to twinkle with starshine and be loved by its dying light.
I need to feel vines of green curling up between my toes and running the length of my veins, I want to be nature’s darling puppet, lightbringer, dancer of every sacred step, fairy of purple rainbows.
I want to die like a god.
I want every bit of sky to rush to receive me, I want the earth to look up at my energy with joy and recognition, I want to warm things with my so called presence…
I want to live like a fairy wolfmother.
I want the earth to revel beneath my feet, I want the sky to bless me from a great distance, I want to warm things with my so called presence…
Nothing I really want is so easily named in this kind of life. Nothing of vast importance to me will fit in any sort of box with any sort of easy to use instructions. All the things that are very important to me are deep in my bones and deeper in my soul and none of them have anything to do with who I live with or what I wear or where I am or what my ‘job’ is. And so it’s hard to find guidance in those more mundane yet oh so pushy parts of life. I could go and do all sorts of things, any time, and do them well, with a great deal of joy and peace, because the things I truly want are not contingent thereon, and my joy and peace will never spring from them. How does one make a choice, then? This is where I have been my entire life, and the situation is never very grave and it gets less and less so as the years go by and my body and soul and mind change like slow moving worlds. I don’t know what to do with the ‘other people’ part of my life. This particular personal loop always resolves itself thusly:
the part that is worrying me is the part that does not really matter;
therefore I should not worry about it and just let it attend to itself;
therefore I will be back here again, as nothing has ever been resolved here;
therefore oh god dammit.

I want a make-seem, I guess. I want to choose my insignificance, once and for all, and have done with waffling over its importance and its shape and its effects long and short. I know that no matter what I do or where or with or without whom, I will be fine. It is the nature of peace to regenerate itself once it has been unleashed, and I know that regardless of my circumstances I will be fine…barring evil and unnatural disasters, knock wood.
But this assurance, although it’s the deepest and best I could have found, rings slightly empty on a daily cupped hands basis. There is no great work for me to do, there is nothing in particular to fill the mundane squares of my brightly threaded quilt life with. I want things happening…I want something happening all the time. I want to be busier than the bustling bee, bursting with more nectar than the overbloomed flower, creator of color and life and rebirth. Ha. Yes, we know all that. But I want to have the actual work to do, also. I want a life of magic and flame but I want the contrast that makes them sharpest and sweetest also. I want to make brown bread as well as golden honey. And I want to finally up and choose the mundane skill set and stick with it. Which is the hardest pebble in our royal shoe to date. If something is of so little consequence, how does one properly decide? If something is merely the object around which falls the magic of light and shadow, does it even matter what the object is? Clearly it would need to be of benefit and not harm, and feasible…the more of those, the better. And then I guess it would all be to personal taste. I want something smooth and brightly colored to cast the disco dance of my light and shadow around, but I love all career paths and standard life goals too little to want to pick one up and hold it in my hand for any length of time. There is always a cage around them, especially if done by the book, to the letter. The rules of engagement stifle me. The prize is paltry to me and ought to be mine already by the power of my own intellect and talents…I sound like an over wordy glob of spit cut out of Good Will Hunting. Geezus.
It just seems so inappropriate to devote great chunks of time from my life to earning a degree from a college and paying them for it, only to do what I could mostly already on common sense and self learning, especially when the entirety of what I’d be getting I could be getting for free from the library. I mean seriously, we all know this blahbittyblah blah, but it really has hindered my development of late. I don’t care enough about any one thing to devote my entire working existence to it. And I don’t need to be wealthy. I don’t need to be poor anymore, either, but I am learning to my vast relief that I could be either and probably do all right. The proof is in the pudding, the content is on the inside.
Why do I worry so much about this? I think it’s because as I get older my greatest fear is that one day I will wake up disillusioned and sorrowed by the incorrectness of my life. I’m afraid to commit to anything today, for fear I’ll regret it tomorrow. That sure is a ridiculous way to live, when put in those words, but it’s definitely how it is. It’s the inevitable flipside of the flippant sagittarian coin.
I don’t know much, but I know enough to commit on right now, and the crux of the matter is this: if I must change, then I will; if I must regret, then I will do it deeply and thoroughly; and if I must move on, and I must, then I will, with courage and finality. The fear of tomorrow only lurks in the unobserved parts of my psyche. It’s dark and dense and powerful, but when it’s pulled into the light and felt up a bit it becomes smallish and more agreeable and you can take its hand and walk it along like a timid child into a new classroom. Because there’s hope mixed in with fear, always. I’m scared of the changes and pain that may occur in my future, but I’m even more powerfully intrigued by the essence of the changes and the payoff for the pain.
So I’m totally going to just do what I always do here, and I’m going to stick with what I was doing in the first place. I’m going to have my fabulous life, connected once more to what is important to me, and I will roll peacefully along the paths of righteousness that rock in the light and shadow and significance and inconsequence.

In layman’s terms, I will keep busy and make more magic and learn more things and apply for more jobs and wait for more classes and acquire more friends and have more fun and sleep more beautiful beautiful sleep.
Oh, me.
I am so very damn much.

as the deer panteth for the water…

Oh christ in a handbasket, you don’t say.
I feel so turned around, in several seconds flat, in the best of all possible ways. Truth be told, I woke up on Friday morning feeling off as hell. I even smoked a little before I left for my interview with a local lighting company, even though I don’t smoke in the morning ever and certainly not before an interview, because I felt so off kilter. I didn’t figure it would help, and it didn’t, but it was all I could think of. I couldn’t even do my yoga, tea and incense were suddenly stupid see through crutches instead of sacred secret fairy princess rituals, my soul music grated against my skin, even my new flowers made me sad because they weren’t in full bloom yet…it was a bad morning. The bus passed me by at the bus stop, and I had to call and tell them I’d be late. I got confused and almost let the next bus take me back in the wrong direction. I speed walked all the way to the interview, arrived with sweat silking down my back, and then I rocked an interview again. But oh, such a different kind of rocking. A kindly sort of rocking; a head patting sort of rocking; I didn’t want to work there ever, at all, that is so clear to me now. It was a beautiful office with huge high beamed wood rafter ceilings and everyone was so nice, such good kind people, and I would have been so bored. There wouldn’t have been enough for me to do, and none of the material I had to work with is remotely interesting to me personally, (lighting. I got really excited about the shows they put on, but they’ve mostly stopped doing that and now are branching out into flashlights for military guns and endoscopic lighting, which…), the most into anything I was the whole time was when I saw those ceilings and when they showed me the color filters that you use to make spotlights different colors. That was cool. There were like eight different shades of purple alone. I mean, as a company they clearly used to be right up my alley, with the rock shows and the movie lighting and the art installations, but I wouldn’t actually have anything to do with that side of the business anyway. I’d just be taking calls and collecting bills and god even knows what else. There seriously did not seem like that much to do, it was quiet and empty and unhurried the entire time I was there, and the thought of another office job with two hours per day of actual work and four hours per day of busy work while my brain turns slowly to sludge just drove an icicle dagger into my soul. Didn’t I leave you forever, office job that is not even close to being enough for me to handle? I asked if they do much marketing and was delighted to be told that I could totally start doing some if I wanted, but that was the most interesting thing I’d be doing, hands down, and that wasn’t even in the description of the position they were looking to fill. Oi.
Anyhow, long story short he just called me and let me know that they ‘struggled all weekend to make the decision, and it was between me and one other person, and they decided to go with her because they were afraid that there wouldn’t be enough for me to do, and that I’d get bored, and it just wasn’t the best fit.’ WHY YES. YES THAT IS TRUE. And oh my god, thank you for rolling a rock the size of Gibraltar off my chest. No fucking wonder I’ve been insane in the membrane all weekend, yo. No wonder I’ve been making up excuses for why I can’t work for them (really, Tabitha? A tumor?) ever since I walked out the door. I’ve had the possibility of a job I don’t really want hanging over me like a leopard print cow on a thin cable, and the added quandary of choosing between a sure thing on Monday or my next interview with burning man on Wednesday. Going for broke, bitches! Burning man or bust.

So, speaking of which, I have a second round interview for the office job at burning man. I am not making this up, this honest to god happened, I walked out of the interview with the lighting company and not two damn minutes, maybe not even one, went by before my phone rang and it was Zabed from burning man asking me to come in for a second interview on Wednesday. And right there, my head popped. If I got the other job, I was supposed to start on Tuesday. They would be letting me know on Monday. And on Wednesday was the next step on the staircase to my dream job, another little stretch of carpeting down the path I want my life to follow. So I went out and I had a lot of champagne and I stayed drunk all Friday. And I was a crazy wreck, demons of all sorts and general inconsequence surfacing from the wretched little forgotten holes in which they dwell, puffing themselves up into temporary importance and really just ruining my life. I was a solid bundle of twisted nerves and crossed wires all weekend. I mourn for my poor and patient boyfriend, may garlands of praise and roses be heaped upon his sweet head and I will make him such a feast of fat things for dinner tonight. Also I will endeavor to play some more Final Fantasy XIII with him, although ever since we got several days into it and the battle sequences became freaking arduous and detailed like the healthcare reform plan and none of the characters seems to have any interest whatsoever in being anything other than more emo even than is expected of the Final Fantasy tradition, I have had a hard time playing it. In fact, I think I just haven’t. I totally watch Alain play the big awesome battles against the hugest beast monsters, and I watch the storyline movie bits, but yeah…I think it would probably be mostly button mashing for me at this point, and also berating the characters for not being more multidimensional. You: stop whimpering; you: stop having little fits; you: stop being such a fucking teenager; you: stop banging your damn fists together for the love of god it gives me hives just to look at you.
Hm. Unexpected side rant.
Hello, world! I feel much better! And oh frabjous day, second round burning man interview! I can have it all, I can dance right through my life! Etc. I don’t even need to get it, really. I have all my eggs in that little basket, it is an absolute passion at this point, and I will be crushed like only a basket of all your eggs can be if I don’t get it, but just getting the first interview was a hit of god juice right to the self esteem, and getting a second has me cocked up higher than a paper hat. There will always be jobs, you know? I can go down the street and get one right now as a server at one of the coolest new restaurants in the neighborhood, so said the owner. (Yay.) But the burning man job is the one I want, as it would be less a job situation and more of a both hands plunged into good, good work sort of circumstance. It’s amazing how being true or not to one little dream can color your life rich, breathable purple or thick, smothery mustard yellow. I think mustard yellow is a lovely color, for mustard and certain flowers, but it is not a color I can be.

April 14, 2010

I have pictures of people I love! In Portland! Hooray!

Clinton Corner:

Beautiful Becky.

He’s bluffing.

Pretty much sums it all up, forever.

I wish I owned that hoodie, I wish I owned that hoodie, I wish I owned that hoodie…

My family – too much for you to handle, LIKE NINJAS:

The CIIIIIRRRRRCLLLLE uuuuvvvv liiiiiiife…

Red measure.

Every valley girl’s worst nightmare: bedhead meets helmet head.

Sugar and coffee.

Feliz cumpleanos, senor. Su sombrero mira muy ridiculo. Mi espanol no es bueno. Asi es la vida tango.

I really like how all of those pictures could have easily been labeled, …

lemon steam

April 13, 2010

I was sitting here with a very fat cat on my torso, because no matter how I police her diet she grows and grows, I will not be made to feel guilty about it some people are just large boned, and because I cannot really be bothered to make her move, since then she will just follow me around the house mowring at me because I disrupted her slumber. This is how my life is, and I think we can all tell who is winning.

So anyway, I am sitting here covered in purring sleepy cat, and I thought, as long as I am here why not write a blog? That is the premise of the following blog, and it’s probably just as good as the premise of any other blog that’s been written here.

Today I went to the library with a long list of gorgeous little things I wanted to read, and I dinked blissfully around for about an hour, and I ticked every single book off my list, and I rode the elevator back down to the first floor because the main San Francisco library is massive, necessitating not one, not two, but six elevators, some of which are assigned their own levels of business. This is strange to me: you may ride this elevator, in this building, but you may only ride it between these floors; for other floors, use other elevators. What? I think that maybe not even Karl Marx would approve. So, I rode the appropriate elevator to the checkout desk and I announced my need for a new library card, as I am a newcomer to this fine town in general and to this extraordinarily large library in particular. Instead of just asking me nice easy questions and tapping things into his keyboard, the guy at the desk told me to walk across the room to other computers, computers not manned by someone paid by the man, meaning me and my tax dollars, and complete an application form online. After I completed the application form online, he told me, I could come back across the room, to the computer manned by himself, and then I could have a library card. I looked at him like any sane English speaking person in America would look at a crackhead speaking sudden and unexpected Chinese to them, and I gave him all my precious books to hold while I walked across the room to apply for my card online. And I doubted him the whole time. I got to the indicated cross room computers, though, and sure enough they were all set up for me to apply online, so I did. And a little piece of paper printed out of a little credit card receipt looking machine, and I took it back across the room to the front desk guy, and he asked for my driver’s license. And I gave it to him, and this is the last part of the day in which I was perfectly happy. Because then he said, ‘now we need some mail. To prove that you live in San Francisco.’ And I said, ‘surely you must be joking.’ Not only did he not get the quote, he wasn’t joking, and long story short I had to turn my sweet ass around and walk out of the San Francisco main library, leaving behind my entire stack of precious and carefully selected books, except the yoga book because apparently the San Francisco main library likes to feel that it is not a complete and utter bastard and it will let you take out one solitary little book without the irrefutable proof provided by a piece of cancelled mail. Today would have been a perfect day for me to be mugged, seriously. There is a part of me that just becomes stupid when I’m enraged; this part can best be described as All of Me. I roll down whatever ground happens to be under me, shoulders swinging, eyes burning with rejected tears, teeth grinding the imaginary finger bones of my alleged foes to powder, utterly and powerfully spoiling for a fight. I seriously hallucinate people about to attack me, I swear to god, because I’ll see them coming behind me and I get to a good ass kicking place in the sidewalk and I turn around all BRING IT and there’s nobody there. It’s a good thing my wrath lasts for such a short time, because damn. It makes me feel like Tinkerbell, with room for only one emotion at a time. It’s also a good thing that pretty much the only things that really, really piss me off are completely stupid in the first place. No lifelong revenge crusades here; just a general low rumble of dislike for AT&T service douchebags, the dmv, servers at McMennamins, and now, apparently, the San Francisco main library. Damn you all, amen.

seussian spaghetti

April 9, 2010

I just called the California DMV only to be hung up on three consecutive times, three out of three mind you because it’s pretty damn emphatic as well as being a charm, that third time, and I was about to have myself a hissy fit. Then I looked at their website again, and right on the homepage, right under the phone number I just called, only to go through miles of twisted labyrinthine automated choices and be hung up on just as it seemed that the boss was just around the corner and the mighty duel was underway for real now, three times,  was a little notice, in bold red letters: the California DMV will be closed on Friday, April 9th. Asshole.

So, yeah. Ha. The DMV was just a dick to me while they were closed.  That is what I feel can be taken from this experience.

On an eerily related note, this morning I was fishing around in the glove box for my registration card, for to take it in my purse and wend my merry, gin soaked way to the SFMTA to get my parking permit, so as to avoid any further sixty five dollar invincible tickets. I found it, and looked at it, and golly gee, did that say ‘expired in January of 2010?’ It sure did. Panic of a low level sort ensued. The police were certain to be lying elaborate ambushes for me at this very moment. With which to pull me over in broad daylight (so much worse than at night) and oppress me with their misunderstood powers and make me pay a lot of money to the man, money which would get me absolutely nothing that I wanted, not even a pair of size six red feather malibu slippers. Which, by the way, is first on the list of World’s Greatest Treasures That I Must Someday Own & Eventually Be Buried With. If anyone knows where I can get some, let me know. The rattier, the better.

Anyhow, now that I was aware of the fact that my tags were expired, never mind my having driven around with them just fine for three months so far, now of course every mistrained bluecoat would be after me in a matter of minutes. I would be lucky if I made it home. Oh, Jesus. Hep’ me, Jesus.

This is why I called the DMV, after I made it home without any legal entanglements whatsoever. And I consider it inappropriate for the DMV to be closed on the first day I realized that my tags are expired. That won’t do, pig. Please do better.

This is me. I hope you are all impressed.