This blog is possessed. No, YOU’RE possessed!!!
Check it out. Now I see where Shepard Fairey and the Wachowski Bros got their ideas. I like possessed-by-consumerism stories, obviously.
Owloween has a painful eerie history for my loved ones, but we’ve reclaimed it in recent years. Tonight, a little gathering with neighbors (I’ve gotten half of the grad students in my department to move into my excellent building—we are the sociology ghetto) and a late trip the airport. Tempted to swing through the West Hollywood drag parade later, to see the throng of flaming Sarah Palins (flaming in the good, not the effigious, sense). Scarier tonight would be to attend as the ghost of Katherine Harris. Fuck! Or as the good fairy: Brooksley Born.
So tonight begins my high holidays. Hallows’ Eve, then my birthday (Scorp/Aries: self fulfilling prophecy in the worst way), then election day (four years ago the two fell in reverse order; and thus, thanks to W, the latter was not celebrated at all), my brother’s birthday, then the best day ever, Thanskgiving.
This morning was different from usual. I put in my favorite, really bad, Arcade Fire organ rock opera in the car stereo and drove in a warm dark rain to a place I used to frequent. My first ashtanga teacher is in town—we haven’t even acknowledged each other in years. She came in the room in my UHP and I fell over sideways like I used to do. Took a long Savasana and processed through those early beginnings with her murmur in the background. And unexpected venture on my part—and unexpectedly good. More than I will say.
Happy November Eve.
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