I love when I have moments where everything clicks smoothly into place. The world and it’s strange moments of happenstance. I can feel it in my teeth. When the curve of my smile exactly matches the cello note sweep. Yesterday, there were moments and moments of conversation repeating. Different people with interesting takes on the exact same words and topics, all happening independantly of one another, unprompted. The same words, the exact terms. “I tell you, it’s demons” “there’s this antiquidated word that basically translates to ‘being ridden by a demon’ and it sometimes seems appropriate” “The phone calls are coming from inside the house“
Perhaps it’s Prospero, these conjunctions of idea and fluency all brought on by the dada presence of a giant flaming lizard.
I ran into Guy last night, after walking away showing that, yes, I know you well enough now to do that little thing I do. Earlier in the day CR and Shane had asked me to a show at Cafe Du Soliex for 10, but I don’t even know when that rolled around. I kept time with darkness and wind chill. Was pleasingly shocked realizing I was walking to the Skytrain at midnight. Passing the Cafe, however, on my way to Broadway, I caught CR outside and followed him in. The show was obviously long over, but also a success. There was a knot of people animatedly crushed into a booth in the corner, and so that’s where I drifted over, not actually being able to tell if I knew anyone until 10 feet closer than the door. (I did it earlier at Joe’s – the sudden shock of knowledge – I do not know these people enough to recognize them from twenty feet. Howsoever important, I do not know thier shape and movement. These people are new in my reality.) It was obviously one more evening being happy young artists. I laughed with Shane for a bit before realizing that Guy was there. He was sitting in the booth next over, the ever present young woman holding his hand. He’s doing better than I think he was. Guy didn’t remember who I was at first, and it was bothering him. “Do you have a sister named Jhayne?” A rush of pleasure being able to tell him that, no – I don’t require a sister, knowing I’ve just floored him. I’ve been told frequently lately that I’m looking better, that I seem very different, and it really hits when I’m told by someone who’s known me since I was eight, and twelve, and fifteen, and twenty. The attachment is harder somehow. Not just another night, but one that tells you to dance, you’re free. The cocoon has broken, the pinstripes have stuck