26 May 2009
18 May 2009
15 May 2009
Un Reve Sans Consequence
In my mind, a small plane of suspect registry has just landed in Bulgaria. The sole passenger, a tall, taciturn, jet-lagged fellow whose blocky black glasses inexplicably have one lens fogged up exits, a rucksack of clothes on his back, a guitar case in one hand, and a coverless copy of Rossignol's curiously titled tome "Origins of a World War" tucked in his pocket. With a nod to the pilot, he heads off, on foot, away from any sign of civilization. At a barely discernable crossroad miles from the airport, he meets a man whose name consists mostly of consonants and exchanges a few grunts and a complicated series of hand signs; after which he is led to a half-collapsed thatch roof shed invisible from the roadway. There he exchanges a handful of grimy bills and a carton of U.S. smokes for a dilapidated but serviceable motorcycle and a hand-drawn map. And before the dawn breaks, he is on his way..
Some of you know, or have heard, that my dear friend brin - Crow - passed out of this world the other night. He was one of the first two friends i made when i joined the theater, re-introduced me to the experimental music scene, turned me on to the Dresden Dolls, Madame P, Electric Six and Boris, Plastic Crimewave and Celebration. He taught me sound design and basic lessons in automotive mechanics. He brought the iMac i'm posting from back to life after it conked out the third day i owned it and to this day he - and his step-daughter Iris - have user profiles i see every time i log in. He could keep rhythm on a bass drum and tap a snare with the head of the guitar he was playing at the same time. He wore bowler hats with goggles before steampunk was big, tailored jackets and t-shirts over tight bellbottoms, while living in a trailer at the end of an abandoned rail line. Drove a 65 Rambler wagon, or maybe an 84 AMC Eagle on jacked-up wheels, to eat breakfast at the Steel Trolley Diner. He called himself a biker and rode a Honda 750 named Annabelle. He called his band, and sometimes himself, madbunny, and made music that could range from incomprehensible noise (on rollerskates) to gentle dreamy ragas. He understood the dichotomy between growing up in a backwards ohio town and living amongst the arts intelligentsia of a city, and could walk in both those worlds.
Right now i can't fathom that he won't set foot in either one again, not in this form. Farewell, crowboy. i hope the skies are clearer where you're flying now, the guitars give exactly the sound you want and never break a string, and all the classic cars only need worked on when you feel like it.
Some of you know, or have heard, that my dear friend brin - Crow - passed out of this world the other night. He was one of the first two friends i made when i joined the theater, re-introduced me to the experimental music scene, turned me on to the Dresden Dolls, Madame P, Electric Six and Boris, Plastic Crimewave and Celebration. He taught me sound design and basic lessons in automotive mechanics. He brought the iMac i'm posting from back to life after it conked out the third day i owned it and to this day he - and his step-daughter Iris - have user profiles i see every time i log in. He could keep rhythm on a bass drum and tap a snare with the head of the guitar he was playing at the same time. He wore bowler hats with goggles before steampunk was big, tailored jackets and t-shirts over tight bellbottoms, while living in a trailer at the end of an abandoned rail line. Drove a 65 Rambler wagon, or maybe an 84 AMC Eagle on jacked-up wheels, to eat breakfast at the Steel Trolley Diner. He called himself a biker and rode a Honda 750 named Annabelle. He called his band, and sometimes himself, madbunny, and made music that could range from incomprehensible noise (on rollerskates) to gentle dreamy ragas. He understood the dichotomy between growing up in a backwards ohio town and living amongst the arts intelligentsia of a city, and could walk in both those worlds.
Right now i can't fathom that he won't set foot in either one again, not in this form. Farewell, crowboy. i hope the skies are clearer where you're flying now, the guitars give exactly the sound you want and never break a string, and all the classic cars only need worked on when you feel like it.
05 May 2009
Squishiando 2009 pt 1
Squishiando! That, for those who weren't there, is the Secret Code Word for Spoutwood Farm's 2009 Fairie Festival. This event is very near and dear to my heart, in ways i can't begin to express. i realized a bit belatedly that this was my tenth year attending - my ninth as either vendor or performer or both, but ten overall. Wow. And after ten years, i've made some really good friends there, most of whom i get to see only once a year - but they're heart family nonetheless.
Perhaps its because it takes place at Beltane, or May Day, but the Fairie Fest is - something truly magickal. i've got several perspectives on this that are all warring in my head to come out. There's thoughts on theater and ritual; and the fact that this is both literally and metaphorically an annual pilgrammage for me. Perhaps i should face east and pray to Spoutwood? Oh dear, i'm sure that's blasphemy to some. But in my life, it serves a similar function.
One of the things that came home to me this year, is that every year, getting there presents some sort of challenge. Last year might have been one of the fewest - maybe i was sweating whether i'd have a new (to me) car in time; i bought Severin Bloo, my cruiser, just days before i left. Sure couldn't have gotten there and back in Elphie the Taurus. i think the year before worrying if Elphie could manage the trip was issue enough. Car troubles, money woes, health issues - there always seems to be something looming in the weeks before that seem they might prevent me from getting there - but they never do.
This year i arrived late Thurs. evening. Pulled in & up the camping hill, found a spot that turned out to be right next to vendor friends who come out from Indiana for the event. Chatted with them a bit and then ran off to catch the end of the pre-fair bonfire up on Frodo's Hill. Found Greenman Rob, the fest paterfamilias, first; then my pal Cynthia, who i'd met my very first time there in 2000. Walked back to her camp, two down from Beth & Zeeb, the Indiana people. Hung out a bit more then decided i'd better make camp before it got much later.
It was dark, and midnightish, and i, silly faerie that i am, have not owned a functioning flashlight in years. Who cares? i didn't even know for sure which tent i had til i unfolded it (i have two, both blue & grey. But one's much smaller than the other). So i fumbled about in the darkness. The hippie kids partying next to me asked if i needed help.. i suppose it might've looked like i did, but i actually didn't mind being a little out of it and setting up blind. i suppose that could have been frustrating, but why let it? i was at Spoutwood, yay! Tents aren't all THAT challenging, anyway, so i had my nomad home together soon enough.
Pilgrammage and ritual.. the tent is always set up the same. i've owned and lost and broken and misplaced so many camping supplies over the years, yet i manage to get my 'hobbit hole' together: tent tucked under the trees, canopy over top descending to the ground in front, covering a small (i.e., not high enuf to stand in) kitchen. i was Home, and soon enough snuggled warm and dry in bed. Note 'warm' and 'dry'. This will be important later!
Woke Friday early - very early, as it turned out. i got up, made some food, and began assembling my vendor cart. This was one of those, oh sh*t, will i get this together in time? things that came together despite everything just days before - days? It is to laugh! i got it to ok, this will work stage Weds night, mere hours before i left. Didn't turn out like the picture in my head, but what else is new - i couldn't get a power saw to cut the wood to save my life, so hacked the luan literally by hand - hacksaw, handsaw, even used the drywall knife a time or two. Not elegant, but it held up transporting my stuff down the camping hill which was my biggest concern.
i took the same site i had last year. Technically, i'm a strolling vendor; but its neither easy nor necessary to 'stroll' the wagon around so i just park next to Cynthia's booth. Which, go figure, is on a spot they call Mermaid Island. i know, right? (if you *don't* know, i realized being a Pisces means i get to be a mermaid - ever since embracing that identity, mermaids have become Prominent in my life). Got everything set up and ready to go and whee! The heavens opened and down came the rain. Boo. It cleared for a while Fri. afternoon - a good drum circle can do that - but rained again later. Which meant 1) didn't do diddly for sales; 2) i got Wet. Because of course i was silly enuf to just sit by my cart for the most part, huddled into my cloak. Which is pretty good at withstanding moderate drizzle, but after two moderate drizzles, i was decidedly dampish. And having traded my singing voice to walk on land, i no longer appreciate such things the way a mermaid should ;-p
Friday night some of the folks there were holding an Alchemical Fire circle, which is something i've wanted to attend for a while. However, having gotten back up to camp - Spoutwood is nestled between two hills, and camping is on the higher of those - and gotten out of my tutu (i wore my Freakshow costume again, because i could!), i got as far as Camp Hon, and that was that. OK, maybe it technically isn't Camp Hon. i'm not sure, that's just how i think of my friends Kazoo & Ding0's camp. Friday night the Gypsy Nomads were also playing in town, and i'd considered driving in to see them. However, having gotten back up to camp - yeah. Grilled cheese, some awesome fish stew, and a couple bottles of wine later, i suddenly realized it was past midnight and i wasn't going anywhere.
Except back to Cynthia's camp, where folks were sitting round by candlelight doing what gypsy witches do by candlelight. That is, smoke, drink, talk, and play music. Billy Bardo had an i dont quite know what - balalaika, perchance? and i got emboldened to bring out the squeezebox. We jammed for a time, sat and smoked and talked a while longer; but eventually the lure of bed was too much to pass up. And so ended the first night of festival. Yeah, this is going to be a long post. Or maybe not - open mic at the Duck is calling me, so perhaps i'll break this off now and type up the rest as separate entries. Sure. Why not. More soonest then, my faerie fae!
Perhaps its because it takes place at Beltane, or May Day, but the Fairie Fest is - something truly magickal. i've got several perspectives on this that are all warring in my head to come out. There's thoughts on theater and ritual; and the fact that this is both literally and metaphorically an annual pilgrammage for me. Perhaps i should face east and pray to Spoutwood? Oh dear, i'm sure that's blasphemy to some. But in my life, it serves a similar function.
One of the things that came home to me this year, is that every year, getting there presents some sort of challenge. Last year might have been one of the fewest - maybe i was sweating whether i'd have a new (to me) car in time; i bought Severin Bloo, my cruiser, just days before i left. Sure couldn't have gotten there and back in Elphie the Taurus. i think the year before worrying if Elphie could manage the trip was issue enough. Car troubles, money woes, health issues - there always seems to be something looming in the weeks before that seem they might prevent me from getting there - but they never do.
This year i arrived late Thurs. evening. Pulled in & up the camping hill, found a spot that turned out to be right next to vendor friends who come out from Indiana for the event. Chatted with them a bit and then ran off to catch the end of the pre-fair bonfire up on Frodo's Hill. Found Greenman Rob, the fest paterfamilias, first; then my pal Cynthia, who i'd met my very first time there in 2000. Walked back to her camp, two down from Beth & Zeeb, the Indiana people. Hung out a bit more then decided i'd better make camp before it got much later.
It was dark, and midnightish, and i, silly faerie that i am, have not owned a functioning flashlight in years. Who cares? i didn't even know for sure which tent i had til i unfolded it (i have two, both blue & grey. But one's much smaller than the other). So i fumbled about in the darkness. The hippie kids partying next to me asked if i needed help.. i suppose it might've looked like i did, but i actually didn't mind being a little out of it and setting up blind. i suppose that could have been frustrating, but why let it? i was at Spoutwood, yay! Tents aren't all THAT challenging, anyway, so i had my nomad home together soon enough.
Pilgrammage and ritual.. the tent is always set up the same. i've owned and lost and broken and misplaced so many camping supplies over the years, yet i manage to get my 'hobbit hole' together: tent tucked under the trees, canopy over top descending to the ground in front, covering a small (i.e., not high enuf to stand in) kitchen. i was Home, and soon enough snuggled warm and dry in bed. Note 'warm' and 'dry'. This will be important later!
Woke Friday early - very early, as it turned out. i got up, made some food, and began assembling my vendor cart. This was one of those, oh sh*t, will i get this together in time? things that came together despite everything just days before - days? It is to laugh! i got it to ok, this will work stage Weds night, mere hours before i left. Didn't turn out like the picture in my head, but what else is new - i couldn't get a power saw to cut the wood to save my life, so hacked the luan literally by hand - hacksaw, handsaw, even used the drywall knife a time or two. Not elegant, but it held up transporting my stuff down the camping hill which was my biggest concern.
i took the same site i had last year. Technically, i'm a strolling vendor; but its neither easy nor necessary to 'stroll' the wagon around so i just park next to Cynthia's booth. Which, go figure, is on a spot they call Mermaid Island. i know, right? (if you *don't* know, i realized being a Pisces means i get to be a mermaid - ever since embracing that identity, mermaids have become Prominent in my life). Got everything set up and ready to go and whee! The heavens opened and down came the rain. Boo. It cleared for a while Fri. afternoon - a good drum circle can do that - but rained again later. Which meant 1) didn't do diddly for sales; 2) i got Wet. Because of course i was silly enuf to just sit by my cart for the most part, huddled into my cloak. Which is pretty good at withstanding moderate drizzle, but after two moderate drizzles, i was decidedly dampish. And having traded my singing voice to walk on land, i no longer appreciate such things the way a mermaid should ;-p
Friday night some of the folks there were holding an Alchemical Fire circle, which is something i've wanted to attend for a while. However, having gotten back up to camp - Spoutwood is nestled between two hills, and camping is on the higher of those - and gotten out of my tutu (i wore my Freakshow costume again, because i could!), i got as far as Camp Hon, and that was that. OK, maybe it technically isn't Camp Hon. i'm not sure, that's just how i think of my friends Kazoo & Ding0's camp. Friday night the Gypsy Nomads were also playing in town, and i'd considered driving in to see them. However, having gotten back up to camp - yeah. Grilled cheese, some awesome fish stew, and a couple bottles of wine later, i suddenly realized it was past midnight and i wasn't going anywhere.
Except back to Cynthia's camp, where folks were sitting round by candlelight doing what gypsy witches do by candlelight. That is, smoke, drink, talk, and play music. Billy Bardo had an i dont quite know what - balalaika, perchance? and i got emboldened to bring out the squeezebox. We jammed for a time, sat and smoked and talked a while longer; but eventually the lure of bed was too much to pass up. And so ended the first night of festival. Yeah, this is going to be a long post. Or maybe not - open mic at the Duck is calling me, so perhaps i'll break this off now and type up the rest as separate entries. Sure. Why not. More soonest then, my faerie fae!
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