part twelve
coldness blows against me. it is mardi gras once
again. a young boy performs a magic show in front of the cathedral.
a man plays saxophone on a bench. the sky is cloudy. it will rain.
depressed. though i dont know why. yesterday. hearing
the music in the streets for the first time. such a long time.
meeting new people once again. i was happy. but new orleans has
changed once again. and so have i. the drop-in center is gone.
[no, only moved]. a furniture gallery stands where once the circle
k. mydian has long been destroyed. flattened. nothing remaining.
the magick of that first time has disappeared. and i must search
to recreate it.
# # #
rereading anais nin. realising how much i am like
her. i used to say i was like henry. no more. silk is more henry.
going out getting drunk every night. having sex with people just
for sex. the drugs. the wild lifestyle. i still need some refinements
in life. i can live on the streets sometimes. but i still like
money. for food. for concerts. i am not good at being a bum. i
cannot spare change so easily. shoplift. whatever. even my style
of writing. it is like anais. i am her antecessor. silk is henrys.
as lawrence. and proust. came before them.
# # #
sometimes i still wander around the city hoping to
meet a woman. to have a girlfriend. i guess its searching. even
though i know. every time i search i find nothing. only in accident.
when im not looking. getting ready to leave. do i meet a woman.
a girlfriend.
lately ive been thinking though. if its the girlfriend.
or the idea of a girlfriend im looking for. that knowing. in your
mind. that you have someone to go home to. or someone to go places
with. someone to fuck. whether or not you actually do. a lot of
people cant relax until they do. sometimes i wonder if i had a
girlfriend if id stop going out. stop wanting to fuck. stop wanting
to deeply connect with someone. if i had someone i could do these
things with. absence makes the desire grow stronger. (and then
some people finally are able to flirt. seduce others. once they
have that confidence. of someone else. boyfriend/girlfriend. so
once they have one, they soon have others. but with none they
are lost).
in many ways more i look for the function of a girlfriend.
that ability to go out. to the park. dance. kiss. watch movies
with. talk. i dont want so much to be stuck with having
a girlfriend as doing stuff with a girlfriend. and even small
aspects of that will satisfy me. someone i can teach. and show
things. and have them teach me. show things. even if the romantic
part isnt there. someone to dance with. and if nothing else. someone
to love.
[there was going to be a paragraph here about hoping
to find a specific girl. one with the specific qualities i was
looking for. but these qualities change. and i dont want to force
expectations on a woman. better to live with no expectations.
just to love. get along together. and be surprised with discoveries
of each other].
# # #
last night on bourbon joel said: if people need this
much of a drug in their system to make them relax and be free
like this then they have some deep severe problems alcohol is
not going to solve-as silk and i. now a few others have joined
in. now that theyre drunk. dancing. wildly to the music. as three
naked women dance around. through the crowd. trying to rouse the
spiritless twenty-somethings from their middle class slumber-sometimes
thinking i might become like that. having lost the will to fight.
the spirit to dance. to live-saying something about the young.
how they have such energy. and he does like hanging out around
the young. as i do as well. so many of my friends. youthful. full
of energy. forcing me to live-bands tend not to play as well if
the crowd isnt into it. silk comments-people standing around sipping
their little cocktails as the band plays on-looking at all the
normal people. now drunk. in new orleans. on bourbon. finally
able to give up their inhibitions. relax. as mothers. daughters.
librarians. lawyers. engineers. accountants. show their tits.
their dicks. cunts. tattoos. all for beads. the dare. why not
its mardi gras. dancing with people in the streets. giving change
to bums theyd not give the time of day to sober. frolicking. revelry.
it is sad that people are so wound up they need all this to relax-i
never want to lose the will to live. to dance. and be free.
# # #
walking along bourbon. we meet a girl. crying. pauline.
she is a friend of ogres. he asks her what is wrong. she begins
to laugh a little under her sobs. that motherfucker. i cant believe
i just did that. what? i burned him. i fuckin burned him. he was
sleeping on the bed and i took some matches. lit all four corners
of the sheets. fuck. i just paid for that room too. and now the
cops are out looking for me. fuck. he woke up though. he got out
that motherfucker. the fire alarms were going off when i left.
he told me he was going to fucking leave me in the morning. why
dont you leave now. you dont fucking tell someone that. now i
expect hes waiting. he wants me to come looking for him. well
fuck him. im not looking. calming her down. do you want to come
with us. no. are you going to be alright. are you sure. just want
to walk. and we leave her. walking.
# # #
wandering around new orleans. talking. joel and i.
we sit to talk to shorty for a while. his mother just died. he
sits with some other punks. spare changing. drinking. he looks
a mess. unshaven. i give him a hug. talking.
then. cop walks down the street with a man and a
woman. the man points at shorty. everyone up against the wall.
the man is saying shorty stole the bottle of wine from his store.
shorty keeps saying a man on a bike drove by. gave him the bottle.
more cops. everyone up against the wall. one gutter punk tries
to walk away. running after him. grab him. force him back. hands
against the wall. feet back. i want your feet so far back youd
fall if you took your hands off that wall.
theyre arresting the one guy for resisting arrest.
cuff him. in the car. they dump out everything in my bag. start
patting people down. reaching into my pockets. pulling everything
out. they dont even ask for id. they just reach in and grab it.
they start hassling joel for having bank cards he found on the
ground in his pocket. old. expired. they go through every piece
of paper in his wallet. no ability to protest. when i try to turn
around to see what is happening to joel they make me put one arm
behind my back. one on my head. up against the wall. legs spread.
slowly they let people go. they arrest shorty for
stealing the wine. let the rest of us go. scrambling to pick up
my shit. thrown on the ground beneath me. my bag dumped out. no
one consented to a search. but the fucking vieux carre cops dont
give a damn. more corrupt than the people they arrest. fuck them
all. all we were doing. talking to a friend. they didnt need to
do all that shit. except to satisfy their sadistic pleasure.
# # #
many new performers in new orleans this year. a pixie
who dances in the square. a couple from france. one plays an electrified
violin. the other walks the tightrope. such beautiful music. there
are two escape artists this year [one gets arrested for selling
acid later]. the breakdancers who do a flip over twelve people
are back. a moving greek statue has appeared. but the white woman
has gone. and others. every year something more and different.
# # #
two figures dancing. dressed in red. long red masks.
white hands. large. made of wood. as drums. a clarinet. cries
of an indian. as a belly dancer takes her stage. jingles as she
dances around the brick patio out back. a fire rages behind me.
others join in the drumming. candles burning on a candelabra rising
out of a swamp bush. painted faces. strange beautiful costumes.
exotic. dancing. as people switch instruments. long pipes. slowly
dying down. then. a new song.
one woman wears a beak and a tail. another a long
violet dress cut below the breasts. the music. more people joining
in. dancing now. top hats. red velvet jackets. men in drag. medallions
hang around necks. talismans. scarves. such beautiful hats. a
man in all white with a necklace of red flowers and long braided
hair. a hooter plays. wild. frenzied. dancing. someone has sewn
stuffed animals all over. long sparkling dresses. orange hair
wigs. carribean music flows out from inside.
earlier. wandering around the house. before people
came. before. so beautiful. (some days later kevin tells me the
house was built in the 1700s). one room. all in dark colours.
wood paneling. light shining through coloured glass on the ceiling
above. sayings hanging on the walls. magazines on the bar. knickknacks
everywhere. the hall. long bookshelf. candles. black and white
photos of people. scenes from plays. twisting. turning. the bathroom
contains statues. some broken. fat nude old men. gods. buddhas.
mardi gras beads. stairs leading up to someones room. another
door. half wide leading into another. on the porch. railing made
of branches tied vertically. thick strong long one. horizontal.
ice sculptures. as a red light flashes through the ice from underneath.
porch leading down to brick patio fire pit. a large wooden fish
hanging on the barn. out to other rooms of the house. opening
to other parts of the yard. by the back. the garden.
# # #
strange depression today. i woke up deciding whether
or not to attend my last day of work. i was let go because i have
too long of a ponytail. even though i work on the 29th
floor of an office building. fucking casino company wide policies.
the week before i was offered a permanent position i turned down.
that was before the wrong department saw me. i woke up. went back
to sleep. no more work for a while. time to think.
thinking. ive developed my personality to be so goal
oriented. pushing forwards always. a book i read. i must learn
from it. develop myself. people i meet. movies i see. if i do
not learn from them. expand myself. so little point. yoga. must
develop will power. so i stop smoking. want to fast. learn akido.
develop myself more and more. i bought a book the other day. the
principles of higher learning. someone von eckarthausen. all about
the progression of life. developing the soul. i try to be. do
good so much. i forget evil. i want to do evil. and so often i
find myself at a loss. gone. i fear becoming too enlightened to
enjoy the pleasures of being alive. human. in the flesh.
[as if i am so enlightened. but yet. they say to
become enlightened you must rid oneself of all earthly desires.
and ive lost almost all interest in sex lately it scares me. i
try keeping this up by continuing to masturbate daily. and i still
would like a woman. but more as a companion now. someone to love
intensely and experience the world with.]
# # #
i sit outside the gates to jackson square. they are
open. it is mardi gras. the wreckage from the previous night shows
its face on the square. trash scattered everywhere. trash cans
overflowing. a deep mist surrounds the square. the clock chimes
quarter until eight. this will be a mardi gras to remember. to
change the face of all mardi gras. i have never seen. maybe they
have never been open. the gates to jackson square. on mardi gras
day.
# # #
that strange feeling that something changed last
night pervades the square. last night. marching through the streets
on a wild rampage. through bourbon. along royal. picking up more
and more. it is three am. the police. before. around twelve. breaking
up the crash worship show. while the opening bands. still playing.
now. crash worship. others head a procession through the city.
through french quarter.
people dancing. madly. feverishly. walking over cars.
puppets through the streets. the drumming. whistles. whines. drinking.
cheering. banging on street signs. houses. cars. gates. fences.
rhythm. drums out of anything. as people march. banging on drums.
others. leading through the streets. the golden painted man. as
a woman runs through the crowd painting peoples faces blue. other
faces are red. tourists. freaks. locals. all as one. marching
through the streets.
as cop cars appear. trying to stop us. a mob. changing
direction. going around cars. too many people. just one. two cannot
match us. they stay in their cars. then. outside cafe brazil.
so many cop cars. surrounding all streets. grabbing people with
drums. arresting. the beat goes on as people clap. watch. defying
the cops. as some get arrested. the defiance is there. but it
slowly dies. as people back away. as the police take out their
clubs.
slowly walking back to jackson square. as people
are shuffled off the sidewalks. inside. by the cops. by cafe owners
warned the cops are coming. declaring their own little martial
law. and i walk back. saddened it didnt hit the boiling point.
yet happy. proud the defiance was there. that it built. and lasted
so long. came so close to that riot. war against the police. but
someday. someday. (i wait).
[looking back i see that it was good things did not
reach a boiling point. there is a time for violence and revolution
and a time for fun. mardi gras day. early morning. this was a
time for fun. though defiance was a part of it. it going beyond.
to that point where it no longer becomes fun. but a fight for
ones rights. not the time. the place. some other.]
# # #
that night in jackson square. a naked man. running
into the park from the cathedral. i go and ask him. talk. why.
what are you doing. he just has to rearrange a few things. but
he has a lot of work to so. so if i could leave him to it. i smile
at him. say okay and close the gates behind him. like a shoe elf
in the night.
# # #
mardi gras morning. along the river. people are drumming.
as a deep fog creeps over the water into the french quarter. a
wall of emptiness. void. and on the edge. drums. echoing the memory
of the night before. gutter punks and others. remembering. keeping
the spirit alive.
i stop and drum for a while. joel is here. he drums
as well. the drumming. seems to fade and i set the beat. i feel
like a conductor. holding together the rhythm. so people can drum
over it. they try hard. but alone. they do not know the tribal
beats. joel and i. keeping the beat alive. i drum until my arms
swell up. i cannot feel them; i am on dxm. but i know i should
stop. disappearing into another place. when i return later they
are still drumming. perhaps i was wrong.
# # #
ravens apartment:
once again raven tries to play with my mind. and
though he doesnt succeed. what he wants. i know he has power.
and even here it is only the power i give him. because i have
not yet built up defenses. learned to play the game. as well as
he does. so he cajoles me. gets me to snuggle with him. but whenever
he gets too close. i move. i play the game but i know as well.
he is so much better. and the only power i have. the power. the
knowledge that hes playing a game with me. it is this that saves
me. [for if he were not. so easily could overpower me. so much
stronger. swifter than i. but were i naive. to fall into his clutches.
his bed. with so much ease of soothing words that i know are not].
knowing manipulation is the first knowledge to stop it. and though
hes convinced. someday he wants to suck my dick. do worse. but
i will stop the game before that. if only because to do so, he
will have won. and i refuse to lose this game.
# # #
adam got out of jail today. somehow. natalie went
down. bailed him out. fake id. all this shit. he has a few weeks
to get to canada. until his court date. and a warrant is let out.
unless. now that hes on the outside. he can get a lawyer. a real
one. wholl get them to drop his juvenile charges. illegally being
brought against him. his initial charge after all isnt that bad.
he kicked in a cop car window. angry at being harassed every day.
all day. all his friends being arrested. simple criminal destruction.
and tomorrow natalie and adam are getting married.
jasmines going to perform the ceremony. shes an ordained priestess
somewhere in california. a legal marriage. for real. im so happy
for them.
# # #
such a long long night. so many things happening.
good. bad. strange. wandering with greg. talking. new orleans
beginning again. visiting chickenmans old store. now a temple.
ghosts in the windows of the second story across from the a&p.
exploring the magick of new orleans.
later. on dxm. someone tells me about alex. he killed
a girl in his squat. strangled her. shoved broomsticks up her
ass. fucked her. and again. poured bleach all over her. then pulled
up the floorboards and tried to get people to help bury her.
i dont understand. trying. alex wasnt like that.
i hung out with him sometimes. i last saw him in the square. during
one of the free dinners. he had second degree staph. it was past
his elbow. he told me that when it hit his heart he would die.
in a few days if he didnt get medical care. go to the hospital.
soon. so yarn was trying to get him to go to the hospital. she
was going to bring him. maybe she got him to go. and he thanked
her by killing her close friend eve.
it keeps turning over in my mind. when you find out
someone you know killed someone else you know. [later i found
out from someone a few cells down from alexs. alex did it all
for fun. and i understand less. thinking back. the last few days.
as death came upon him. he did seem different. almost not caring
if he died]. turning. over. and over.
i dont really know how to react. my mind confused.
disgusted. i dont remember eve that well. barely knew her. so
i cant feel sad. angry though. in some way that one of our people
could do that to another. in a squat. for fun. and so confused.
so disgusted. disgusted is totally the right word.
they say he wont make it. not in the penitentiary.
in opp [orleans parish prison] hes already gotten beat up many
times. every day doing something against the unwritten code of
prisoners. he gets beat up for farting. yanked off the bed for
hanging his foot over the bunk. soon hell be dead. by staph or
by jail.
# # #
(once again i begin the downward spiral).
i want to lose myself in drugs. forget about life
and reality. into that dreamlike haze where consequences. the
future. tomorrow do not matter. insubstantial. now. with no cares.
no responsibilities. no inhibitions. fears.
but my personality. so ingrained. and ive taught
myself so well to control. i cannot get lost. i cannot go out
there forever. stops which prevent me. built into my person. like
a door before it smashes into the wall. today i got really depressed.
lost the will to live. seeing the pointlessness of it all. the
neverending fight against babylon. the man. i want to destroy
the world. and live alone in a void. of nothingness. until i too
die. annihilated into nothingness.
(void is satori. satori is the total complete experience
of the void. only the yogi destroy everything inside. all sense
of a sense of self. to get there. i want to destroy the outside.
the world of the senses. i want to become crazy. insane. only
i am so constantly refused. and must live on).
# # #
walking along the tracks. a group of nine of us.
up to the boxcars. its been a long day. natalie and amber almost
got arrested stealing clothes for the wedding. they managed to
pay the owner off with the last of natalies money. wandering around.
finally up to jasmines house. then meeting her at kaldis. drinking
stolen wine on the river.
we find an open boxcar. preparations. a flashlight.
lighters. sage. various special objects for the ceremony. amber
gives natalie a crystal. then we wait outside as natalie adam
jasmine enter the boxcar to perform the ceremony. we walk around
and wait behind some other boxcars. midnight passes. finally they
emerge. everyone gives their congratulations. as we slowly walk
back to the riverwalk. finishing the last bottle of wine. in celebration.
# # #
the life of the street. listening to a mandolin guitar
accordion on bourbon street. as sweet gypsy music plays on. wandering
jackson square as the mist slowly rolls over the river enshrouding
the french quarter in a soft glowing mystery. exploring abandoned
warehouses. fallen apart. far out in the bywater. walking along
the wharf. to where a ship crashed. leaving fallen. caven in.
destruction. climbing aboard an old navy ship. such a large empty
hull. so large. looking for a way to the gun turrets. late one
night. as the ship drifts away from the dock. swinging by rope
to land. before it drifts back again. waves washing against the
shore on the mississippi. life. so harsh. can sometimes be so
beautiful.
# # #
adams talking about jail. opp. how he pretended to
be a fag so hed be put in the homosexual ward. because they leave
you alone there. the other one. heterosexual. so much harder.
they fuck you up the ass there. because they dont have a woman
to fuck. and theyre hard up. bigger than you. stronger than you.
and horny. you go to the homosexual ward if you want to be left
alone. hetero to be fucked. (then. go to the penitentiary. no
longer matters. everyone together. and youll get fucked anyway.
unless you act a wingnut).
# # #
i have become impotent.
last night. trying to have sex with this woman. my
dick getting hard. losing it. only half hard. and i keep slipping
out. not hard enough. until i can no longer get hard at all. lost
the ability to get aroused. to get hard. though earlier. so aroused.
so hard.
today. trying to will myself hard. fantasizing about
last night. about random women on the street. anything to try
and get hard. sometimes it works. for a moment. i become hard.
but still only half hard. i try to become harder. keep it up.
losing it right away. soft again. and it isnt even the ability
ive lost. that native desire. emotional. instinctual need to fuck.
for sex. all that has gone. left only with the intellectual longing
for that feeling of desire.
it scares me. wondering why. if i could have lost
it all forever. the fear of becoming a non-sexual being. losing
that need for a companion. in more than just a friendly way. losing
the ability to be with someone in that way. even if i wanted it.
i dont want to lose my earthly desires. i want them back. now.
[ironically this happens just before i leave new
orleans. when ive just met someone to be sexual with. and our
time together so short. and i can no longer. losing the desire
for it all. and when i had it all. the desire. ability. no one
to be with.]
# # #
that night i was cured of my impotency as dina appeared.
wandering around the city. by the river. tearing each other apart.
wanting to tear off each others clothes. then realising others.
standing there. were they watching? inside a squat searching
for privacy. then finally a dark field between two houses. coats
lain. biting. scratching. then fucking. i come. still hard. still
fucking. even after she comes. my impotency is cured.
the next day on the bus i remember back to the nights
before. hard. but for that one day. when i couldnt even fantasize
anything to get hard. i dont know what i would do if i became
like that forever.