I come home late every single nite. I experience my neighborhood quite differently than the other black windows here. One room emits a space alien glow – a intellectual computer socialite educating himself and bringing down the system. Keep thinking, man. And a blew dancing shadow – somebody’s sister asleep on the couch with the television on.
But otherwise it’s just me and the giant raccoon running half assed from shrub to palm tree. Me and the blossoming whateversinseason. All year long there are scents wafting glorious late blossom nite. Not even the birds are making noise. The downstairs neighbor dogs don’t even wake up even a little.
And this is my world. Coming home late shutting down the DNB club. Outlasting dancers 11 years younger than me. I felt it tonite. DJ Mechete pulling me in and shaking me against the walls like a decomposing death rattle. Deconstructing. Disenchanting. Leaving only what’s real right behind my belly button and just two inches lower.
Sometimes I have so much passion for the things I love and so much ignition energy that I only know how to keep creating every minute. I start. Start again. Start again better. Ride it out. Even higher start again – that I never give the whatitis time to insert the hand of reciprocation.
If you leave your world alone, it turns like a new lover to look at you. It does everything in it’s power to keep you happy. And when you look at it in the eye and thank it for being so generous, you see that your genuine happiness is making the world happy too.
The beginning of my Disenchantment.