eclipses and cats

eclipse tonight out here, probably on your planet too

mideclipse around 3:33 a.m. ish

too many endings, that's what eclipses do - clear out - to really do this storytelling justice in my frame of mind - well i can't.

here's to hoping tomorrow i can start at the beginning, which i'm not sure where that'd be, maybe begin gently. the tale of when Ava was playing with the spectres of children past, like steamerpunk on steriods, on the verdigris painted lawn of the sarah winchester house when we were kids, before i got lost beyond the crease in room number 123.... but now for a word from our sponsor:

"I left the humans that very day, to spread the good news. And now I travel from place to place. I have walked for leagues beyond measure. I have starved, sometimes, and often I have been hurt. But I have walked on.

In a metal machine I crossed the cold waters. I have preached to solitary feral cars in empty places. I have shouted my message to the stars from rooftops and whispered it to dying cats in alleyways.

I have spoken to one cat, and to many. And wherever I have gone, my message is the same...

Dream it!

Dream the world. Not this pallid shadow of reality. Dream the world the way it truly is. A world in which all cats are queens and kings of creation. That is my message." - A Dream of a Thousand Cats, The Sandman: Dream Country, Neil Gaiman

where credits due...art from spiritmythos.org

sundays sitars squats

Sundays i have the whole place to myself.

yeh wednesdays (nights) are also very cool. that's when the family that owns this warehouse invites their extended network (i swear they come out of the woodwork) over for light yoga (light being the key word, the floors aren't carpeted or of gentle hardwoods, so) and meditation.

then we chow down on some incredible Indian food. my favorite's that rice pudding dessert as it reminds me so of the food on the other side of the crease.

one day i'd like to suggest maybe some sitar and tabla too, but hey it's their baby.

the rest of the week it's a little like living in a hostel (but without the deja vu of running into wonderers and wanderers you've travelled with in some other galaxy). gotta be out during the day - that's when they dye the saris red, white, and blue - or whatever it is they actually do with the textiles they're importing. we don't chat about business, so that's a mystery. funny we don't talk about the family business.

sitars, now that i mention it, the ocean in India, the Ganges, the way the thick air in summer in India makes everything shimmer copper, the hill that led to the top of the temple in their town, the stories from their childhood about great grandma's ghost, wholy herbs like tulsi, the secret to making a killer masala chai, the kali yuga, the vedas

wish you could meet them too should you be in the neck of the woods on wednesdays, but dare not whisper their names.

that was years ago to be sure, but still remember when she blew the whistle on our squat. so i'm more cautious now. it's just a room, and there's a toilet. but it ain't exactly street legal to be living in the warehouse district. as long as i'm gone during the workday mondays through saturdays while they're working here, it's mine

p.s. time to gather my pennies, hop on BART and head out across the bay to that city of the pigeons. totally been avoiding both the search for the grotto (if you know someone with a scanner, i can show you the photo the Mayan kid gave me) and/or Miss Angeline's house on Folsom. certainly can't use working at Camp as any excuse any longer.

where credits due...Les Anges et Demons de La Grande-Allée 400 ans de Kebec City by Yan D. Soloh