Pagan Hugs for Gypsy Jews

The best writing teacher I've had thus far has told me a lot of that intuitive advice that I thought I knew but that was driven home by her words: write every day. Even if it's shit. Write, write, write. When I was a little kid I used to think about being a great artist and my drawing teachers would always tell me to draw every day, draw, draw, draw. We are these creative monkey machines that need to practice our crafts all the time every moment so that the engineered beauty of our minds may find a voice in the coupling of talent and a hell of a lot of practice. Practice, practice, practice.

I had so many jumpy dreams last night. I'm torn between doing my research in two different countries, not too mention my sudden consideration of the fact that moving for my work will and does involve personal upheaval and I should consider that. I've been so reckless with my own emotions. Pick up and move like a gypsy and act as if this is a natural path, the path, my path, as if wherever I am will just fall into place from simple gravitational pull.
I saw a really informative personal documentary last night and for anyone who's interested in the shifting flows of time, culture, and blood it's a very interesting sketch. The film is called Sholem Aleichem: Laughing in the Darkness. According to my grandfather, we're related to this lovely poet, Sholem Aleichem...a pretty light in a past I can only see through the recollections of others.

Speaking of films, I'd also like to plug my friend John Ullyot's film in the making: Mulligan. It's looking creative and wonderful as his work has always been and I'm looking forward to seeing a character I've read in so many stories come to life on the screen.

Today's my father's birthday. Which is a good bit more important to me than Jesus' birthday could ever be, but it's a happy day in the US...I like how eager people are to congratulate each other with it, I guess I just like human warmth and it can be touching from strangers. Maybe that's why I like countries like Brazil where it feels like American Christmas every day.

Maybe that's my answer? Brazil. Brazil? Brazil?! Either way there's a warm tropical spot near the equator of my heart and it's spreading. Happy warmth day to all!

chocolate pie ...and this title is complete

I'm wearing a goofy shirt that reads "I <3 Capoeira". It's for a 7-8 year old boy and so it's a tiny bit tight around the sleeves. It reminds me of how when I was a teenager it was popular to wear itsy bitsy shirts and show off your midriff. I have backpedaled into my teenage self and my midriff is slightly on display in this way too small thing I'm not sure why I bought it (except that the mestre with the Arnold Shwarzenegger accent who sold it to me has a charm about him, so if he says it's woman's shirt maybe I'll believe it for a little while,) but maybe I should cut the sleeves off....my little sisters wouldn't approve. It's a high school thing, it's a petty thing, it's a family thing, how to display myself, it's a fashion thing, it's a bullshit, bullshit thing. They always judged me so harshly, my mom and sisters, ridiculing me like a gang of popular bossy girls on the playground. I always succumbed, if not in action, then in hurt feelings. Very hurt feelings and a very sore ego.

I had my first Batizado this past weekend. Mestres and students flew into Chicago from all over the country and world to teach workshops and to graduate students in an order of dancefightloving....I somehow passed, graduated into a level. A white-yellow cord signifying that I have some level of skill: totally unexpected.

I'm in from the "beach," the Lake Michigan Shore...this whole Chicago summer thing is a new and interesting experience for me. It's the first time I've experienced it at all...I'm meeting a lot of nice, fun people in this warm version of Chicago. Well I can befriend for a little while before I re-Brazil my life. Chicago will never be Brazilian or tropical or warm enough anyway. A part of my heart has given up on it even as I discover lovely new nooks and crannies and finally meet the kind of folks I could enjoy myself with.

Things, in some way only have substance if you believe in their thingy-ness. If you believe in them. And I make-believe my own things all the time and that's a good escape from the confines of a mostly senseless world. The only parts that matter are the warm ones. Not their substance but their temperature. Touch my forehead.