Accidentally tripping down memory’s lane

Listening to: Blue Murder “Save My Love”  (Entirely possible that John Sykes’ guitar tone is the most sexy to exist in the history of guitar tone. At least in Michelle world.)

Been 10 months since I moved to New Jersey. 4 months since I first started talking about domestic violence. Except it’s actually been lifetimes for both. But also, only since yesterday. Or just now, in other realities. Skin has been shed, cocoons escaped from, and transformation continues to be one of my words of the day.

And I still have poetry dancing just beneath the surface that wants so desperately to find its way to where my fingertips meet the keys of my laptop. Pretty words about love, or lands far away, or flowers or puppies or anything that isn’t the life that was formerly mine, or pain, or deep thoughts. Maybe its day 12 of being sick that has me longing to escape serious, and heavy. Or maybe it’s something else that has me dreaming of jumping off of edges, into everything that is magically mundane. Or the south of France. Or Holland.

“…I’d like to see you in the morning light, I’d like to feel you when it comes to night. Now I’m here, and I’m all alone. Still I know how it feels…” (Musical interlude brought you by: Dokken – “Alone Again” )

Sometimes trips down memory lane are filled with realities that are difficult to look at with honest eyes. Not so mine, today. As I look over my shoulder, whether it be a peek or a stare, all I see is beauty. Maybe because its all punctuated by the sound of power-ballads ringing in my ears, and nothing can be less than beautiful when listening to power ballads, (and if you weren’t around for the power ballad era, your life sucks! Just accept that fact, and move on.), music, friendship, (platonic) love, adventure. Or it could be that as it was, before the life that used to be mine, was filled with so much magic. My life of permanent impermanence. My only roots the ones deep inside me, that I take with me everywhere I go.

“…saying I love you is not the words I want to hear from you. It’s not that I want you, not to say, but if you only knew, how easy it would be to show me how you feel…” Extreme – “More Than Words” (Oh Nuno… you sexy Bostonian, Portuguese, guitar God!)

As a young teenage girl, my bedroom was covered with the two B’s that mattered to me most. Baryshnikov, and Bruce. (Springsteen). When I was 14 years old, I saw Mikhail Baryshnikov dance with American Ballet Theater. I could have died that day, and been at complete peace.  Our seats were crap, and it wasn’t a full-length ballet, but rather variations from Balanchine ballets. But all the same, it was him, there, on the stage, in his absolute, flawless, and incomparable magnificence. From as long as I could remember, all I wanted was to be a Prima Ballerina, and to dance with him the grand pas de deux, “The Rose Adagio” from The Sleeping Beauty. Instead of that, I, shortly after seeing him dance, was “gifted” with, large, attributes, that aren’t suited for a dancers body. But I’d seen him dance, and for a broke ass kid living in Detroit, that was nothing short of a miracle.

“…I’ll see you, in my dreams. Back in my arms again, and no matter what tomorrow brings, I’ll see you in my dreams…” Giant “In My Dreams”

And even though my career in dance was summarily crushed before it began, I still danced. Mostly in classes, but when not in classes, in the basement of my childhood home. I’d strap on my toe shoes, and I’d pop the “Born to Run” album on the record player (and if you weren’t around for vinyl, and record players, even though they still exist, but not like they did, then your life sucks. Accept it and move on.), move the arm to “Jungleland”, put that bad boy on repeat setting, and dance to exhaustion. That same year, the year Mikhail and I were so close, but yet so far, I went to not just my first concert, but my first Bruce concert. It was 4 hours of no warm up band, poetic, story-filled, ass shaking (me not Bruce) brilliance. Kind of like having a skilled, and well-endowed lover take your virginity, having your first concert experience be Bruce, almost spoils you for everyone to come after him. ’cause it was absolute magic.

“…but if I was blessed with just one wish, to take me through my lonely life,  I’d wish to go back to the day that I met you…” Lillian Axe – “The Day I Met You”

In my teeny, tiny little life, I’ve won spelling bees, and been selected to sing solos in choir concerts, and won the lead part in plays. Choreographed dancers for school concerts too. I graduated high school early, because I could. I’ve gone on vacation, and never gone back home, except to pick up my stuff. I’ve jumped out of airplanes, and done so at the drop zone where literal world champion skydivers, jump. And in fact, I jumped with world champion skydivers. Don’t read that wrong, I was tandem jumping, but I was strapped to the front of world champs doing it! I’ve swam in numerous oceans, and been to the vast majority of the states in the U.S. I’ve lived in a ridiculous number of them as well, along with a couple of countries in Europe.

I’ve taken spur of the moment road trips, just to see the ocean, or a concert. Or the mountains. And not only, in my teeny, tiny life, have I been to more concerts than I can remember, for which my tickets were almost always comped, but I’ve met many of my heroes of music. People whose talent drops my jaw, and who I wanted nothing more than to just breath in the same room as. I got to do that. Not to mention all the work I got to, by really dumb luck or coincidence or providence, within a teeny, tiny beautiful sphere, within music.

Even when I fucked myself, and accidentally developed a coke problem for a very brief period (it was the 80’s, and I had a friend from Colombia, how was that NOT going to turn out bad!), I always had some sort of roof over my head. I’ve always gotten back up, even when I’ve been knocked the fuck out.

Most importantly, in my teeny, tiny life, I have found, and continue to find, my people. My tribe. My soul grouping. Or something cute about a bunch of crazy people who hang out, that I can’t think of. Anyway, its them I’ve found. Sometimes I add to the group, sometimes I subtract, or someone subtracts themselves. But they’re always my people. I even gave birth to a couple of them. And one of them, gave birth to another of them. If me and all of my people were ever in the same room altogether at the same time, there would be so much love, and so much music, and so much glittery shiny awesomeness, that I’d probably die of happiness.

Even now, in my state of permanent impermanence, where I may end up in a few months living in Arizona, or London, or Barcelona (’cause I hear it’s cheap, and awesome), where I still don’t have even most everything figured out, there is ridiculous amounts of magic. Opportunities, and offers keep coming my way. There is happiness, and laughter, and learning. Unicorn wisdom, and caring, and magick, abound, in this teeny, tiny little life of mine. And snuggles with the Babes, which are beyond perfection.

I’m not sure how I forgot, in the life that used to be mine, about the magic. But I did. I don’t want to ever let that happen again. And if you’re reading this words right now, and you’re in the middle of some sort of shit storm that you can’t seem to find your way out of, and all seems hopeless, and lost, look for the sliver of magic, that’s probably just to the left of you, just out of your line of site, but still close enough to reach. Grab it. Hold onto it. And while you’re doing that, look to your right, ’cause there’s a little sliver of magic there, too.

Listening to: “…photograph, I don’t want your, photograph, I don’t need your, photograph, all I’ve got is your photograph, I wanna touch you…” Def Leppard – “Photograph”

It’s 4AM, and I’m finally tired enough to sleep, but too tired to proofread. I’m launching this bitch anyway.


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