Sleepless long nights; Song # 3

This morning I was dancing in my living room to Leslie Feist's 1,2,3,4. This got me to thinking, or remembering which I seem to think is how our little brains spend a lot of their aimless time, about when I first heard that song. I was going through a music dry spell which embarassingly had been ongoing for several years. Something deep in me, primal but that I could feel and that reminds me of coyote yowls and moonlight and feeling the wind shift your hair on an otherwise windless night was yearning, and it gave feet to this urge: Go to Texas & see your grl. Go be with her while her baby's born she needs you now.

Mandy was/is my best friend from practically the first day she knocked on the door of that lightless must-filled icicleshangingonthewindowunit room-enough for our twin beds and a sink in the corner awful little single I shared with Kareem at the Drifthood summer of 96. One I got kicked out of eventually for not paying rent after Kareem exploded forties all over the place cuz he thought I ratted him out for stealing some drugs and money downtown. Cmon. Anyhow Man was the remedy to my hurting heart that summer, we sat a hundred days in the heat and light of that high orange sun, our buts in the mud at the ocean's edge our hands covered by sea froth and silently picking at shells and tiny stones. Later, we travelled toghether and ever since have been connected by that karma-sense same as coyote howls and the way the moonlight sometimes feels like sun.

So in 2008 when Derek (i think i spelled that wrong) her son came something in me rustled up and I flew to Texas for ten days or something to be with her in that little timeless nest of love. I'd just quit my job and didn't know what was next and was in a deep way on the run. 1234 was out it was a theme for some IPOD commercial and That was the same trip that we went to a flea market on the side of the highway in these ratted falling down shacks and she bought Cody a samarai sword and I bought these crazy long earrings from this witchy woman stand with all these strong strong gems, and it was also the day I first curled my hair again put on make-up and remembered how much I loved eccentric clothes.

Fesit, that song by her, and later others, too, became the theme songs of my life and also of tortured love. She introduced me, as well as Man and her son and oldskool travelkarma and earrings from a Mexi-run fleamrkt, to music again, to myself, and love.

Here is the song,& yes, it's full of coreographed dancing, hoooorah!

Long Dirt Road

Signs that I am getting better, # 1:

I was driving home tonight and Feist came on the radio. Pardon me if I am late with this, but I love this woman...and tonight, or this evening dusktime in farm country with the returning ospreys low swooping and the black trees against the mute orange and greys of the sky--Mushaboom came on. To say I was obsessed with song may be rather mild--indeed this past summer it was on constant reply in my head, an antagonistic message I couldn't quite grasp. (The words may indeed tip you off as to why, gentle reader, that is if you are at all a regular follower of these here words/this here life.) But I've never heard this song on the radio before. Well I lately only listen to pop music, silence or talk radio in the car because the slippery thin line between depression and real life for me is so subtle~~so fucking subtle but so MAJOR, you dig? And guilt, shame (which I've learned to re-identify for myself as self-judgment) and pity for me in the months since I moved out are a torturous landslide of boundary-less-ness, much like a brutal watercareening mudslide in a mean torrent of rain. There's just no way to tell once I've slipped over the slope and am stuck swirling within, no land to grab in sight. So tonight I'm driving along and on comes Mushaboom, contextually a song that would call up that ol tramp Melancholy and give her reason to let it rip. But tonight I drove along aware--aware you guys!! of the outline of my heart! You know, like blissing along with the music, aware of the tenderocity of life, actually feeling little tweaks in my heart but sure as those tweaks were one with the song they were one with the trees and those birds and that farmhouse over there, too. My sweet blessed broken healing heart, widened now and once again, even more softened at the edges. And thank god for the edges--that they were there and it wasn't just nebulous, patterned pain... If you have a minute visit this youtube video of her singing Mushaboom it's a trip:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZDZwThM7vAg
People do not do near enough choreographed dancing! I mean, cmon, I came from the eighties, you dig--the apex of MTV and the step step step kick and up, down and hands through the hair seductively and step and kick and again! Thank god for that, and thank god for dancing in general--which is probably sign # 2 I am getting better: I am doing an awful lot of bad pop song car dancing lately...

Anyhow. I read two excellent posts tonight, Serendipity number 6 zillion and twenty-two and 6 zillion twenty-three. The first, here, is a fascinating succinct read about body energy/the earth's energy, found on flip flopping joy. It took me a third of the way down to realize it was written by a man--there shows my clear gender bias, but his instinct on feminine/divine feminine patterns and injuries is so, so well done--and a full half of the way down to realize it was written about sex!!! Which just goes to show I am not always good at reading the titles. The second, here, is by my first writing mentor's husband, Jeff, and is in tune with my own recent re-discovery of the bliss of the great Mystery...

I have laundry piled up, literally, to my head. Time to go be a grown-up.