Small Ritual

I have a new ritual since we finished recording and I ran out of the Starbucks Scott sent me and the Starbucks I bought in London {in case you didn’t know, one thing they don’t have here is drip coffee; but it’s just as well, it’s time to give that shit up}. There is this cafe a few blocks down on my street that has the best espresso, the best interior design, and the best music playing–as far as I can tell, 100% french chillout {today for the first time I heard Gotan Project, the only one I’ve recognized so far}. I get up in the morning, usually an hour or two after M {I consider this my payment for taking care of her tired body after work and besides, I do it because I can}. I have an orange juice, cereal, check the email, maybe update the blog, get my bearings. After SS&S, I head out. I order my version of a Bosnian classic, kafe kola {a strong Bosnian espresso and a Coke}, a machiato (sp?) and cola. This place makes one of the few good machiatos in town. Then I have my drinks with a few fags {Aura–what was Sarajevo Marlboro} and read. I realized that this is the only way I’m going to get through my backlog of books. I don’t read for long, maybe a half hour. Maybe I space out, maybe I take some pics, usually I SMS someone about something. But it is good to just say fuckit to everything and “get fed” {as some people love to say}.

Looking around the bus, I notice there were a lot of old people. I always imagine old people are Ku Klux Klan or former Nazi officers or else just really really nice--like they make dinner for disabled people all the time and sit around praying and counting pennies, making up for the sin and meanness in the world. I think both these things simultaneously. Each young man is either a rapist in waiting or my future husband. Maybe everyone sees the world like that: Everything's true, all the time... "Well, I'm not the same person I was yesterday, so how could you know me? How could I know you? I'm trying still to figure out who I was ten years ago." I understood and had come to terms with the fact that our destiny was to break each other's hearts, to destroy each other. Making love was only delay. Wearing his ring was only delay. Jimmy's great problem was that he wanted to be liked so badly--by me, by anyone--that he couldn't hear his own mind. This deafness made him unpredictable. You never knew when his own voice would find him...But we could make love... "Creation didn't happen. It's happening. Grace will come as you acknowledge how much of every instant is beyond your control." Gordon's voice moved inside me like a reed instrument. "That is freedom. People in this country believe freedom is the ability to choose--I choose a Cadillac over a Buick; I am a Cadillac man; our only avenue toward more choice is more money--but choice and money are not freedom." He adjusted his sunglasses and raised his head. "There is a right kind of dissatisfaction. There's a void within us that cannot be filled. This void is our need for God. You must search for and stay with that longing."

–taken out of context from a very well-formed early chapter of Ethan Hawke’s Ash Wednesday.

Today the Gift was a sense of place. Today Fate, as I have and for some time will refer to He/She/It, showed me that it’s is still around. In control? Maybe. At least where his interests are concerned. And maybe She’s still interested in certain parts of me. I am still trying to figure out who I was 10 years ago, but I know some things: I wasn’t ready to put out a record 10 years ago, I wasn’t ready to represent my soul artistically 10 years ago. And now, for example, I’m still not ready to write my book. I’m ready to release my EP. I’m not ready to change the world. But I’m ready to talk to you for a while.