I come home late every single nite. I experience my neighborhood quite differently than the other black windows here. One room emits a space alien glow - a intellectual computer socialite educating himself and bringing down the system. Keep thinking, man. And a blew dancing shadow - somebody's sister asleep on the couch with the television on.

But otherwise it's just me and the giant raccoon running half assed from shrub to palm tree. Me and the blossoming whateversinseason. All year long there are scents wafting glorious late blossom nite. Not even the birds are making noise. The downstairs neighbor dogs don't even wake up even a little.

And this is my world. Coming home late shutting down the DNB club. Outlasting dancers 11 years younger than me. I felt it tonite. DJ Meche pulling me in and shaking me against the walls like a decomposing death rattle. Deconstructing. Disenchanting. Leaving only what's real right behind my belly button and just two inches lower.

Sometimes I have so much passion for the things I love and so much ignition energy that I only know how to keep creating every minute. I start. Start again. Start again better. Ride it out. Even higher start again - that I never give the whatitis time to insert the hand of reciprocation.

If you leave your world alone, it turns like a new lover to look at you. It does everything in it's power to keep you happy. And when you look at it in the eye and thank it for being so generous, you see that your genuine happiness is making the world happy too.

The beginning of my Disenchantment.

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I guess I'm what they call a "personality".

I've too much energy to be in the background. Too much assertation to be the object. Too much spunk to be the love interest.

That's okay. Those are the easy, lame roles anyway.

Instead I get hired to be myself and do things that ever more deeply express and expose my personal artistic authenticity. I get to be a real life super hero. I get to serve aspects of me, the everyone, in a fruit bowl. I've watched someone just like me create a cult icon.

The new cult is pure renegade. The new renegade is a pioneer. The new pioneer is healthy and happy and in ripe raw love, like we just squirmed out of the ground. Or the mud. Totally dirty clean.

Pure renegade system breakers pioneering a world we finally wish to sustain lives on. In.

In.

In.

In.

We go in and we find the reluctant and exhilarating place to challenge first. Just to see if we can do it. In fact, we already know exactly where to start.

We discover and we create and we end up, each one of us, "personalities" - unable to be emulated and coveted for exactly whom we are.

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They said nice things, but nothing in my heart changed as I smiled and said thank you. They were everyone you've ever met and I was just trying to put one foot in front of the other.

I was rude. I was needy. I was terrified. I was boxed in. And I drank the wine and it tasted brown paper. I sang the song and words bit my tongue. I stood on the dance floor to let the music take me and have it's way - my way - with us. And I became embarrassed when it left me standing. Awkward and exposed. On my floor without movement. A pillar in the hurricane. A confused child in a dramatic crowd.

Nothing inside.

Sleeping well and wishing for it eternal. It is summer and everyone is happy. I watch them play like children. I watch the children play. I watch the plants grow and I wonder if fruit will ever taste good to me again.

They tell me it will. Even though I shoved them away. I tell myself it always changes - just be patient. I don't know patient. But I know it will always change.

When I want to drink water again, it has changed. When I climb in the bath again. When the drowning dreams cease. When I feel something genuinely pleasurable - only I know when that is - when I genuinely feel simple pleasure ... it has changed.

It has changed.

It has changed.

My toes on the carpet feel weak, but intelligent. They are ready for something. So am I. My toes grip the floor, spread out wide and lay down. I can move them up and down independently of one another. And it feels good.

I can't depend on my heart right now. But I am writing and the words come easily. I am dancing and the toes like the music. My heart must be a survivor's because it is taking pleasure.

The spell is breaking.

Something has changed.

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Everything was perfect.

I want only to live one moment for the rest of my life. The one in my memory that keeps repeating now.

So alive. A force of nature. You might be the most potent soul I have ever made love to. Those gentle giant's hands - both reaching wide towards to take handfulls of me.

I want to take pictures with my eyes so I can look any time I want. To see your chest flex above me. To hear your own moan of abandon.

To slow down this dance toward death too soon and feel only your aliveness shake and tremble sustained forever.

Touching your body is a tonic. Being touched by you is almost too much for one heart to bear.

And being without you is desperate poetry in a lonely room with stained sheet sleep rerunning reminders of how very near you are not.

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