Untitled Park

A couple or many weeks ago, Travis was in Las Vegas hosting shows at the Laugh Factory.  Leaving me to life devices such as puppy, work and uninteresting activities.  Oft mornings, I'll chat with our next door neighbor as we're both leaving to exercise.  She knew Trav was away and wanted to keep me company, so we agreed to cash in the Saturday night meal we've talked about for years.  Bring on the Lebanese dinner & wine.  and then more wine.

After a lovely evening with these proper quirky folks, I took Leroy on a walk for us both to expense some stored and stumbly energy.  I strolled down the middle of our neighborhood with nowhere in particular as my beacon, consumed in a hazy orange streetlamp glow.  I ended up running into a neglected closet full of my fierce independentism.  You know the kind that only reveals itself when time, temperature, and the right amount of lady-autonomy collide.  I certainly wasn't looking for it, but immediately fell backwards into my youth.  I drew a slow, deep breath and held it there - the significance bumping into every memory.  It was like getting a whiff of that thing you deprive yourself and suddenly needing a fix.  I no longer needed booze to perpetuate the feeling.  I was inspired.

I needed to create, but not at home; that simply wouldn't do.  I needed to be among the feeling, the experience, carrying illuminated umbrellas from the entire pumpkin spectrum.  I needed to be where I found the portal, although that exact spot would get me run over so... to the park!  Despite heeds from a friend, it was perfectly suited to support my habit of choice for the evening, especially at 11p.  When you enter that mindset you're not thinking about being scared, or hurt, or that ok maybe it's not the best idea to actualize when you're drunk.  none of that matters.  I grabbed a laptop, spare key, and marched silently towards my mission.

Here is that story: unedited, unapologetic, and 100% unread.


let's enjoy this together, lovelies.
~~~~~

I haven’t done this in a long time.  Wander the streets of my neighorbood, the liquid courage of alchol behind me.  Just picked up and walked put, because that in someway is abandoning my rsponsibilites. I wish the technology was to the point where I could walk and talk and record all my thoughts, but we’re not quite there yet.  So as Leroy pulls and sniffs and does his thing, all I think about is writing mine.  The smells that remind me of this, the feelings that envelops my body, the time and place that im transported to another time because of how I feel.  None of that will stay if I don’t come back here alone, with my electronic words, capturing it all.

I found myself driven to relive something that I can’t pput a finger on.  Whims of memories envoeloed my mind; experinces of dropping acid, and being high in a park and the innocecent naitivy of your teens.  I don’t know why walking my dog at 35 ½ on a june night xxx years later brought that on, but it did.  Aagain I said maybe the liquid fueld of wine has helped bring me back here, but I’m ok with it.

It was just after 11pm.  I told a friend I was headed to the park to write and I hope he kicked ass as his Pheaonix comic panel talking about something I don’t know.  He said yu’re there with a laptop?  And I was like dude, it’s like the most innocent part I know, I got here every morning.   But that’s just it – I visit iduring the day, or morning, whatever.  If it’s nighttime I’m walsk morving with my dog or my hugsband, never stationary.  So with every step I take closer, my teenage confidence faulters a little.  So as I type this, I’m sitting in the driveway of two people I know that live next to the par and it’s weird.  I’m a chump who is pretending, or am I.  many people I know would NEVER even sit here, but I am.  I want to hear the sounds, the noise, the tension, the curiousity, he seedynes.  Is that what I need as a jolt?  I want to continue towars the benches and swings and the familiarity o fmy youth, but that’s another time.  I shed a little emotional tear.  Ihave too much experience to let myself into a potentially dangerous stiuaton and somehow, sitting here on a sidewalk maybe 100ft away is protiective.   Maybe this is my transition into being a grownup.  I want to be that adventurouds youth I once was, but im scared.  I’m not her anymore.  I’m not the rsik taker, the ignoramous, the wont’ happen to me.  I sit here on the sidewalk with my laptop on low, street traffic close, assuring me it’s ok still but now it’s on gornw up terms. 

 The people now don’t mean another juman, it’s someone who can potentially hurt me or whatever.

I sit here with my laptop and my hoodie and my shoes and think how the fuck were all those adults right.  I hate thme.  I hate they knew something I would find out too, but need to experience myself.

I think I’m done for the moment because I need to hurl.  Ok cool, at least I have some form of my youth left inside.

The alcohol makes you invincible to rantionale, the driving, to problems.   Makes you love more or relize tmore the things you have.  Makes you sit in front ofyour neighborads house feeling totally ok with the fact that it’s kinda weird, yet would offer them a joint or drink if ou could..  I need to live more.  I need to feel more.  I need to exist.

Thank you noise, thank you couage, thank you experience.

Ants sitting, glow of the screen / carry laptop. Poop bag inmy pocket. Need to wa;k to feeli do feel safe in my neighborhood as long as im moving

As I navigate away from my temp home, I walk closer & closer towards reality of hime. The puke seems more present