Sleepy today...very sleepy...it's Friday. Shouldn't I be wanting to go out and party and live it up. I have some food to take home. I have movies. I have a nice empty apartment to go home to. All sounds so pleasant. I think I want a lil' bit of solitude. Maybe I will venture for free beer and some outside drinkin at a friend's place. Or, if there is some good sex involved, perhaps I would go out for that. Mmmmmm. Okay. It is Friday. Have a good weekend. No tidbits of exciting information today...just the basics. I guess I should include something poignant. I got a new scarf. It is warm. Mmmmm...warm.
So, here I sit...the last in my department at work on this what started as a cold September day. Tomorrow is Friday the 13th, which is always something I look forward to on the calendar. Is it just me or has it lost the stigma that it once had? Perhaps it is just something that exists more in the Middle America-like mentality, and since leaving the suburbs, it does not seem to affect me. Now it is completely celebrated by my pagan friends and all the witches I know are out having parties. Regardless, it is the 11th that now holds some sense of stigma. Yesterday, the winds that blew all around the city were so powerful...clearing the energy from what was now a historic day of erratic sorrow. I went to visit a friend in Midtown who told me that the wind was all of these souls just coming through to hug us...say that, "We are here!" She also told me a story about a man she met who was working as a rescue worker inside one of the buildings before it collapsed. He had picked up a man in one of the stairwells who could not walk anymore, and they were still somewhat high up as he struggled to carry this man down. Flames were meeting them at every turn, and he began to wonder how the hell they were going to get out of there. He stood, holding another human being's life in his hands when he found himself looking down the stairs at a huge wall of flames. His next memory is of standing, holding the same man, except they are outside. He did not know how they got out of there. He stood, bewildered, and then he looked down at the man, who said, "Did you see? It was an eight footer." And the rescue worker said, "What?" And he told him again that it was an eight footer. When he inquired as to what "eight footer" he was talking about, he told him that it was the size of the angel who picked them up and carried them out of the building to safety. "It wasn't our time," he said. The man told my friend that he has to believe it as truth because he personally has no other explanation for how he got out of that building alive. I told my other friend this story last night as he made us the best dinner I have had in a long time, and he began to go off about the world of miracles that exists. It was so cute...he just kept saying, "Miracles. It was a miracle," over and over again as he sauteed peppers. I went out to go and have a smoke, and I thought about how miracles must happen for us every day, and that sometimes we may not recognize them for a while. Little things. Missing a train can be a miracle. Not getting a job. Or making a train and getting the job. It is the mind set of everything happens for a reason. Finding The BLOGGER! A miracle. Because these moments are a prt of our path...whether they invlove eight footers or editing posts. I really do not know. I HAVE had a lot of sugar today. Anyway, I do know that I had a beautiful evening last night, and we toasted to that wind and the thousands of souls riding along it yesterday. Tonight I think I get to see a friend who I have not seen in quite some time. That is nice. I hope everyone gets a chance to do something wonderful with their lives tonight. Now, I need to get the hell out of this office and go on about mine. Much Love.
Well, it has been a couple of days since I have gotten a moment to write something here. Work is just trying to focus itself (my life is trying to focus itself)...and my building sounds like an old boat drifting in the sea. Sounds like the whole place is going to topple over and I have felt seasick all day because of it. Granted, today has had emotion rising in my body regardless, due to the date and the depth of the emotional intensity that is present in the city of New York right now. But I feel good now. I got to read a Buffy The Vampire Slayer comic book, which was altogether wonderful, and it allowed me to scorn the Emmy voters a bit more on how they could ignore this show and ALL of it's splendor. I just think back to two seasons ago and Emma Caulfield as Anya breaking down on why people have to die. That woman deserved a nomination. I don't know why that sticks out in my head...well, of course, it is September 11th, and I was on the subway this morning, though many of my friends said I was crazy for taking it...but anyway, I was on the subway, and I had to ponder sitting there what is the meaning of it all and life and death and everything. I could not help but to wonder if everyone sitting there on the train, which was not as full as usual, mind you, was doing the same thing. Were they all pondering their existence as well...trying to figure out where their lives were going and how they had gotten to be alive, here in that moment. I mean, here I sit, in the Titanic of buildings in Midtown Manhattan, where apparently a man across the street just fell to his death a few hours ago from a construction site, and I have to say, "How did I get here?" So, I do. And I breathe. And I stop shaking my legs with nervous energy. And I fix my posture. And I relax into the moment of my fingers hitting these keys and Fiona Apple playing lazily over my computer speakers and I am happy. Content. This moment does hold peace in it. I realize that I got here to this moment on the subway this morning. And it is all good. And I will go home, on the train, and I will go to a friend's house tonight and watch Magnoila. And it will be good. I am thankful. Thank you for listening. Thank you. And I can't wait for the Buffy season premiere in two weeks. That is all. This has been a paid commercial for UPN's Buffy The Vampire Slayer.
SO, it's a gorgeous Sunday here in New York City...the kind of day where you wish you were Sarah Jessica Parker's best friend, and the two of you just had to go to Washington Square Park...no, Tompkins Square Park and get snow cones and just gush about everything that is going haywire in your life...from work to the men to money. Oh, money. SO, the heroic rise of an artist...at least this one has consisted at one point or another of the call home to Mom and Dad for money. Well, that day is here right now, and I think I am going to have a panic attack about the whole thing. It just really drives me nuts to have to go there. But, sometimes, you have to, and I pray that they can be there to help me out. My parents are working class people, and they don't have a lot put aside for worrisome calls from their son, sad to say. But I have to pray, or, well, what the hell else am I gonna do? Borrow fifty bucks from every person I know or something? I don't know. The sad thing is everyone else I know here is just as broke as I am. Actually not as broke, but close. I feel my life is in such a transition, that I know things are on the rise. Look at what I named my blog for crying out loud. Okay, I have to throw laundry in. Where is the King of Pentacles when you need him? Maybe that is my father...this is a complete Tarot reference for those of you who speak that lingo. Is anyone even really reading this? Probably not. Either way, it's a good creative resource, and I get to vent. DONE NOW. Moving on. Sept.11th is coming up, and I live here, where tons of souls were jarred from their bodies one Tuesday morning. LIfe is about so much more than rent and movies, isn't it? Or is all about those things and the adventure of making them happen? Rent and movies...odd combo. I am off. Wish me luck and peace. I read on a drinking glass that I was using last night that I am emerging from uncertainty with peace and freedom. I must believe that to be true, or then what's the point? Much Love.