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.
15 May 2009
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!
30 April 2009
ping: Off to the Fairie Festival!
ok tweeps. car is packed, HOPE i've got all, & make it safely! Off to the Fairie Fest, see u next week! Merry Beltane!
29 April 2009
19 April 2009
It was an April morning when they told us..
Ah spring. i am a bad goth, i much prefer spring, everything coming back to life and blooming over autumn. i have a lot of good memories associated with Aprils past; forsythia blossoms feel like Hope, to me. Hope for the future.
my future is far from assured.. there's a lot about it that's downright scary. In many ways i feel i'm picking up where i left off thirty years ago - but i'm thirty years older now, and the future has a limit on it i couldn't see before. i could bring myself down following this train of thought. i've been strongly attracted to the Fool card from the Tarot in recent years (since this newest period of my life commenced) - see a cliff? Jump off - and i have this absurd belief that just as long as i don't look down i won't fall; the clouds will rise up beneath my feet and bear me safely to the other side.
and i'm not dead, yet. Maybe i'll get to where i'm going and maybe i won't.. no, scratch that. i'll get there - it may not be where i THINK it will be, but i'll arrive. And i am on my way.
i'm a witch and a pagan, tho not a 'practicing' one in the sense most people think. i seldom manage to circle w/anyone, rarely do spells, and i certainly don't *look* like [insert neopagan stereotype here]. But i Feel the moon and the seasons in my blood. i Feel energie flows. i Feel spring when it rises, the currents of Possibility opening out before me.
April has been a month of changes in my life - perhaps i mean milestones. The watershed event that propelled me into the life i lead now occurred in April. i've been married (twice) in April - maybe i shouldn't count those, eh? ;-} In April, Lakeview Cemetery is perhaps the most beautiful place in the city. i am overdue to spend some hours wandering there; i used to spend my afternoons strolling the quiet grassy avenues. Many dreams and goals were shaped in that green and stony park - i miss it. Daffodil Hill will be covered in a sea of yellow and the cherry trees and dogwoods seem to uphold the life everlasting those Victorian architects subscribed to. Of course i interpret the concept differently.
It is spring and everything is new and awakening. i have new projects on the horizon and fresh approaches to old ones. i am filled with hope and ideas and perhaps even the energies to carry some out. i have walked a spiral round and round and round again, but each time i tread the 'same' path i am a loop farther on. The path i walk is insistent beneath my feet. It will lead me on whether i will it or no. On previous turns i have resisted and hesitated; no more. My foot is set firmly now and there is no choice but to go forward. Whether it will take me where i hope i cannot know, only that everything is just and right.
Today was a day filled with such promise. The sun shone, the air was warm. i spent a couple hours breaking up Japanese knotweed at the back of a vacant lot, helping prepare the land for gardens to come. The plot is a little distance but near enuf i can ride my bike, & plan to, as it warms. One of the elements of this path is community work and here is a route to that. There is more to be done, always more; but it felt good to be Involved again - not to mention being outdoors, in service to Mother Earth. The Fifth Sacred paradigm will manifest.
This is a vision i've held for a while, and see beginning to take more solid form. Things that have seemed out in the wouldn't-it-be-cool-if sphere are finding a way to manifest. i know that i Know how to make them happen - some? all? But to do so means my energies *must* go there and not be diluted, channelled into mundane realities. Therefore i must trust thee yoniverse to take care of me while i do the work that is laid out before me. We are still negotiating how this might happen - but i've a roof over my head and food (if meager) in the cupboards. i will survive, and with the spring will come a flowering of all that has been sown.
my future is far from assured.. there's a lot about it that's downright scary. In many ways i feel i'm picking up where i left off thirty years ago - but i'm thirty years older now, and the future has a limit on it i couldn't see before. i could bring myself down following this train of thought. i've been strongly attracted to the Fool card from the Tarot in recent years (since this newest period of my life commenced) - see a cliff? Jump off - and i have this absurd belief that just as long as i don't look down i won't fall; the clouds will rise up beneath my feet and bear me safely to the other side.
and i'm not dead, yet. Maybe i'll get to where i'm going and maybe i won't.. no, scratch that. i'll get there - it may not be where i THINK it will be, but i'll arrive. And i am on my way.
i'm a witch and a pagan, tho not a 'practicing' one in the sense most people think. i seldom manage to circle w/anyone, rarely do spells, and i certainly don't *look* like [insert neopagan stereotype here]. But i Feel the moon and the seasons in my blood. i Feel energie flows. i Feel spring when it rises, the currents of Possibility opening out before me.
April has been a month of changes in my life - perhaps i mean milestones. The watershed event that propelled me into the life i lead now occurred in April. i've been married (twice) in April - maybe i shouldn't count those, eh? ;-} In April, Lakeview Cemetery is perhaps the most beautiful place in the city. i am overdue to spend some hours wandering there; i used to spend my afternoons strolling the quiet grassy avenues. Many dreams and goals were shaped in that green and stony park - i miss it. Daffodil Hill will be covered in a sea of yellow and the cherry trees and dogwoods seem to uphold the life everlasting those Victorian architects subscribed to. Of course i interpret the concept differently.
It is spring and everything is new and awakening. i have new projects on the horizon and fresh approaches to old ones. i am filled with hope and ideas and perhaps even the energies to carry some out. i have walked a spiral round and round and round again, but each time i tread the 'same' path i am a loop farther on. The path i walk is insistent beneath my feet. It will lead me on whether i will it or no. On previous turns i have resisted and hesitated; no more. My foot is set firmly now and there is no choice but to go forward. Whether it will take me where i hope i cannot know, only that everything is just and right.
Today was a day filled with such promise. The sun shone, the air was warm. i spent a couple hours breaking up Japanese knotweed at the back of a vacant lot, helping prepare the land for gardens to come. The plot is a little distance but near enuf i can ride my bike, & plan to, as it warms. One of the elements of this path is community work and here is a route to that. There is more to be done, always more; but it felt good to be Involved again - not to mention being outdoors, in service to Mother Earth. The Fifth Sacred paradigm will manifest.
This is a vision i've held for a while, and see beginning to take more solid form. Things that have seemed out in the wouldn't-it-be-cool-if sphere are finding a way to manifest. i know that i Know how to make them happen - some? all? But to do so means my energies *must* go there and not be diluted, channelled into mundane realities. Therefore i must trust thee yoniverse to take care of me while i do the work that is laid out before me. We are still negotiating how this might happen - but i've a roof over my head and food (if meager) in the cupboards. i will survive, and with the spring will come a flowering of all that has been sown.
16 April 2009
08 April 2009
no sweeping exits
i am, have always been someone who needs a certain amount of solitude. Even sitting here, alone in an empty apartment, i feel the world encroaching too much; too many demands on my time. Of course i could leave the computer off. There are those i want to connect with; just now more than ever i find i must keep a close watch on the gate.
Which is ironic since i've chosen to live my life as something of a public figure. Or maybe not ironic at all. i swim in a few, overlapping, moderately small ponds. Small enough i appear a medium-size fish (well mermaid actually but we needn't get into that now). A lot of people 'know' me, but its somewhat superficially. Which is all right.. i am an ongoing real-time performance art piece of several decades duration, at this point. But the piece is not performed 24/7; there are times when i must be 'offstage'. Sometimes more than others.
Yes, i suppose i should 'write a book'. Kent State shootings? check. 70s intro to glam/punk? check, and already kinda written to boot. 80s life as underground punkrawk mamacita? BTDT, some of its written, some of *that* i might even share.
90s - um, what was the 90s. Readjustment period? yeah, i donno about that part. i mean i guess i did cool stuff then too, just not as cool as having Henry Rollins stay over & junk. 1st half of 1st decade of 21st century: yeah, we're probably going to edit this part out.
True, those events Shaped me and made me stronger (or is that just older) by virtue of not killing me. They also substantially damaged me in ways i dont know that i'll ever fully recover from. Sure, they're part of being the Fabulous Sascha Peppercorn, but.. well look. This is what goes in the, only some people get shown this back room in my head section, k?
i don't know what i'm trying to say here - which is probably not the best way to approach writing anything, little say a book. i DO need to have people around me who Know, and can be there when the world gets crumbly around the edges. Sometimes i need not to be Sascha, or sade, or freaking Pagoda Panic thankyouverymuch. Sometimes i don't even want to be Mandy Slade but central casting hasn't let me take off the mandy mermaid costume lately.
i think what i'm trying to sort out is, when i need to bow out and become less visible for a time, do i really owe anyone an explanation - ?! No, technically of course i don't. But folks who are used to me being the fairytale village witch who smells of gingerbread and amber don't always Understand.
Yeah. Such a bitch being Me, huh?
Which is ironic since i've chosen to live my life as something of a public figure. Or maybe not ironic at all. i swim in a few, overlapping, moderately small ponds. Small enough i appear a medium-size fish (well mermaid actually but we needn't get into that now). A lot of people 'know' me, but its somewhat superficially. Which is all right.. i am an ongoing real-time performance art piece of several decades duration, at this point. But the piece is not performed 24/7; there are times when i must be 'offstage'. Sometimes more than others.
Yes, i suppose i should 'write a book'. Kent State shootings? check. 70s intro to glam/punk? check, and already kinda written to boot. 80s life as underground punkrawk mamacita? BTDT, some of its written, some of *that* i might even share.
90s - um, what was the 90s. Readjustment period? yeah, i donno about that part. i mean i guess i did cool stuff then too, just not as cool as having Henry Rollins stay over & junk. 1st half of 1st decade of 21st century: yeah, we're probably going to edit this part out.
True, those events Shaped me and made me stronger (or is that just older) by virtue of not killing me. They also substantially damaged me in ways i dont know that i'll ever fully recover from. Sure, they're part of being the Fabulous Sascha Peppercorn, but.. well look. This is what goes in the, only some people get shown this back room in my head section, k?
i don't know what i'm trying to say here - which is probably not the best way to approach writing anything, little say a book. i DO need to have people around me who Know, and can be there when the world gets crumbly around the edges. Sometimes i need not to be Sascha, or sade, or freaking Pagoda Panic thankyouverymuch. Sometimes i don't even want to be Mandy Slade but central casting hasn't let me take off the mandy mermaid costume lately.
i think what i'm trying to sort out is, when i need to bow out and become less visible for a time, do i really owe anyone an explanation - ?! No, technically of course i don't. But folks who are used to me being the fairytale village witch who smells of gingerbread and amber don't always Understand.
Yeah. Such a bitch being Me, huh?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)