<< been thinkin 'bout alicia keys >>

strange, wonderful, magical things are happening to your protagonist.

i been thinkin 'bout alicia keys,
couldn't keep from cryin
but she was born in hell's kitchen,
i was livin down the line --
i'm wonderin where in the world alicia keys could be:
i been lookin for her right clear through tennessee.


recall that last year i went on a summertime adventure seeking -- well, call it seeking astrid kerr. today i slightly found her.

for a few reasons of neediness and love and desire, astrid and i did not so much talk leading up to my departure, making me think that i had perhaps seen the last of my torch-singer vegan friend. so off i went to wander and maybe find her again. i did not know exactly what i was looking for. seeking astrid kerr is just code, after all: i knew only that i had to let go of many things deeper than what went down between her and me, though i didn't know what -- neko case singing, if i knew then what's so obvious now, you'd still be here, baby.

when i got back i found astrid working at an organic cafe and she came with me to her first rave, where she was a star. she is coming to europe this summer and we are considering a train ride together.

and she is perhaps even coming to burning man, her first time. and she needs someone to help her with the basics, like, that rubbermaid bins work best for storing gear and that you want to take plenty of ziplocks. today we talked for hours. and one more grudge i hold against myself is slowly melting.

the universe is affording me chance after chance at redemption. late last night the unicorn girl, getting home from chef school in montreal (where she is studying), messaged me to say:

"you need to see how much of a trashy chef i look right now."

"tell me," i said.

but she didn't want to tell me, she wanted to show me. i swear every single word of this is true. sitting at her computer she turned on her little camera. she waved. she had a white chef's coat with pockets in the sleeves; in the pockets, a felt pen and a spoon; a black kerchief at her neck; a white apron over a skirt. her hair is as red as it is black, her eyes as grey as they are blue. her smile pushes up her cheekbones. she undid her kerchief. she loosened the top buttons of her jacket. then the jacket came off. she had a black t-shirt on underneath. she wore three black necklaces. she lit a cigarette.

then she undid the apron; a black skirt. then she slid out of the skirt and sat there in black boyshorts and black fishnet stockings. she stretched her legs long out to the camera.

"i quite like that contrast," she typed, "uniform and fishnets. very sneaky."

and then she climbed under her covers typing she was cold and then she typed 'sleep time' and kissed me with an x and that was it -- gone.

i ask you: what do i ever do to deserve anything.

today the world SPARKLED. i saw turtles. i saw frogs. i saw river pebbles. i saw dragonflies. i saw swarms of bees. i saw bright yellow birds. i saw bushes with razor sharp thorns. i touched the rocks and in the forest shade they were colder than my someday tomb. the trees burst with their flowers. the dark sea gleamed white under the sun. i saw a little boy chasing after a cat with a pine cone in his hands, for no reason at all, because everyone knows you don't catch cats with pine cones, you catch them with cheese -- his mother close behind. a man walked carrying two fishing rods and a wire basket.

i walked through the forest til i found the ruins of Phaselis. i came in overland, walked out through the town til i got to the little harbour, a small bay made with rolled-in stone pieces and rocks to isolate it from the bigger waves out on the sea. then i turned around to look back and the whole city leapt to life: you suddenly could see the oldtime people coming in by ship, not the way i came, but over the water, docking their boats and walking up the triplets of stone steps. you could see the city's logic, the movement of caravans down the main street, from the shore along the road that disappeared now into the forest. you could see the left turn up to the theatre, the baths on the right with the tile mosaic leading you in. you could see the baskets, the fish, the bread, the fronts of shops in the worn down stone walls. all this under the daytime moon.

walking back home along the beach, girls in the surf and for once it mattered not if they were wearing swimsuits or bikinis or even just suntan lotion --

and you see your girl's brown body dancing in the turquoise
and her footprints make you follow where the sky loves the sea --

it mattered _less. and feeling like for some things i am damn near forgiven, just like war is over (if you want it).