With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

max erhmann

It’s a real thing I take for granted so much I don’t often see it. Lately especially life is waving it in my face everywhere so the only thing I can do is write about it now: I grew up in recovery.

Literally, the same way I can remember watching arms of the military put feet up certain friends asses and make some semblance of adults out of them. That’s what recovery did for me.

My life was a mess. I hadn’t drawn a sober breath longer than say 22 hours since early the summer I was 16. This last year I outlived that me. I am in my 24th year of not drinking.

I quit when I was 23.

When I was 16 I was driving junkyard cars across Eastern Avenue towards Highlandtown in east Baltimore stopping at Killer Trash the thrift store there just outside old Fells Point. The lady that had that little place was fully kitschy-diva and friend to Aunt Mary, lady of vintage taste and spunk herself, my own living Queen of the Baltimore hons.

This was 1993.

I’d acquired a whole wardrobe of cheaply purchased donated clothes, stuff in fashion in the mid-70’s to early 80’s. I was obsessed with the look. Velour track suits cow neck polyester sweaters. Bell bottom blue jeans and wide-leg poly pants. My mini-dresses ended six inches above the knee. My eyes black cat-eyes feet too big docs, mary-janes. Dark purple lipstick dark as hell dark! so that it delights me now to peek back at and eye roll a bit at me, too. Oh the agony of boredom and access.

My hair got shorter and more bleached the older in my teens I got. Recently my mom reminded me I even scored a pair of thrifted bells she embroidered for me, daisies in white and yellow and pink and blue. The awe I look back on that with now, on my life. The awe in my heart-eyes when I look on my still here tribes and crews where I’m from. We grew up too fast.

DMV. That’s what they call it now–something that happened in my cousin Erin’s season some years after I was out running around. Being from a big family helps you see a place with broader eyes. Maybe. If you learn how. MD VA DC. Maryland first haha not Dc MdVa

Midatlantic baby! Place of,

season of my birth, and I haven’t holla’d loud about my birthday since the Jesus year, yr 33. I lived alone in Easton then and saw a lot of live music and wrote all the time and smoked on roofs and windowsills and walked that town in dark, sleepy megalith old trees and not so sleepy alleys, cemeteries. Streetlights. That year I hosted a fabulous dance party in Mt. Vernon w peeps I consider still today the most epic of good souls and dear, crazy fucking friends all bc Katie could make it to town.

Brought me some yellow sunshine in a few weeks back in the morning, the first little love notes from the earth where the daffodils grow tall under the tall loblolly lodge. I am so in love with this life I have gotten to dream and create and be a part of becoming, and I am grateful to get to live it even in the face of so much tragedy, negativity, brainless and hopeless as it appears some days out there.

And so I thought this is what I need to do. Sign a little gold dream to me, throw my ass a party. For making it as far as I have. Calling in a little celebrating! Write the words the words the words i love to write! Joyful proclaiming life! in a stomping ass dance party as I go on from here, this start soon of my own new year. Bc what else is there? Only what will get wasted sooo

no thanks nope, I will celebrate it. Also when you’ve lost it all or are on the verge, about to, this is something I pray everyone get the chance to learn, to know.

Don’t waste what time ya got.

Recovery was and continues to be an endless process for me, 24 yrs in may it continue

Because this is all the *fug* i ever wanted to do w my life

in the first place, be
still, write

lil lines

~

peace be the party ppl all power
to the ppl, the peace-makers,

happy birthday me