10.15 (on a Saturday Night)

Best. Birthday. Ever.

Voices and bodies and wishes and strong arms where I haven't felt them for so long. Benedictions and nods, looks and longing quiet speechless sentiments from those so dear to me. Never near enough, and never very far away, no matter where they are. His way of walking off saying "goodbye, Toots" without looking at me, but when we sit and talk like actors do to one another, it is The Truth, and we deep sea dive with looks and expressions like hand gestures in a near black depth of sea. His eyes say everything. When he says "amazing," He really means it. When he takes the camera, he knows what he's shooting and how. When he takes me out for a walk, it's just to listen: to the earth, the moan and pounding whoosh of the ocean. When he opens the door for you and checks you out, head to toe, even though you're not alone: you think, you gorgeous dark thing you, I fucking love you for doing that on me birfday. When she brings you a homemade candle and mozes around in ballet slippers, you are honored and loved just for the relaxed, knowing company. And when she texts, you go. Because: There Will Be Fun. Shooting photos for the first time in ages, remembering.

I sat in that dark theater, hearing that which has brought me back since I was 16.

I could have watched those laser horses run for hours.



A dream for too many years come true. All doubts eradicated; every single negative thought that's ever crossed my path, entered my mind. Eradicated.

I heard and felt Bonzo like I never have before. And for me to say that? Is fucking saying a LOT.

Top it off with Roscoe's at 2am with your Hunee, and my dears: fuck the rest. You got put thru and still found love and joy.

Oh and one more thing:


She was 36 when this photo was taken. Sometimes, maybe, it's just getting started. Scratch that maybe.