WE'RE ALL MY BROTHER.

We all put on Davids sweaters and Jackets that were lying in the crates he was leaving behind. David was wearing a lace Santa cap with pink fur around the edge and on the top. Sarah and I made it for him one Christmas. I was surprised he'd kept it until this point. Now it had filtered out of the dregs and he put it on his head.

David took a picture of us standing in his clothes, he cropped the heads like a thumb blocking them. We tried to stand like he stands, then we sat like ourselves in the rubble of his leaving. A type writer without a ribbon, ink spots on the floor, a spool of film marked "return to Lorraine Rene Cook," some white shoes without laces, sheets, a pile of clothes.

David asked if we'd follow him around the house, in a line, while he pushed smoke into every corner with a smudge stick. We agreed and followed him from corner to corner. He danced walked, I laughed. He was still wearing the lace hat.

We followed David outside of the house to porch by my window. David turned and smudged each of us with the smoke. He smeared cedar on each forehead. "Cedar to protect against evil" he murmured. He put the burning smudge into a ceramic pot waiting on the brick then threw the whole thing at a rock post supporting the roof. It shattered and the pieces fell.

We helped him carry his bags out to the car. He hugged us each goodbye and left to spend the night in the airport.

And for the Shamanic Dancing portion of the evening...

Fits and Starts of
Performance Arts

See this film to experience a little of what I experience every day.

Conversations About Joni Mitchell

Chicago reminds me of the idea I had of Chicago. The houses are very pointy. These are the kind of Americans who have upward mobility in mind, why else would so many identical arrows line the streets? The colors of the homes are very distinctive, which is very important because they are so close to each other.

My brother lives in an old warehouse. His room is two very small rooms, and he hangs his lamp on a nail in one room, and on an ankh in the other. "It's perfect because an ankh is a symbol of the sun" he told me. David has chickens, and a small black cat called "____." He has 3 roommates that all remind me of David.

I've met some of the people that I've been hearing about for four years. One of these is a professor named Matthew Goulish. He is exactly as wonderful as David describes him, except alive, so more wonderful. I attended one of his classes which I got to participate because a) "all twins are allowed to come to class" (-M.G.) and b) I'd read the book the month before, The Turn of the Screw by Henry James. It's a ghost story, but now, having been to class, I have a sneaking suspicion that it's actually abstinence porn like Twilight. I am not sure yet, so don't tell anyone that.

I have to finish building my tent, and writing songs to sing inside of it, because I keep inviting people to come to my tent and listen to my songs.

This trip has been punctuated very regularly with conversations about Joni Mitchell. She's like a clock.

Dear Me!

Wow. I made it to Oregon again.  For the first time since I left, when I left, in September.  Since I've been here I've:

Been pushed into the snow (by a dear old friend),

Slept in a bed with three other people and one giant Maggot (also a dear old friend),

Got stranded in Eugene for Christmas eve,

Contracted a really AWESOME head cold that is still finding it's way out of my head,

Been to two spontaneous high school reunions (one of which was fun and took place at a bar), 

and sat on my brother.