two incredibly, amazing, beautiful, intellegent, witty, charming friends just left me. we celebrated nick's birthday here in portland, and i, we, had a fantastic time. my liver however, is grateful that they are gone, but my heart is not. i haven't been drinking much the past few months, which is good. sometimes i grieve by drinking, and i finally started to let myself feel. oh my, oh my! how drunk i got, with them here trying to get me to karaoke. karaoke and myself do not mix well. sherelle remembers well. that was the last time... a few years ago.
we had a great time though, doing the portland strip club thing. i have only been twice since living here, and i have to say union jack's probably takes the cake. i got a lap dance from a 20 year old, and it made me feel dirty in the best of ways. haha. nick got boobs in his face, and i think it just made him feel the best of ways - not dirty. happy birthday to him!
the weird thing is, i love these people. i love my life. i love who i am. why do i keep leaving seattle? my family of friends is there, and i don't have much to do with my biofam. we went to breakfast this morning, and started talking about jared. it's good to talk. i couldn't cry through the entire time everything was going on, i couldn't cry until about a month after his death. i don't know why, and that kind of scares me. but. now i cry all the time, and it feels good. it feels good to talk about him and cry a little bit. i don't know that i can ever go back to seattle in that way. i don't know i could ever live there again. granted, he passed here, but i have two places in portland that remind me of him. not 1 million bajillion places, people, and things. i can only hope we're all getting to the place where we can talk about everything in a happy, memorable, we loved that motherfucker sort of way. the tears are ok. but i really can't wait for the tears to turn to laughter.
on another note... sherelle and i are getting this tattooed on us - me on my thigh, her i dunno. it's beautiful, and dark, and true.
Layers by Stanley Kunitz
I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
"Live in the layers,
not on the litter."
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.
i feel really fucking good, and i don't know why, but i'm takin' it.
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