Certain things can bring a group of people together: similar ideas, tastes, current events (none of which glues the people on this ride). We found a common ground last night. The movie “Friday.” We watched it, laughed together, quoted it, philosophized on it. It was deep, man. Now we are all in synch. We have reached communion.
I woke up this morning and Mt. Shasta was directly in front of my hotel door. Fuck, man, that ruled. I ran towards it for about half hour, wishing I could jump inside it and swim around in it, kind of like when Keanu Reeves dove right into the Agent dude at the end of the Matrix. I think the mountain did that to me, actually.
On the way back, there was a significant amount of people standing outside at 10:00 a.m. waiting for the Pizza Hut to open. That’s what I call devotion to the Church of Pizza…. Anyway, now we’re halfway to Seattle. Finally going to play a show for people we don’t know! Rock on. Well, actually, there will be one person (SR) there who I haven’t seen since I kicked him in the balls….. Elaboration:
Me, age 2, my dad and SR (they were in a band together at the time) were in the car. I was sitting on SR’s lap, weighing about 20 lbs, wearing my Forrest Gump leg braces, which could have very well weighed the same. Something spontaneously excited me, and I proceeded to kick him in his ‘credentials.’ What could he do! I was just an innocent child. Knowing my dad and his musician friends, I am sure there was a woman (or few!) out there who were high-fiveing me for the indirect retribution. It definitely made an impact on SR, because he never ceases to remind my dad about it to this day. I will soon be face to face with someone who I innocently killed 1.5 million of their potential children.
Gotta go, going to enjoy the scenery. p&l, fd
I am not sure how tight I have this saddle. I had a dream a few nights ago that there was this hang-glider in a field. It seated about 14 people in a single row and it was very George Jetson in architecture. People in my life that had to do with KT were seated in it and the last seat on the far right was mine. I jumped in, and it took off at a high speed, almost at a right angle, up over green velvet rolling hills and sparkling soda creeks I was yelling at everyone “Wait! I don’t have on my seat belt!” They looked at me and laughed and kept going. I surrendered to the ride.
Looking out the window as we drive away, I see the familiar face of my best friend, A. I feel lucky to know that there is support ‘back home’ while I go on to these paths of new territory. The person who was just hugging me with every bit of love and care, who’s is taller than me, now looks like a pea in the distance. Yet the feeling of connectedness gets bigger and bigger.
Now here I am, a chick with a bunch of guys.
Well, they’ve already seen me naked. Let’s just say the photo shoot we just did called for ‘artistic envelope-pushing.’ Our first tour is like ‘tour lite.’ Half the calories with all the taste! The crowds on this run are going to be a bit more testosterone-laden. I’m in a boys club. How the hell did that happen?! I hope my equal and opposite reaction to this tour isn’t that I go home and wear pastel cardigans and fucking watch Dawson’s Creek. Hmm….. Men. Boys. Males. XY chromosome. It makes me recall my first day of high school. . . . (Insert harp-esque music and foggy lens here.) After one summer, a tan, and some baby-fat shed and placed in ‘different areas,’ I walked into the lunchroom area and was dumbfounded by the extra male attention. This didn’t happen in 8th grade! From their point of view: Food and ass = primal necessities. I wonder if I turned into a giant turkey leg to them like in cartoons? I can’t imagine at that age their yearning for good conversation and a spiritual connection. (And let’s be real, was it at the tip-top of my value list?!) So here I am in the lunchroom not really knowing what to make of it; I felt a little out of place. I didn’t succumb to that denominator at the time (don’t get me wrong, I didn’t think the attention “bad”); but even at 14, I was still an analyzing, ‘whatever’ kind of girl. I just remembered thinking, “Memo to self: males seem to lose their minds to tits.” So simple, yet so complex — as I would learn in the years to come . . . (fade out harp) ******(back to present-day lens here.) That being said, I resolve to the potential generalized reactions due to my female-ness. It’s alright. I myself have been guilty of turning into a Fem-Bot. Its nature, darling. Someone once told me, ‘You teach people how to treat you.’ Damn straight. My guys have my back, too.
Ahhhhh — and already, before I could exit this document, Fidget just coined this phrase: “rich chicks and nachos.” Case in point.
Divulgence of happenings as they occur. . . . .p&l fd
Go Ask Alice by Anonymous may have been the first. Anais Nin, Paulo Coelho, so many others. I gravitate towards these types of writings — journalistic, autobiographical, personally poetic, expressions of experiences and emotions — or true experiences under the guise of fiction. What KT does is express some thing. Therefore, the scraps that follow are for sharing. I’m gonna keep a ‘journal’ of well, whatever’s going on. Whatever I feel like. It’s another place I can put things that need to get out of my head. If no one reads this, that’s fine with me. I’m trying to become a better writer. It’s my dime. There’s a 93.65% chance that I will not retain what’s been written. I write and move on. It could very well be a bunch of shit, and if your shit-acceptance meter is low, stop here; don’t waste brain space. Otherwise, if you have enough time on your hands, read away. Cotton candy in the head is subjective and the instigations in my head could be superfluous. These entries could be one word to 2000………p&l, fd