Melting Pot



There is that too.

That melting into another person, that kind of intimacy that is indicative of the idea of “into me you see.”

I am thinking of big green meadow eyes and a hug.

A long, lingering, could be uncomfortable, if I were serving up hugs at the Hug Deli at Burning Man, kind of hug.

But is not uncomfortable, no, is rather delicious and melting and luscious.

I have two more days of waiting for said hug.

“How was your Burning Man?” I have been asked that many a time since I returned.

I have told folks it was my best yet, aside from my first one, which really did blow my mind–and was also the most challenging as I was there with my best friends ashes and had just gone through one of the most harrowing months of my life watching him die and being there for our community the best way I could.

“Your first year was amazing, I was there!” My friend said to me tonight as we were riding our bicycles home on the WIggle.

The nice thing about a changing work schedule is doing the deal in places and rooms I don’t normally go and seeing faces I don’t normally see.

I hadn’t seen this friend in over a year and it was so nice to sit next to him and get caught up and my excitement at getting to ride home with him was great.

He was my mentor on the AidsLifeCycle ride as well, so riding with him had special significance.

I realized I hadn’t been on a bike ride with him in five years!

I remember well how I cried after my first training ride, it was three miles I think, perhaps five, but really no more than that–hell I ride more than that to get to work everyday, I don’t even think about it anymore–and I just could not imagine how the fuck I was going to ride 545 miles.

“You’re not going to ride them all tomorrow,” he told me and patted my arm and got me a bottle of water.

He was always there to pat me on the back or cajole me up and over the next big hill.

And there were so many damn big hills.

But I made them.

I got up and over and when the time came to do the ride, I rode every last mile.

Even with saddle sores.

Saddle sores are no picnic, let me tell you, and I rode with saddle sores the last three days of the event.


I digress.

But I did fill my friend in on all the details of the burn and why it was my best since my first one.

Partially since I did not work that much.

I actually went to Burning Man.

I went dancing.

I saw friends.

I spent a fair amount of time at AV, a village a lot of friends camped at.

I did a lot of the deal.


I met him.

You know.

That guy.

The dreamy one I spent three and a half days with consecutively.


That guy.

He’s a peach that one.

I get to see him this week.

The day has been set.

Or I should say, the evening.

We’re meeting on a school night and I don’t care.

Sometimes you just got to do the things that are a little taboo, I mean I’m not breaking some huge personal rule, I’m just going to have a sleep over on a school night.

I’m looking forward to the companionship.

I am looking forward to the play.

But I really am looking forward to the connection.

We have a connection and we both know it and its been acknowledged and we both are doing our own thing.

Adult like.

I won’t deny there is some salient school girl crush thing happening.

But really.

When I look at the underlying text of the document, there is more to it than that.

“Am I just going to be that girl you met at Burning Man,” I teased as we eased our way back into the default world.

“You could label it that, I suppose, but you know that’s not the truth,” he said and turned, brushing the side of my face with his hand.


I do know that’s not the full story.


The thing is.

I don’t even know what the full story is.

I suspect that we are both going to show up and be our best selves and maybe it takes a minute to get back there, to the dust and the honesty, and that place where I am vulnerable and not worried about what I am wearing and what music should I play and how does my house look.

“I really like that I got to see where you live, it’s so you,” he said as I came out of the bathroom to my studio.

I like that he saw it too.

I like that when people have visited me here, they have all said the same thing, how much my place reminds them of me and how lovely it is to be in it.

“You have a party going on at your place all the time,” a dear friend of mine said when he described my place.

It’s true.

It’s a party.

I like to have my music on.

I like my candles lit.

I like the good smells and the good sounds and I like that where ever I look there is something beautiful to rest my eyes on.

Speaking of which, maybe this is the weekend I finally get the DIebenkorn print up on the wall, it breaks my heart leaning against the table.

I need to go get my Marilyn print from my trip to LA framed as well.



How I do love thee.

Let me surround myself in it, swim in it, wallow in it, drown in it.

Thank God I am an artist.

“You are so much more than just a nanny,” my friend told me sternly in the car.

He had given me a ride to Safeway to do a big grocery shop, so needed after my busy on the go self neglected to do any last week and was also dropping me off at work so I wouldn’t have to push it on my bicycle.

I was telling him about how I have been asked to provide some poetry for a fellow artist who wants to present something at the Burning Man ARTumnal event.

I wonder if I should ask for a ticket, or two, I might have a gentleman I would like to bring with me, to the event.

And it was with some chagrin that I realize, yes, I do down play that part of me.


I assume that the only reason a man might want to be with me.


It’s more than just a cuddle, right.

But no.

There is more.

“I’m most excited about looking into your eyes silently and getting one of those melty hugs.”


Me too.


And maybe some sex on the side.

But yeah.

The silent song of staring into someone’s eyes who I have connection with.

That is where the good stuff is.

All the things.

All the good, sweet, juicy things.

In fact.

All the best things.

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