Born on a Thursday #17: Come Play with us Holly . . .

Water and Bicycles: Two important things in this town!

Water and Bicycles: Two important things in this town!

It’s been a dreamy week – and that’s how things are in Flagstaff in the summertime. Astrologers would say the recent eclipses, and then, planets changing signs this week could contribute to that feeling. Also, I’ve been spending less time on Facebook and more time actually talking, laughing, dancing, smiling, joking, eating, drinking, working, playing, living with people face-to-face.

* * * * *

I finished reading Cat’s Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut over Memorial Day Weekend. I reminisced (ironically, on FB) about the first time I read it, but what I wrote started a face-to-face discussion later that was really fun. This is what I wrote:

I was 20 years-old the first time I read Cat’s Cradle. The only thing I remember about my first reading was the boy who gave me a copy of the book. I was so in love with him! We met at a Deelite concert when they played at City Gardens and he asked me out. He was from Bucks County, PA, and was the most beautiful boy I had ever met in my life – tall and lean, with brown eyes and thick brown hair, he wore linen shirts, and had a way about him that was innocent and playful – I couldn’t believe people like him actually existed! We danced and hiked and biked and wrote fantastical letters to one another.

He had twin brothers, one was evil and the other was more evil. His parents were distraught over my “breeding” and did everything they could to keep us separated. (Of course, all this made me love him more). Then, in the fall, he was off to Bard College and it became obvious I wasn’t fitting in with his new crowd and our true love faded away.

What a magical summer!

By the end of our affair, I was a thorough Vonnegut fan!

In classic Vonnegut form, Cat’s Cradle is dark and satirical, and funny and scary, and timeless. Some of the quotes that struck me are:

Americans are searching for love in forms it never takes, in places it can never be. It must have something to do with the vanished frontier.

Perhaps, when we remember wars, we should take off our clothes and paint ourselves blue and go on all fours all day long and grunt like pigs. That would surely be more appropriate than noble oratory and shows of flags and well-oiled guns.

Think of peace.
Think of brotherly love.
Think of plenty.
Think of what a paradise this world would be if men were kind and wise.

The hand that stocks the drug stores rules the world.

Let us start our Republic with a chain of drug stores, a chain of grocery stores, a chain of gas chambers, and a national game. After that, we can write our Constitution.

* * * * *

I need to get my art supplies out of Phoenix.

* * * * *

Last night I dreamed of art and the city and rubble and squatting and nightclubs and Amanda Palmer. Paul Kostabi’s paintings and my paintings were strewn throughout the dream.

I live in this very large building, it has columns and rooms and it is dim and partially falling down. One of the rooms is haunted by three young Polish men wearing very short reddish brown tunics tied at the waist with an off-white cord. They are dancing, making repetitive movements, almost like an old Scooby Doo episode when the meddling kids are running from a ghost, but really, it is the background that changes. I don’t know how I know they are Polish, but when anyone opens the doors to the haunted room, they start out at the far end of the room and float to the door, doing their dance. They are not scary, just surprising at first, and then, boring.

Amanda Palmer and I are sharing a pair of jeans. They are hot pink at the ankles, but fade up to the palest pink at the butt. Every time we wear them, we draw on them with a black marker. By the end of the dream, the jeans are almost completely black and blue. Amanda is also wearing blue suede sandals. We talk about art and music in cafes and clubs and while Matagi sits in a dark room, playing a black piano.

Someone is after me, but as long as I continue to repeat the mantra OM I am immune from his bad thoughts creeping into my head. I am at an assembly and I know I am going to be nominated for the presidency. I step outside of a red brick building that has lots of windows. I walk down a hill and get into a car. I call my friend Sascha and ask him what he thinks about the nomination. He hints that I should turn it down, because as the president, I would not be allowed to smoke weed in public. He says, “You are a very private person.” Just as I am waking up, I think, “No, take a position of power and legalize it.”

Earlier in the week, I dreamed of Amanda Palmer again. And, Olivia Newton-John.

I’ve been enjoying having Amanda visit me in my dreams. Today, I got an email blog post by Amanda Palmer. She got death threats over a poem she wrote a few weeks ago. But she keeps on going. This is a time for art! This is the time for sharing that impulse to connect the dots. The link to Amanda’s post.

Empathy is good.

* * * * *

On my way home today I received this text from a dear friend:

Isn’t it really beautiful that you exist without thinking about it? I love you.

Isn’t it? So blessed!!

Thanks for reading.

Namaste.

Holly

7 thoughts on “Born on a Thursday #17: Come Play with us Holly . . .

  1. With Neptune on asc. from the 12th, inspired creativity and spirituality is the only way for you. To channel the ineffable infinite into art, healing, music, dance, poetry……
    I went to the Howl festival in Tompkins Sq. yesterday. I met Sharon Blauer there – my good friend and healing colleague from Montreal.She’s been in town this week. Her friend Don who lives in Brooklyn came too. We had a great afternoon hangin out there – art, music and the hard core bohemians……it was wonderful! I’ll post the pics I took now….
    Lov u so much 4vr! 🙂

    Like

    • G! I hear you. I can’t deny that part of myself any longer. Awareness and acceptance are a relief, moving into action is astounding!

      Can’t wait to see the pics of the Howl festival.

      Like

  2. Just today, Adrienne told me she had seen the Basquiat documentary on netflix. We talked about how cool the 80’s were on the lower e. side. So much great art.and music! Mark Kostabi was really successful then. He had a huge loft on Bdwy near Houston. I heard that he had a staff of young artists who worked for him (paining his paintings?). But i liked Keith Haring the best…..That was very happy and wonderful time in my life. When I got clean, I met a guy in the rooms named Kevin Wendall. A great painter – he was right in the middle of that scene in the 80’s. His work looked a lot like Paul Kostabi’s. Kevin had a great sense of humor too, but very Uranian in a dark kind of way. He would say things that were shocking, ridiculous and kinda scary but unbelievably funny. I hope I always have a lot of artist friends. They’re the coolest….

    Like

    • Paul’s work has really evolved over the years. He is incredibly prolific right now, and inspiring. I think he is doing a tour in Europe with his brother. I keep seeing his work in my dreams. He is also an incredible musician, and I am so lucky to have had the experience of making music with him – hopefully I will get to do so again. (Part of why I wanted to get back to NY). I knew some of the artists who worked for Mark. The early 90s were a bit better for me on the LES – so creative! The 80s were wild, but dark times, too.

      I think my dreams are pushing me back towards the artist’s life I once had for myself, and that I’d like again. Amanda Palmer really puts herself our there, sort of wears her heart on her sleeve, and I admire her for that. Being an artist can be ridiculous and shocking and kinda scary (and dangerous) and funny, too – once that’s your life it is very hard to turn back.

      Thanks for your response, G!! Big love!

      Like

Comments are closed.