Had a great time last week. Reminded me of grad school days. Ahh grad school. Went into college town and sat on the porch of this amazing old house on the national register. The porch was fantastic – maybe forty feet long and fifteen wide – covered by a twenty foot high ceiling and pillars. Part of the Gaslight Village. Went to RAGBRAI festivities and saw .38 Special. Drank my share of alcohol. Did my fair share of smoking too. Saw live music and street performers and life. And I wrote. Wrote. My friend Manny and I started working on a fantasy series he’s been wanting to write. I had incredible conversations with his boy-band-pretty friends. Healing conversations from unlikely sources. And from the likely ones. Feeling like an artist again. Feeling comfortable in my own skin. I like myself and don’t even feel the need to say fuck you to the people who don’t care for me. Let them. They don’t matter. I won’t give them that power. Not today. For today I am an artist. I am me. I am bliss.
Oh, and here's a little Southern rock for your foot-tapping pleasure:
Thanks, Manny.
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