… george …

“Do you remember George?”  he asked…

It was late November, 2005,  and my plans had been set.
I would be in Rio for New Year’s Eve… and he had
Big Plans for the night.
As well, his studies were over, he had taken the Big Test back
in October, and although some relief had set in, the long wait
for results and his Captain’s License loomed ahead.

Remember George? I thought.  Of course I remember George….
George and Angela!  His long time friends in Ibicui, Angela with
her lessons in making…and drinking…Caipirinhas.
Ah, Caipirinhas, Brasil’s intoxicating drink, made from Cachaca
and fresh limes, (pronounced cashasa, a colorless liquor similar
to vodka and tequila, made from sugar cane) mashed to bring
out all those wonderful sparkling tangy flavors of pulp and peel,
with a touch of sugar, pounded over and over in mortar and
pestle, adding sugar, adding cachaca, pounding pounding,
until at last… ready! and strained over ice.
And it was the Best Cachaca…. I had bought the Brandy version
at the Cachaca Museum we’d visited the day before….
Wow, did we get ploughed that night!

“Remember him?  of course I remember George…why ?”

“George was shot.  He’s dead.”

The words hung in the air, from a long way off.  I couldn’t wrap my
mind around the words… I couldn’t speak.
“He was shot by two guys on motorcycles.  They just drove by and
shot him.  It happened back in August, but no body told me,
probably because I would go and take care of it.”

“NO…..!!!  No, oh No.”  I was instantly sobbing, and the memories
flooded back, of the time we stayed with them, of the boys coming
back from the bar all silly and tumbling into the upstairs apartment
like puppies.
Angela with her big smile and warm heart.
George with his roaming eyes, as he met me, taking me in
top to bottom.

“Angela!….”  …my heart leapt…  “what about Angela?”
“Oh she’s somewhere staying with friends.  She left ”

“Why? do you know why?”
“Oh…I guess he was doing something he shouldn’t be doing…”

I remembered sort of understanding that when the boys got
together and went off, there was more than beers and scotch
going on…
They both had a weakness for powders.  Angela and I had stayed
home, and although neither spoke the other’s language, we laughed
and traded words, laughed some more over our accented attempts,
and those Caipirinhas definitely rounded out any differences,
between smiles.

Now I realized that one area where Alcir and George bonded was
their bandido-ness.  When they were together, I saw the bad-boy
in each, paling around like school boys on a mission.

The next layer hit me.  It had been our dream to move to Ibiqui,
this tiny ancient fishing village along the coast north of Rio.
Quiet, quaint, slow…. as we’d walked the cobblestone streets, Alcir
smiled at me, his big arms around me, warmed by the sun and salty
air, sounds of the little boats bobbing.
Slowly, he shook his head…

“Oh Babe….this is Us, Babe.  We could get a little house an you
could sell your jewelry on a little cart on the beach.
I could make a big barbeque out of a barrel…I know how to do that…
an we could cook chicken outside in the yard, an sell it to the
tourists who come here on  the weekends.
I could get a little boat….. we’d always have fish to eat.
I could sell the extras…”

Our beautiful dream, out of time, slow and easy, a time to just
be together and float for a while…. our dream was gone.
Alcir could never live in that town, never again, connected with
George the way he’d been.
It was gone to us.  Ibicui was gone.

__________________________

… the manicurist …

So…. I pick up where I left off…. I have arrived in my little coastal
town…the one where we had first met so many years before…
I am greeted by friends from every direction, and being northern
California in the fall…. well…
…it Is called the Harvest Moon, and yes indeed it was.

I had work 7 days a week, such abundance that is hard to imagine…
I stayed in cabins, I stayed in the camper shell on a little pickup…
I stayed on couches, I lived in a luxurious trailer.
I went here and there, working with friends for a while, then
moving on … bounty beyond belief.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

I had access to my friends warehouse where they stored all their
art studio stuff, plus tons of things from the past… the place was
packed, with isle running through and between desks with computers,
half finished art work, collections of materials ready to be turned
into magic.  A Surreal Retreat, amongst the spacey days of work
and changing company.
He works in Holography, she in sculpture and casting, creating
very glamorous Art Deco style awards for huge companies and
corporations, as well as art pieces for famous individuals.

I slept in their little bedroom, dark like a cave, draped in soft cloth
and shoji screens, quiet and shut away from the world…
…and once I’d dug in for the night, I’d turn on the soundmaker,
dial to the Sea, and dream-image being on the boat with Alcir….
…it was sweet.
I’d call him from there, and describe the toss and weave of that
boat we were on, the feel of our togetherness in that nether world.

“Oh that’s beautiful,” he would say.

I was offered a room for a while in my friends’ home, that you see
above… warm and exotic, warm colors of mirror cloth and shimmer,
from other worlds more fantasy-filled than ours.
Waking every day to good work, good company, good food
and music, and nice cold cash…

And Always with the promise of a trip back to Him, to Alcir, who
was alternatively thrilled and terrified…
I think he couldn’t believe I’d really come back, and
I know he was scared that I would.
His life was tenuous…difficult…complicated…
and though he wished for better, that was all he had to offer.

Because of his past as a Revolutionary, and later in the Foreign
Legion, it was dubious that he could leave Brasil and come
to the states, especially with the current administration and
the wars… security and scrutiny had so increased…
although he often thought he might just somehow do that…
He talked of getting a boat and sailing over to Hawaii or the Coast.
Always the romantic dreamer, ready to be the Hero…
…and he had loved his 10 years in the US, back in the eighties.

Much of this story is already written, leading up to this time…
If you want to catch up, click on Brasil or Brazil in Categories,
and start at the beginning…or jump around, I don’t care.
It’s a fun story, very romantic, very sweet, very beautiful, and
yes of course, sad.
Love is sad…. because…it’s always something.

 

————————————————

… harvest 2005 …

OK…so where were we…?
It was 2005, and I was landing in a small Northern California
town, one I’d lived in earlier and for 20 years.  I was going
there to work with friends, save a bunch of money,
and fly back to Brasil.

I’d taken a month early in the year to stay in Rio with an old
love of mine from long time past, 1987-8, and figure out what
this Thing was between us.
Neither of us had forgotten the other, forgotten the passion or
connection that was undeniable.

There had been great wells of tears on my part at the time of
leaving.  He held me close, and remained steadfast, while making
sure I was coming back.
His hand gripped mine, as his great male calm denied his need.
Yes I was, I told him, and as soon as I could.  We were engaged,
we were determined, and we were in love.

Romantic, yes?  Try falling deeply in love, mutually in love,
and in nearly an instant.  Then wait 18 years, find eachother,
and spend a month together again.
Out of time, so much touch and eyes, eyes, taking in what seemed
like reality but just couldn’t be… our brains could hardly grok it.

After I flew away, sobbing into my kleenex  the stewardess had
brought to me, I settled into my seat, journal in hand, and
continued to record the saga as it unfolded, pouring out the
emotions as they rose up and fell, like the tide itself, the ebb and
flow of all that feeling.
He drove away, arrived at his favorite street bar, and got
completely wasted, went home, and continued on for
what I suspected were days.

We talked on the phone.  He pulled away.  He came back.
He opened, he closed.
Notice here that I am focused on the He of it, and yes I was.
His moods, his openings and closings, his near and far, virtually
directed my emotional path for many months, try as I did to not
only understand him,  but to hold on to that connection at
such a great distance.
Some people find it easier to hold on to something so etherial,
and others…. well, he was and Is an in-the-moment guy, pulled
and distracted by mind and body, and thoroughly in the now.
Which means…anything could happen.

Waves of fear and worry came and went… alternating with those
beautiful and poetic times that are almost impossible to convey
to anyone not There…
Those are the moments I did my best to hold on to, to get down
on paper before they faded into the ethers…. because such beauty
should never be wasted.

The Magick between us had always been there, and it still lived,
couched between time passing, and the different paths we each
had chosen…
He wasn’t ready for my return, so I went to Hawaii for a while, and
then prepared to arrive in NorCal just in time for Harvest, readying
myself to fly back to my darling one, and figure out how we could
be together forever…

The story has been partially written, and if you want to catch up,
go to Categories, then Brasil or Brazil tab, and start at the beginning.
Or jump in wherever…
At some point you’ll understand…

It’s a fun story, very romantic, very sweet, very beautiful, with
such poetic moments, full of sound and fury, and signifying …
something very deeply profound,  eternal….and yes of course, sad.
Love is sad…. because……..it’s always something.

—————————————

… the day plods on …

Gathering her skirts and notes and bags and bells,
the Radiant One steps into the waiting car,
and I back out the long leafy drive, and
onto the red clay road, leading to town.

I have already loaded the one bag for the dump.
I’d cleaned things up long ago, but she wants it all gone.

The long list appears, and the woman begins the rundown….
“Turn here” she says, while I remind her it’s OK, I’ve lived
here a while, and can likely find my way to town.

“First we need to get gas… oh There…that’s where we get it.
Oh wait, pull around and back up,  wait…. there’s another one
a little further on, and I think it’s cheaper…. there on the right,
pull in there.  ”
Smoke signals tiptoe out of one ear.
I of course pump the gas, and pay for it.   Bad back.

“Now  I need to stop at the Natch… wait….turn right here, and
then you can go to the dump down that road…. Wait!
Wait! …you need to turn right there, so we can go to the dump! ”

“We’ll go on the way back”  I announce, beginning to feel some
semblance of my old spunk returning.

“OH, but the Smell…. we need to go there First”  she whines,
not realizing that those hot pink ear muffs are now already in place,
and the road long gone.

It is becoming clear to me that at this moment,  My hands are
on the wheel, and if only for a short while, I am in control.
Kind of….

“So now we need park there….oh wait….no, I think there’s another
one closer…go around again, and yes, you can pull up right there…
right there in front!”

“But it says NO PARKING…”  I reply, calmly tapping my fingernails.

“Oh it’s OK, I’ll just be a minute, she smiles, and unloads her Self,
taking out her list as she arranges her layers.

I sit a while, then pull away,  somewhat embarrassed …I mean,
this is the Groovy Natural Food Store, everyone looking healthy
and tan, very healthy and very Green, and tan,  and
I’m parked in the NO PARKING ZONE?
I drive around a couple times…. the minutes go by.
It’s now been 15…..

I find another parking space, and slide in, figuring she’ll
eventually see me, which she does at last, after
another 15 minutes have passed….

“Why did you part here?” she querries.    I don’t answer.
I’ve now boldly moved to passive aggressive, an inner smile
softly warming my gallstones.

“Now we need to go to my appointment at the Welfare Office…
…..it’s at 2..
It’s on Aloha, near the park…. turn left here, and then….”
…and the instructions lead us to a modern low slung
office building, ample parking,  full slots.

I pull up the the curb near the door, the way she likes it…

“So, I’ll go do something for a while, and come back…
…how long do you think?” I smile…
Freedom!……. I think….

“OH! come back at 2:15!  my appointment will only take
15 minutes,”  she instructs me.
I return at 2:15, such a good girl I am.
Oh!  Surprise!  ……I wait..

Half an hour later, she ambles out, and slides into the back seat,
and without my help.  She smiles serenely, as though all is well,
and my taxi clock has just been dutifully running…

“Now we need to stop at that …….and then…….and then the… ”

Smoke signals, this time in deep Fuschia.

At last we/she is done, I think, and we head homeward, this time
taking that turn for the dump.
I throw the one small bag into the pile, breathing a sigh of relief,
thinking I’m nearly There, and
I went to the dump when I Wanted to!
Yes! I’ve passed through the fruit loops, with
the goddess nearly gone.

“Oh Wait!…. if you turn right at the next road, we can go by
that plant store, and I can find something I really need,
and the pet store is right next door…
Park there….no wait, there’s one over there….no wait….”

I purposefully park where I damn well feel like,
wild and crazy rebel that I am, and stare straight ahead.

I quietly hold my breath so that the
now very Chartreuse smoke signals sink down,
twining around my body, oozing out onto my sandals.

At last we are home, I step out into the banana palms and
flowering trees, never looking back, walking down
that red clay road,
deep breaths and sky smiles,
ignoring any possibility of the call to arms,
or legs
or brain
or any other part of me she might think she owns.

 

——————————-

 

 

 

… the steve factor …

September 2005

Still island time, but it’s as though I see off in the distance,
where the road turns, and a new time begins.
Once the woman of this house returns, my time here closes,
and although returning is more than possible, still that
Northern California town calls to me now…
and since it’s harvest time, the timing could be perfect.

The days tick along, with long walks, jungle clearing, jewelry
making, and occasional visits from this fellow Steve.
The woman tells me he’s a great guy, that they have been lovers,
and that I should consider him as well.
He’s also the one I’m supposed to call if something needs fixing.

It’s not that I don’t understand that old hippie ethic that includes
sharing lovers, but frankly I’m having doubts about her abilities of
discernment, and besides, and most importantly,
he does Nothing for me.
I’m in Love with Alcir.

Steve, on the other hand, can be very handy to fix things around
the place, and she keeps telling me this, but he’s like a
silly little panting dog, humping my leg.
Why do I get the feeling that he’s used to being paid in skin?
Could it be that he’s been getting happy endings too?

That Play opens up in Volcano, with Jason Scott Lee, and I must go,
cannot miss this opportunity, and though I ask Jeff and Eileen
to go with, only Steve ends up coming along.
I dress up, of course, and as we depart, I’m thinking that
he’s thinking it’s for him……..  whoops!

The theater is tiny, and set up like a small living room.
We are in the front row, of which there are only 3, and maybe
20 seats wide.
Small intimate venue.  Lovely.
Throughout the play, the actors are sometimes only a couple feet
away, and it creates this feeling of being part of the play yourself.
It’s Visceral, you Feel it, I mean they’re spitting on you….
Our front row seats are right there on the players’ floor….

The themes are timely, with political overtones, but clear character development.  Everyone is lively, present, and professional.

There’s something about Jason’s energies, his lightness, his
intelligence.  He Glows….There’s this underlying Joy that simply
Beams off of his face, his skin, like a leaping dolphin.

Afterwards, as we go out to mingle, I am able to spend a few
minutes with him, and my head literally spins with his energy.
The man is so conscious, present, softly intense.

He looks deeply in the eyes, takes in the words I share with him,
his warm hand holds magnetic resonance, and I do not wonder
why he has left Hollywood at the peak of his career.
The man is on another plane, highly evolved, a beautiful soul.

He grew up in Hawaii, Chinese Hawaiian like Keanu Reeves, and
there is that Asian, quietly thoughtful thing that you can pick up,
as well as intense discipline, and great physicality.

His personal directions involve environmental issues and
working to return the area of the land he has purchased
(around the theater he has built), to its original state,
as well as writing and acting and directing.
My contact high continues for quite a while after our exchange.
Now I want to see all his films…

Steve and I go home, and it’s clear to me he holds this Agenda.
Oh no…. oh please no….
I act tired, and he leaves… whew.

I guess since the woman was open to him, so perhaps he figures
it’s only a matter of time til I succomb as well…. sorry… ewwww.

Journal….Sept 14, 2005

After the play, I still thought maybe I could sometimes enjoy his
company …  but he came over wednesday nite with dinner,
and … am i wrong? …the evening descended on my brain like
a hammer made of gnats…
He brought this horrible chicken thing, and when I offered some
nice organic broccoli, he asked if I would cook it “mushy”…
The fresh pesto I made, he described as “interesting”, and
for the final seal …he Loves Bush and listens to Christian News.

Huge iridescent Red flags wave all around me, blocking sight of
anything  that might be even vaguely positive about the man.

“Just level Iraq”, he says,  “and get it over with. ”
I’m getting nauseous…
“Who knows about WMDs…maybe they were there…but…bla bla bla”

My mind goes fuzzy…if I wanted Rush, I’d dial him…… merde.

He’s an idiot, and I want him out of here Now…
How can this gypsy hippie woman, who subscribes to all the latest
cosmic groovies, pictures of gurus, and incense burning, and special
meditation tapes, and talk of a Spiritual Center…..all the cool-speak..
….and she dresses like she’s waiting for Rama to come out of the sky
for her and ask her to dance for him and be his bride….

How can she Do it with him?
How could she let him into her body, with such a limited brain and
ridiculous opinions… I just can’t imagine.

When the puppy dog looks begin, I find myself once again nauseous,
and I feel this itchy irritation rising up in the back of my neck,
and behind my eyes.
From the beginning I thought I’d made it clear…

He gazes at me, as the TV searches begin.
He finds a soft porn channel, and wants to leave it on.
I don’t know whether to laugh or beat him up.
I leave to get a glass of water…

He lets me know he has “a chubby”.
(I laugh to myself that that was a good word to use, as
I greatly doubt it’s a “fatty”. )
I get up and clear away the glasses….

“I’m getting horny” he half states, half whines, as
I return from the bathroom….where I gaze at myself
in the mirror and ask….. WHA????.
At this point, my brain screams, but
I breathe….and
Slowly, Clearly, I say…

“Steve….nothing’s Ever gonna happen……Ever…….
Please…you must know that by now..
I’ve told you that …..  I’m engaged, I’m in love…”
I leave out the part about how I don’t find him at all
or in the least bit attractive, and that
Alcir  could Kill him with a look…

At last he leaves, and I can breath again.  I’ve finally and completely
realized the man is incapable of  Getting it, or even being a grownup.

I cannot spend a moment more with him around… that’s IT.
The irritation is not worth the occasional help, and
certainly not this big angry emotional hangover.

When the woman calls for her mail readings, I mention Steve,
and how completely irritating I find him.
She is incredulous, and cannot understand why.
WHA???

I was having doubts before, but now I am completely convinced
of this woman’s  strange and desperate consciousness.
Later I mention this to my friends, the ones who connected us
in the first place, and I can hear their mouths hanging open as
I fill them in on the happenings….

Good Lord, life is Strange…

 

————————————–