and it keeps on turning ever since hector fell under achilles hand and even if that wasn't true it still turned and turned and turned to this very moment.
How can I keep all these voices together, in one nice neat bouquet of words? All those feathers and wings and strings and things that went through my head as I made my way from the Chinese Theater back 'home'?
Home. What a good start that is. This hasn't been home really. This has been a refuge from the start and I long back to a time in which a 'life-crisis', a crisis concerning the meaning and sense of life touched the very core of me and not just the surface. I broke down, a year ago, in the French Restauarant and nothing could console me but my wife's piano playing alone.
Even my Gypsy couldn't help but he made me feel home later, because I found a little place in his heart.
It seems almost as if I was drowned already. In whatever it is that bothers me so much and there is nothing that can really touch me anymore. I feel lost.
Just a tired raising of my left eyebrow for Saddam today. Shaking my head I wonder whether that is yet another good example for what to do. Like, holding the other cheek. It's not like they would care anyways.
Need to go to church, pentecostal, to see what it's all about. It's a blunt mystery to me, that. Wonder, whether he got into a trance lately, falling down on his knees while calling out Jesus' name and maybe speaking in tongues, who knows. I've been missing out on that. It's like a very very intimate and private moment that you only feel comfortable to share with the people within the community. Not with me. I am not in the community. No matter whether the rules don't matter anymore - a fact is a rule in itself. The one you are truly comfortable with is the one you can be with. As simple as that. And -
He would hate it, he would squirm if I came. Yes, he would.
On Hollywood Blvd I hear my name all of the sudden, distinct and clear 'Emeralda!'
I turn around and don't see anybody I know. But there he comes. The 62 year old Mikel Shriver from Canada. The guy who wanted to give me a cat (he is always looking for people to care for the cats they find) and who gave me a 'protection stone' last time I met him at midnight in the middle of the blvd.
It's the guy who I am not sure off whether he is a vampire, a black magician or just a regular older lonely guy. Whether maybe he is Mephistopheles and here to test my strength. Maybe he has a message that I need to hear, so I agree with yet another weird conversations that leads us from beauty contests to judging people on a scale from 0 to 10 and the shell that the shell gas station allegedly gives as a gift when your purchase is over 50 bucks. And another protection stone, and a black one, for conversation.
I feel estranged. Yet determined to find out who in the world this guy is who remembered my name so psychopathically exact, after weeks and weeks of no conversation.
He has fine lines in his ash grey face and there is a little part of a spiderweb hanging from his undereye bag. It is creepy somehow. He tries to keep my attention with all he has. With compliments. With words that I am not interested in (why in the world would I want to judge people on a scale from 0 to 10? what good will do that to me? to feel better myself? understand myself better? or them?) It' s just for a lovely afternoon he says, just sitting at an outside cafe and watching people walking by, gossiping about them, just you and me, quiet, with flowers on the table and something to drink. I smile defensive and say maybe. I will never say yes. I put the stones into the plastic bag the shell is in. I don't wanna touch them. I've become so paranoid but how can I know that they are safe? Maybe he gave them to me in order to suck my energy up. Who knows, maybe he is an alien. Or a vampire, I mean, who knows what all these stories are about. There must be sth about it and I gotta be cautious.
At some point he asks me whether he can have a picture, because he wants my friendship and be able to show who I am to his friends. A black guy who walks by asks me whether I am okay. "yes" i nodd but he comes back once more and says 'does he try to sell you something? what are you selling tonight! you don't have to buy it' I smile and say, I know. Funny, how the world works.
There are times to be politely friendly and there are times to be politely harsh. "no" i say, shaking my head firmly, I don't give pictures away. Who knows the voodoo you do.
I yawn heavily. He tries to keep my attention for another second. I hide my smile away as I imagine a trace of light describing our dance around the stars on the Boulevard. Him stepping into my personal space and me stepping backwards, away, away, just not too far. He smells like a graveyard. Very weird. Very weird. My energy level tells me I have to leave now. Maybe I have become one of the weirdos. I gotta check with my friends at home. ask them whether I've been that weird before I came here.
In the middle of this craziness there is one valet parking guy who is ugly and thin and he smiled at me 'how is it going tonight?' my skin still felt tense and my eyes like popping out from the flood of tears and crying that had washed over me a couple of hours earlier in a lonely alley somewhere near the Kodiak Theater, but I said 'great' and added while shaking my hands a little bit 'uuuuh! crazy hollywood!' - 'I hear you' he smiled and 'take care, be safe!'
One person, that cares.
Too bad that my neck cracks only once or twice a day, it feels good, as if tension was released but it might not be true.
I can't believe how messed up I am, I wonder what it is, what happened, what in the fuck happened to me.
I feel like I have to run.
Sitting at a campfire.
Not putting up a show for anybody. Just DOING things. That I like.
tiredness creeps into my soul.
That's what it does to you.
There is something wrong, entirely wrong with people who are obtrusively optimistic. That whole 'visualize your life good' thing is working and great and what not but it starts to get on my nerves. Fuck that. Don't fucking talk about it so much. It pisses me off. Funny. Maybe I am just a reluctant pessimist and the reason why it pisses me off is that I deeply inside know very well that they are right and I am stubborn. And maybe it pisses me off just as much as it pisses me off to hear people talk about Jesus all the time. And how you got to be good.
Above all, I think that - You got to BE! First things first.
But I fucking miss you man.
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