Memory Moment Pineapple Grommet Spinster Cricket Proper Silence
It's been just about two months since I've been traveling, a little baggage of wonder, and sometimes, complacency.
I've spent almost a whole month in Arizona, though. At first it was waiting to get to the gathering, then it was the gathering, and now I'm waiting around for a boy.
I met Rocket on my second day in Bisbee, and followed him and Matt to the Buffalo Ranch. I thought it would be a good idea to hang out with a man, for security while hitching and the abatement of loneliness while sitting still. Problem is that I'm still as lonely as I can be. On the surface, he fits the job description that I was looking for: thick, long Shiva dreads to his hips, all covered in tattoos that he mostly did himself... artistic, bud smoking, older, he's traveled all around, met everyone. I don't know. I never told myself that I'd be happy in a relationship again, and in this I have not lied. Rocket is so distant. Half his life is spent in another world, some kind of abstract acid trip or displaced fantasy. I guess he likes having me around, and I don't have anywhere else to be. Or rather, I could be anywhere but can't get myself shaking.
I wish he wasn't so aggro. Not physically, you understand. Just irritable when he's out of kind bud, or when he's forced to hang around the stupid kids. He doesn't like so many things, and so many people. I figure that if you can change a bad situation, you should; and if you can't, your options are to leave or to deal. Use your best judgment and don't let everything get you down. All these hippies want to talk about peace and love and changing the world when they're smoking pot around a campfire, but a thorn in their foot or an empty pipe will send them screeching their woes to anyone who will listen. And no one will listen unless they're waiting their turn for their own monologue.
Well, that's one thing I'm learning on the road. I keep quiet mostly. I watch and learn. In fact, some people don't call me Moment at all, they call me Proper. I smile to myself at that, since my name in the dreams was Silence, anyway. Maybe I shouldn't have borrowed my guardian's name, after all.
Another thing that I'm learning is detachment. I will someday love, with all my heart, things and people that do not belong to me. Rainbow family are evanescent beings. They don't settle down and they don't stay in one place for long. Someone that travelled with you for a minute is gone the next. You'll see them again, or maybe you won't. You'll love them all the same, though, because love is all we have. We certainly don't own very much.
My pack is a light one, and it gets lighter every day.
But my heart is still heavy, and I can't help but think that maybe I want it back. But it doesn't belong to me anymore. I was lucky enough to have my soul returned.
A single day hasn't gone by where I don't think about him. I cry into the night, Stop haunting me. There's nothing for us anymore. What he wants and what I want are so different that any kind of a future is sad and laughable. He is willing for those that he loves to be hurt by his desires. I am unwilling to be hurt by anyone.
Each day goes by, and I don't feel human any longer. I told my parents at five years old that I was a changling, and maybe I was right. Logic and affection have lost their hold on my personality. I've sewn bells on all my clothing and I dance and skip when I'm merry, and walk alone with no company but dead poets when I'm down. Shouldn't it trouble me that nothing worked out like it was supposed to?
I'm so homesick for my friends. But I've made a fool of myself in their eyes, and I don't have a home anymore. How awkward it would be to return there. Maybe I should just wait for next year's Ocala gathering. I can think of two or three people who'd be glad I stayed away. One of them is myself.
I find myself wandering the Commune in my dreams. A little ghost girl haunting those who haunt her. Sometimes it's my childhood home instead of that hippie villa on the south side. Sometimes it's the shoebox, sometimes the gutter punk palace that Leah shared with all those orphaned kids. But always people see through me, always they play cruel tricks. And I wake up, next to a man who does not love me, whom I do not love, and I could cry because... I am so displaced.
I've spent almost a whole month in Arizona, though. At first it was waiting to get to the gathering, then it was the gathering, and now I'm waiting around for a boy.
I met Rocket on my second day in Bisbee, and followed him and Matt to the Buffalo Ranch. I thought it would be a good idea to hang out with a man, for security while hitching and the abatement of loneliness while sitting still. Problem is that I'm still as lonely as I can be. On the surface, he fits the job description that I was looking for: thick, long Shiva dreads to his hips, all covered in tattoos that he mostly did himself... artistic, bud smoking, older, he's traveled all around, met everyone. I don't know. I never told myself that I'd be happy in a relationship again, and in this I have not lied. Rocket is so distant. Half his life is spent in another world, some kind of abstract acid trip or displaced fantasy. I guess he likes having me around, and I don't have anywhere else to be. Or rather, I could be anywhere but can't get myself shaking.
I wish he wasn't so aggro. Not physically, you understand. Just irritable when he's out of kind bud, or when he's forced to hang around the stupid kids. He doesn't like so many things, and so many people. I figure that if you can change a bad situation, you should; and if you can't, your options are to leave or to deal. Use your best judgment and don't let everything get you down. All these hippies want to talk about peace and love and changing the world when they're smoking pot around a campfire, but a thorn in their foot or an empty pipe will send them screeching their woes to anyone who will listen. And no one will listen unless they're waiting their turn for their own monologue.
Well, that's one thing I'm learning on the road. I keep quiet mostly. I watch and learn. In fact, some people don't call me Moment at all, they call me Proper. I smile to myself at that, since my name in the dreams was Silence, anyway. Maybe I shouldn't have borrowed my guardian's name, after all.
Another thing that I'm learning is detachment. I will someday love, with all my heart, things and people that do not belong to me. Rainbow family are evanescent beings. They don't settle down and they don't stay in one place for long. Someone that travelled with you for a minute is gone the next. You'll see them again, or maybe you won't. You'll love them all the same, though, because love is all we have. We certainly don't own very much.
My pack is a light one, and it gets lighter every day.
But my heart is still heavy, and I can't help but think that maybe I want it back. But it doesn't belong to me anymore. I was lucky enough to have my soul returned.
A single day hasn't gone by where I don't think about him. I cry into the night, Stop haunting me. There's nothing for us anymore. What he wants and what I want are so different that any kind of a future is sad and laughable. He is willing for those that he loves to be hurt by his desires. I am unwilling to be hurt by anyone.
Each day goes by, and I don't feel human any longer. I told my parents at five years old that I was a changling, and maybe I was right. Logic and affection have lost their hold on my personality. I've sewn bells on all my clothing and I dance and skip when I'm merry, and walk alone with no company but dead poets when I'm down. Shouldn't it trouble me that nothing worked out like it was supposed to?
I'm so homesick for my friends. But I've made a fool of myself in their eyes, and I don't have a home anymore. How awkward it would be to return there. Maybe I should just wait for next year's Ocala gathering. I can think of two or three people who'd be glad I stayed away. One of them is myself.
I find myself wandering the Commune in my dreams. A little ghost girl haunting those who haunt her. Sometimes it's my childhood home instead of that hippie villa on the south side. Sometimes it's the shoebox, sometimes the gutter punk palace that Leah shared with all those orphaned kids. But always people see through me, always they play cruel tricks. And I wake up, next to a man who does not love me, whom I do not love, and I could cry because... I am so displaced.