the old-school guestbook archives
my amazon wish list... my favorite astrologer... my favorite artist... yerba mate revolution! erowid: a travel guide for interior journeys... no more war: MoveOn.org United for Peace and Justice True Majority seek the truth: Common Dreams Unamerican Activities The Nation people I adore, diaries I read: rev.raikes ariana cubiclegirl epiphany glitter333 laurakay wammo the music: the asylum street spankers backyard tire fire blue highway bill camplin wendy colonna freedom tribe joules graves guy forsyth band hamsa lila hanuman libby kirkpatrick leftover salmon pamela means medeski martin & wood the motet the nice outfit nickel creek open road rose polenzani railroad earth south austin jug band string cheese incident taarka tha musemeant the devil makes three tim o'brien band trolley wild sage keller williams yonder mountain string band |
dreamworld footprints and open doors ~ july 2, 2001 - 5:59 p.m. persephone's mom, samantha, has gone off with tim, her boyfriend, to his friends' wedding in wisconsin... so persephone and I have been hanging out. mostly we're having a good time... the weather is hot and we are slow and sleepy. she went off for the weekend with her friends jeff and green, so I took it easy, spent long lazy hours with a sweet sister friend, sharing smoke and soft kisses. her first time with a woman. we are shy with each other. we are taking this slow. sweet. and still I'm catching flashes of blonde scottish smiles, and still I'm dreaming down the roads where my heart leads me... morning finds me in the creek, squatting on a stone as I dump buckets of water over my head, persephone just starting to get brave enough to splash through the creek barefoot behind me. I start out gingerly, the water not that cold, but still. I wash my face, my body. my hair will wait for a day or two more, a hot shower at kiva. the smell of eucalyptus dr. bronners and creek water splashed with sunlight. a butterfly kisses my bare back and she and I giggle at the magic of it. blonde curls splashing in the shallows. cold water dumped over my head, my body, as I whoop and laugh and come alive. that feels so good, I say. and persephone has started to echo me. she gets wet, splashes herself, and says that feels so good, and we giggle together, standing in the creek. sometimes she is whiny and sometimes I am cranky but mostly we are good together. I let her lead a lot of the time. she is a leo, like everyone in my life lately. a baby lion, a wildcat. she growls. sometimes she bites. I love her immensely. my summer. with tim and sam gone, I've been sleeping in the cabin, on the top bunk where tim and sam usually sleep. it's cozy up there. persephone sleeps on the bottom bunk, and in the morning we laze in bed for a while, because our blankets are so cozy and warmy. she makes sleepy declarations, curls poking out from softy blankets: I'ne wearing rhumba panties! last night she came home from the weekend spent with jeff and green... we carried her sleeping up the hill to the cabin and tucked her in. I hugged jeff goodbye and fell into bed myself, on the top bunk. I've been exhausted lately, drifting into mid-afternoon naps. I slept hard until he walked in the door of the cabin and startled me awake in the darkness. hey, you got a candle? elvis, persephone's dad, he of the deep-dark-secret vibe. a man who leaves a bad taste in my mouth, a residue of broken promises and lies. I don't trust him. and I don't wake well. I do manage to keep a civil tongue and pass him the oil lamp from the ledge next to me. he lights it and I see he has his guitar on his back, brought up the hill from his vw bus. he is taking it for granted that he will hang out here, in the one-room cabin where I am sleeping. he passes me the pipe and I take it, with reservations as always, since I believe you take on the energy of people you smoke with, and I do not, as a rule, like him much. will never like him much until he starts to do right by his little girl. the one I take care of. but he has a good story about this pipe and the way it was blessed by the moon, and I smoke from it as a blessing to his better self, the good qualities I can see within him, in hopes that he will grow to become the father his little girl deserves. and I needed to get back to sleep. after startling awake in the dark. he's lucky he didn't trigger my fighting reflexes. and as we passed the moon-blessed pipe back and forth by oil-lamp light, he asked if he could sit on the bed and I told him no. I just want to be comfortable like you. I know you do, but you woke me up and I'm feeling protective of my space. I'm hypersensitive when I wake up. thank you for understanding. then he asks if he can stay tonight, sleep on the floor. assuming I will say yes. I say no. he can sleep in his damn bus. where he usually sleeps. I don't want him in my space. he woke me the fuck up and now that he's smoked me back to dreamland all I want is him out of my sleeping space as soon as possible. I don't say all that. I keep a civil tongue. I just tell him no. sam lets me... I'm sure she does. this is about me and what I need. I just want to be near persephone... I'm sure you do. I'm not touched by his desire to see his daughter once a week for a couple of hours. I send him away, I go back to sleep. I wake up still annoyed, barely speak to him when we meet up at the blue sun cafe so that he can take persephone for the afternoon, so that I can get ready to leave for the high sierra music festival in the morning. so I'll be gone for a week or so, living in the high sierra reality. and here I still haven't even written about working at strawberry. I should sit down when I get back and write a great big entry all about vending, and what it is to work one of these things. the adrenaline and sleep dep reality warp that becomes your existence working 15-hour festival days. high sierra. I can't believe it's upon us already. I hope this entry was long enough to tide you over. catch you on the flip side in a week or so, my wild lovelies...
(((rings))) |