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Friday, March 27, 2009

Leah.

Would you look at this?



Do you see that saucy tart sittin up there on the trapeze? That is none other than the indescribable Leah Christiana, formerly of the Nekyia, in Madison Fucking Square Gardens.

I just thought the world should know.

Leah! If you ever find this by googling yourself, not a day goes by I don't miss dancing with you, you badass circus girl. I love you!!

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

What Ralph Said.

“Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could." -Ralph Emerson


That is a lovely thought. I remain unconvinced. The older I get, the less hours there are in the day and the longer it takes me to do things; or maybe it's that my list of things to do grows longer. The length of this list may be directly proportional to my level of dishappiness. Not that I don't want things to do, I do. I make them myself, actually. I simply find at the end of the day that my day is over again, and I spent an enormous portion of it doing things to help other people's business/vision/etc. and had no time to work on my act or set up a gig for myself in Asheville/Charlotte/Lousiana this summer. This isn't a new realization. It's not even violent, because at least some part of everything I do exist or began out of love and desire. That remains well. But there is a quiet knowing that enters the room and smiles so kindly at me, taking a seat in the corner to wait.

Or maybe this is all just because I spent 10 hours today on a promotional video shoot for the Warped Tour 09. Ze set:














This was many levels of delight, but I still came home feeling like I was waiting for tomorrow to get back to my life, because I couldn't go train or work, and usually I can do both and still get to play with my beloved Vau de Vire wenches.


"You can't have your cake and eat it too."

I've always thought that was the stupidest thing I ever heard.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Daniel.

I have several thank yous I want to write in the best way I know how, which is to publicly expose the people who have made my future career possible for being generous without reason.

This morning I bought the equipment that will very probably last for the rest of my career as an aerialist. I was able to do this for the majority because of my friend Daniel. So now I'm going to talk about him.

I met Daniel in a dark pub in the land of the black-water bayou. But I'm getting ahead of myself...

I'm speaking of Louisiana, in the very center, the very pit of it, where my father lives. In search of people to talk to under the age of 45 (try living without it for five months. You'll feel it too.) I went to the only acceptable bar in town, Finnegan's Wake. I ended up meeting a small collection of friends who invited me to join them. Over the next few weeks I saw them several times, and noticed that they kept dropping the name Daniel, with what could only be described as a note of deference in the tone of voice.

And on one particularly sweltering night, there he was. If you're picturing a boisterous, toothy bar-fly with a bayou twang always in the thick of it, stop and turn that inside out. He has a quiet, intense energy and a force in his presence that is refreshingly natural. When he talks to you, you are the only person and the only voice that exists. If you have ever met anyone capable of invoking that feeling you know you only want to keep talking to them. And I have absolutely no idea what we talked about. Maybe sex, maybe religion, probably both. He dropped a penny in my Guinness and thought it was the funniest thing ever, even though I was shocked and appalled.

We met for lunch before I moved, and sat outside on the patio of the restaurant. I got loud and mid-day drunk off of white wine and chain smoked. He laughed and talked and didn't fall for any of my bullshit.

I haven't seen him since I moved almost two years ago, but I remember warm brown eyes that see everything, and strange but intelligent speech patterns. Since then my experience of him has been sporadic phone calls. More than once in the past year, when the black was pushing hard on the edges of my mind, Daniel knew. He'd call me up at precisely the right moment and we'd pick up talking as though we'd been talking for hours already and were deep in conversation.

At this point I've deleted the text that was here because there is so much in him I feel shouldn't be publicized, even though my actual experiences of him have been few. Like giving away a really, really good book. In fact when I asked him if it were ok that I write a post about him as a thank you, his reply was "sure, if you need to," and a laugh.

We are so very, very different. But he lets me be whatever creature I am, and for what he is I am grateful.

And then there was one.

Luna has flown the co-op, with an ornery kitten in a mesh bag on a red-eye back to NH. I stand here in our bright city and feel like it could never be gotten its fill of before death, and that I don't wish to. I look at the leagues that have flown under me since I've been here, and the muscles on my shoulders that weren't there before, and the lines just barely there around my mouth that certainly weren't there before. I feel the heartbreak of leaving before I've even decided to leave.

But I will. There is something better. I have been in the practice of wringing every last drop out of things...cities, relationships, apartments, beliefs- before there was nothing left and I threw away the remnant rotting skin of what it was. Since I've learned, the price you pay for leaving something before you wring it dry is that you miss it. Sometimes you miss it terribly, but you can remember it the way it was in fullness.

Or whatever.

Riddle me this...what audition is coming up a mere two days after my act's deadline?

Off to rehearse with the lovely and beloved Vau de Vire wenches.

Never, never, ever put a cap on the possibilities for your life. I don't care if it sounds cheesy. It's essential.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

This is just to say,

that my friends are fucking amazing.  I put up yesterday's post as a "oh what the hell" and by the end of the day I have my equipment.  I am preparing a couple of posts in celebration of my two financiers because I still find myself too much in awe to be very eloquent.  

So, thank you.  Thank you to Bethany and Daniel for investing in a neurotic carnie.  Thank you to everyone who thought about it and wished they could help, thank you to everyone who reads this and wished me luck.  Luck, I has it...but it's not really luck, it's just really good people.  Being such a ray of fucking sunshine (dripping with sarcasm here) it is curious to me to have such kind people in my life.  

I'm thinking about getting some silver stars tattooed on my ass.  So at least when people ask me how I do something I'll just show them my lucky stars.  And I'll name one Daniel and the other Bethany.  


Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Bribes.

Period here in full force, thanks everyone for your kind concern. I'm a lucky bitch to have so many people give a damn whether or not I explode from menstrual poisoning.
Actually I felt like kind of a dumbass for wondering why it took so long after seeing the moon last night. Full moon=bloody females. Ask around.

So enough about that lovely subject. Here is the situation:

My act is due May 1st. It is coming along very well. My deadline for having hardware and fabric is April 1st. This is a problem, especially since my computer has been out of order and I haven't been able to work extra for extra funding. So, in the event that anyone reading this is willing and able to assist, here is my situation:

2 steel carabiners: $70.00
1 swivel: $80.00
1 steel rescue 8: $73.00
fabric: $200
---------------------------------
Aerialist starterkit: $423.00

Yikes indeed. You may be wondering why I moved from hoop to tissu (fabric) and the answer to that is that to perform on hoop I will first need to immunize myself from the puking that spinning inspires. I still plan on it, but wanted to start out with a non-puking apparatus.

All contributions will be repaid in full at the interest rate specified by the financer, not to exceed 20% per 6months cause I wouldn't be able to fulfill my end of that rate. If anyone involved wishes to not be repaid, please specify what I can do for you in exchange. Write your website content, perform as a bird at your grandfather's birthday party, never ever dress up like Raoul again, you name it.

Any contributions as well as all love and hate mail can be sent to:

Rachel Strickland
PO Box 170694
San Francisco, CA 94117

If I didn't ask, I'd never know.