In New Orleans. I just feel like sleeping all the time, for a year. I ‘m at the end of 47 years (more, even, counting college in Maine and then moving to Ohio to be near Hank) of travelling and moving. Time to settle down for good.
In New Orleans. I just feel like sleeping all the time, for a year. I ‘m at the end of 47 years (more, even, counting college in Maine and then moving to Ohio to be near Hank) of travelling and moving. Time to settle down for good.
I posted these on Facebook today and yesterday:
One reason we Asperger Syndromers are loners is because we “speak” a whole different social language than Neurotypicals (NTs = non-autistics/non-ADHDs/etc.). We are perfectly at home, socially, with other autistics, but we don’t LIKE them better than we like our NT friends. And we don’t want to act like NTs; we want to be ourselves.
Here is what I texted to Dennis Jones (NOLA pal) last evening:
“Despite my joking around, I am not into sex or physical touch now. Not that u are. I just want to be clear and let u know where I am on this. Love u as a friend and son-like person in my life. That all OK wit u then?”
Some quotes from The Unexpected Einstein: The Real Man Behind the Icon (2005, Denis Brian):
“Although I am a typical loner in daily life, my consciousness of belonging to the invisible community of those who strive for truth, beauty, and justice has preserved me from feeling isolated. The most beautiful and deepest experience a man can have is the sense of the mysterious.” ~~Albert Einstein, in a speech before the German League of Human Rights in Berlin, 1932
When asked if he was deeply religious (in 1927), Einstein replied: “Yes, you can call it that. Try and penetrate with our limited means the secrets of nature and you will find that, behind all the discernible concatenations, there remains something subtle, intangible and inexplicable. Veneration for this force beyond anything that we can comprehend is my religion. To that extent I am, in point of fact, religious.”
I messaged this to “Angel,” Adrian Casanova Garcia, today on Facebook:
Here’s what I posted on Facebook today:
Being part of a social minority group and NOT wanting to assimilate means many things that the average White person in America does not understand. It mens not being the standard, not thinking you are someone others look up to and (want to) emulate. It means lots of things. The behavior of your average White person in the USA is repugnant to me, and yet I act the same way often.
It gives me advantages sometimes to act White. Since I AM White, sometimes I am forced by other social minorities to act White. They don’t know why I am part of social minoritiy groups; they can’t see where I fit in and where I don’t fit in. Who I am socially is hidden.
It is more truthful to act like part of the social minority. As a bastard, an adoptee, member of a hated social group (Germans in post-WW II USA), an autistic, etc., I am definitely skilled in appearing to belong while I actually don’t belong.
The fact is that I don’t belong in ANY social group. “Third-culture kids” is a similar thing, but they all have three cultures they belong to (eg. born into one culture, parents from another culture, raised or spend significant amounts of time in another culture). So, actually, no one understands who I am socially and I don’t fit in anywhere. Facts of life.
I could be in a group called: Bastards or Outcasts or Misfits or some such. Many people are in this group. Where are they all? Do we recognize each other? Actually, all members of this group are, by definition, unique (that’s how we qualify for membership in a group without a name).
My social and personal”experiments” (like panhandling, having street boyfriends, prostitution, hitchhiking, American Traveller-Gypsy, camping for months at a time, and even the whole way I raised my kids [i.e., to accept diversity and truth]) were all not only made possible by but also were an inherent, even unavoidable part of my social and personal position. That is, I lived according to WHO I AM (sometimes called “authenticity”).
What I find is that no one really understands who I am in public. When I know someone and talk to them awhile, they get an idea of who I am. Otherwise, I can’t really relate to people socially.
I am misunderstood in public situations, and, because of that, I am also quite invisible. This position has given me a lot of freedom to do what I wanted to do. I also have to be careful; being socially misunderstood can be dangerous.
Being an Aspie (Asperger Syndrome) means I am more comfortable out in public when I am alone. So this stuff about not being able to relate to people socially is OK. When I am with someone in public (if that person is not an Aspie), I mostly just focus on them and I have no idea, if we are walking in a city for example, of where we are. It’s notable and funny, and I have had other Aspies tell me the same thing happens to them. When I’m alone I am totally focused on me and where I am and where I’m going. I can’t do this well when I’m with an NT in public.
Thank Shakti and Shiva (Goddess and God, husband and wife, Hinduism) for blogging and just plain old writing. I am learning who I am by blogging about myself.
My life = looking for love.
Re-reading THE TAO OF PHYSICS. Did I ever read it before? Life-changing. I see that everything is the same, whether in the house (where I have traditionally felt “safe”) and outside in the “world of scary strangers.”
Aspies’ new tricks:
1.) Unifying details in unique ways. This is a form of spirituality or physics!
2.) Not assimilating; not conforming. Devising new ways to interact socially and interpersonally.
3.) Aspies are not “shy” though many describe themselves thusly. What is usually happening is that we end up talking with NTs who talk “a different language” than we do. As with someone who is literally speaking another language that we know very little of and which is not our native language, we eventually reach a point where we can no longer pretend to either understand or be able to converse with them. At this point, many autistics feign shyness. They may actually believe they are shy; I believe it is instead the process I have described above.
There must be groups of people (tribes) living, say in the jungles of Colombia, who do Ayahuasca everyday (or at least very often) so that the Ayahuasca reality is their main (only?) reality. And everyone–even the kids–do the drug. I would like to know more about this.
From Suzy (on Facebook) in Cumana, Venezuela (one of the CSers I did Ayahuasca with early this year):
Be that ayahuasca is a permanent ritual tribe of Indians Putumayo in Colombia. From small from 5 years and their mothers send them to take ayahuasca. Just as fire rituals that Indians from other countries do every day, they drink ayahuasca.
Putumayo Indians already born with that. It’s in their roots. No fine until point your only reality is this. Because there comes a time where they do not live the same experiences as you and I live. The effect of the medicine in them and is different by the time it takes taking it.
Flooding in Boulder, Colorado. Sam, Meg and Archer (and Jeramy, who is stuck in Boulder at his sister’s house) are all fine up in Rollinsville, far from the flooding.
A NOLA STORY:
No one is to blame, and I am not complaining. I am happy to be me.
I know what it is like to be hated on so many levels:
…as an adoptee, a bastard, an illegitimate child, as the adoptee in a tight-knit family of blood relatives
…as someone returning to their birth-family (which consists of people who aren’t prepared for them and who fear what they will reveal); as the ugly duckling who finally discovers people who love and welcome her as one of their own (although my adoptive mother totally accepted and loved me)
…as a member of a family from a country (Germany) that America just defeated in a horrible war, a country which committed indefensible attrocities; as the adopted daughter of a man who never felt disloyal to that country, as the adopted daughter of a man who had neo-Nazi friends (even in 1983)
…as an American Traveller-Gypsy, as someone who has rejected sedentary society, as someone who will never identify fully with settled people and their society (We Travellers are hated by most sedentary people everywhere. We learn how to scratch our heads as though we may have lice because this sends a message: “Stay away from me.” If you don’t understand this, it’s because you are a sedentary person; you will never get it. Don’t worry about it.)
…as an autistic who is perceived as “normal” (as NT [Neurotypical]) but who obviously doesn’t fit in there (“Why does she do those things? Why doesn’t she act right?”); as someone who is told “You’re not autistic” by NTs and even by some family members
I walk around this city of New Orleans in a state of perpetual discovery and awareness–both of myself and others and the place itself.
Walk on by… walk on by… walk on by…
1.) I am someone who has never belonged. Given away at birth. As I say, I am now, after decades, extremely happy about this. I realize it has given me a totally unique perspective.
2.) I was adopted by outcasts: Mom’s Roxbury, Mass. family (10 kids, first-generation German-Americans) were hated locally since she was little (she was born in 1908; WW I was going on as she was growing up); Dad–and our fammily–was hated for being German, especially after WW II when I was adopted (in May of 1946).
3.) Add the interesting seasoning of being autistic: independent (actor and thinker), smart, original thinker, logical, and sensitive. I believe–based upon the Boswell brains and the suicides of my birth-father and birth-paternal grandfather–that tmy Asperger Syndrome is genetic and that I inherited it from the Boswells.
4.) Finally, add my Gypsy blood. Whether or not I actually am related to English Gypsies (Boswell is a famous English Gypsy name) or not is irrelevant. (As Judity Okely points out in The Traveller-Gypsies, the English Gypsies and Irish Travellers are not related to the Rom or any other group who come originally from India; they are outcasts/proletariat who dropped out of their own societies and began a life of travelling.)
What matters is that, except for my first eighteen years, I have been unsettled or, put in a positive way, moving and travelling around. I believe it is in my blood; it is definitely in my nature.
I do not identify with sedentary people–especially not the middle class and above (though I was raised in the middle class by upwardly mobile, “successful,” working-class parents).
I have made a unique, original and very interesting (to me) roux out of all this.
I see the New Orleans Caucasians as existing in a box. I prefer to not relate intimately with anyone in that particular box. That said, I know and like some New Orleaneans who are Caucasians and thus in that box; I will not give up these friendships. As Caroline Flake writes in her book New Orleans (1992), cognitive dissonance does not exist in New Orleans: my conflicting ideas do not matter to me.
I do not ask for anyone’s understanding of this; I do not ask for forgiveness or praise.
I never ask New Orleans Blacks to acknowledge me. I never initiate contact except in a very general, acceptable way (i.e., saying hello). They (like Whites) could never understand where I am coming from.
I am a totally unique phenomenon socially (we are all totally unique individually, personally). I don’t expect anyone to ever really understand me, but I try. I express myself–like here in my blog.
But the fact is that I identify with the NOLA Blacks–and I am not talking about the middle class (and above). I mean the poor and working class NOLA Blacks. I never expect them to understand this.
New Orleans is, as ever, very divided racially and economically. I know where I stand; I know who I am.
Amazingly, sometimes NOLA Blacks realize who I am (after talking with me, even briefly) and exactly where I stand. All I have to do is be me. If anyone cares to really look, who I am and where my alliances lie is exceedingly clear.
I am not interested in anyone’s analysis of all this. I am not interested in the least in what people think of me. I have experienced others’ hatred from the very beginning of this lifetime.
I am writing my blog for me. If anyone else enjoys reading it, great. Welcome to my world.
When I go out into the world every day, I am a total loner. I think I would actually shrivel up and die without my friends and other loved ones, but socially, I go it alone – like most autistics.
I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks of me or of my social positions. As the song “Better Man” by Kebmo says, it doesn’t really matter if no one ever knows how I feel.
All I know is that it makes ME feel free and feel good to write all this down. I love the feeling that it’s organized and set down somewhere.
I believe in Eternal Love between two people. Set in stone. United body and soul. I am never alone because of this. It’s more than a belief. I tell people it’s my favorite fantasy so they won’t be threatened by my beliefs. But really it’s what I know is true.
TODAY, on the street IN NEW ORLEANS
Me: How ya doin?
Young guy: Hey, Baby!
And you wonder why I love New Orleans? It’s ALL in that exchange.
Back in my Beloved NOLA, staying in Travis’ room; housemate: Jared. As the bus rolled from Baton Rouge to New Orleans late yesterday, thunder, lightning and rain accompanied us (heavier rain than anything for a long time, Jared said). I seem to accompany or “bring” rain. Of course, NOLA being NOLA, lightning and thunder were added. Divine!
The house I am staying in is very nice. My housemate, Jared, is from here (Metarie, the suburb next to NOLA). He is very aware of and part of the culture. I am thrilled! I want to learn all about New Orleans culture. It’s like being in my (birth-) Daddy, Brown’s arms. (No disrespect to my adoptive Dad, Karl.)
Homer will be MY OWN place. So odd that in Homer I know a young guy who actually says things like “women should be kept barefoot and pregnant” and “he looks like Jesus.” These things are so far from my own, radical-left point of view as to be almost unbelievable. Archaic. Like something from a hundred or more years ago. This young man is a strange one. If I were any less radical, he would be offensive to me; as it is, I can only laugh inwardly (never in his face) when he says these things. They amuse me greatly.
I have made my first connection with a feline creature: Jared’s cat, whom I will call “Kimmy.” (Her name is something like this.)
I never wanted to be in the competition in our society. I was a really fast runner as a kid (and teenager), but I hated competing. Couldn’t do it.
Oh, I love the people and the accent here in New Orleans.
I get lots of positive feedback in Louisiana: “I love people like you,” said the food service guy at the Greyhound restaurant in Shreveport. While waiting in line for my chicken, I was dancing to the music on my iPod. “You’re very patient,” the guy said. “I love your hair,” someone said to me here in NOLA a few years ago.
Ian, in the autobiographical paragraph at the beginning of his book, writes: I never expected to find mutual love. Like me. So he–and I–married the first person who was willing to marry him… after a cost analysis (he writes)! Ha ha.
Arkansas: full of churches. Ugh!
Aspies: = logic. NTs = social sense. Logic = independence and sensitivity. Logic leads to what’s natural.
My parental unit (adopted) = enforced assimilation. Yet we were in hiding in many ways. Dad did stay very loyal to Germany and German ways. Submission is part of being in hiding; it is also by definition part of assimilation.
Musically, I am learning rhythms. I have (somehow… and unintentionally [without trying]) entered a whole new phase of musical awareness. It’s as if I am hearing music in a whole new and much deeper way. I love it!
My musicality = logic plus sensitivity (no social sense here).
I have been travelling for 1 and 1/2 years, but really it has been for about five years. And I have really NEVER settled down. I am ready.
I am just getting a peek into the difference between the travelling life and sedentary life. My illnesses (which usually last just for a day) upon returning to settled life inform me of the vastness of this difference… at least in my own mind.
When I am in the travelling life, my perspective is never “here,” never where I am. It is always moving, shifting, changing, preparing to move on, looking into the future. Like in the song, The Girl With Faraway Eyes. It’s a fluid, light, airy, changing perspective. It’s as if I were thinking: “This is not real; what is real is change.”
Sedentary life is right here, right now, everything around me that I can sense, feel, see, taste, touch, hear, smell, etc. It’s immediate and present. It’s stopped. It’s a BE HERE NOW perspective.
As I say, my awareness of these very different perspectives is incomplete and new. I was settled for all of my early life (with the exception of my first six months before being adopted). We travelled, but we did not move. In the US, my adoptive family was part of an excluded, ostracized part of the culture by virtue of being immigrants–i.e., Dad (Mom was first-generation German-American)–from a hated culture (Germany).
Since going away to college at University of Maine in 1964, I have been moving at least every few years (and travelling in between (eg. coast to coast by car during the summer when I was married and living in California). When I got divorced, I really started moving and travelling. During the past five to seven years, I have been travelling (domestically and internationally) almost constantly and have never had a fixed address except for the winter of 2011-2012 in Nederland and for brief (2-4 months) periods of camping in Ojai. I have maintained fixed addresses (mainly in California and Colorado).
That’s enough moving and travelling. I feel that I have fulfilled my goals in that area. I am very satisfied with my personal accomplishments and with the places I have gone, people I have met, and things I have learned during my travels.
Mantra: I love myself.
Motto: don’t get lazy.
The heat and humidity feel SO GOOD. And the streetcar only costs $.40.
Allergic to Kimmy the kitty at my house. Heal-all that clears my lungs: Louisiana hot sauce. Nothin’ like it in the world!
My canvas is my body. I am like Kali = I destroy and re-create, on my face, on my body, in my life.
I am not competing for rank or for men. And I’m not in a hurry.
People tend to seek consistency in their beliefs and perceptions. So what happens when one of our beliefs conflicts with another previously held belief? The term cognitive dissonance is used to describe the feeling of discomfort that results from holding two conflicting beliefs. When there is a discrepancy between beliefs and behaviors, something must change in order to eliminate or reduce the dissonance. (Wikipedia)
I went through a terrible “Re-entry Day” yesterday. After 1 and 1/2 years of travelling (if you count the months I camped in Ojai: three or four last summer and two last spring), I am re-entering sedentary society.
I have experienced this Day-Of-Illness before when I’ve been re-entering sedentary society. I get very sick: nausea, vertigo… It’s as if my mind has to readjust to all the different ways of thinking (and feeling) when I am going from travelling to being settled down. It doesn’t happen when I go from being settled to travelling.
At Aspie Ian Ford’s house in Albuquerque. It’ s really nice, as with Xenia in Denver, being with another Aspie.
Funny guy at Santa Fe train station office: “Can I do anything else to destroy your life?”
Nate, my CS host, told me that in northern New Mexico there are whole families who do heroin together.
Raphael (from Ecuador) in Santa Fe weaving store: he said I’m smart to take government money to live on.
There’s a Native American school in Santa Fe that used to be one of those horrible places that taught students to give up their NA culture. Now, this same place is a school that teaches Native American culture.
At Ian’s; taking bus to NOLA today. It has been a truly transformative experience to be here at Ian’s and hear his thoughts on autism and read his book and be with his family.
James Taylor song talks about true love: they were “glued together, body and soul.”
People hurt others for what SOMEONE ELSE (usually parents) did to them, not because of what these others did to them.
Eating breakfast at IHOP in Texarkana, Arkansas.
Black bus driver took over in Amarillo, and he said to us, “Y’all relax.”
One poor gal was broke, tired and hungry at the Amarillo bus station after being on the bus for “a long time.” They gave her a food voucher for the restaurant in the terminal.
My backpack went on without me. It was under the bus, and we parted ways in Fort Smith, Ark. I have everything I need with me, just my tent is in the pack. The driver said the pack will show up in New Orleans.
Most people don’t realize this but I am a radical. I am not in the least political, so I don’t DO anything radical in that arena. But personally, concerning issues like feminism/women’s rights and Asperger Syndrome and the environment (Sentient Beings), I am totally radical in my opinions/feelings.
I get positive feedback here in Louisiana: “I love people like you,” said the guy serving me chicken in the Greyhound restaurant in S. I was dancing to my iPod while waiting in line. He said I was patient, plus I gave him a tip.
Subcultures like Blacks rely on a high degree of social cohesiveness at the expense of individuality, authenticity, intellectual development, diversity, independence, personal (relating to the self) sensitivity, and so on.
People who don’t hitchhike always seem to think that their town is very friendly and that lots of their locals pick up hitchhikers. In my experience, this is NEVER true. Very few individuals anywhere pick up hitchers. I see the real town; the locals I talk to see their idealized version of their town.
Time alone, like on a long bus trip like this one, gives me respite from other people and from my own weirdnesses (like my projections). I think a lot of my feelings about who others are are just projections of my own feelings. I am susceptible to doing this especially at low times, like when I am tired.
I separate my interpersonal difficulties from the rest of my life. In this way, I manage to have a lot of pleasure.
As Ian Ford told me, it’s hard to get Aspies (and all autistics) to come to a group because we “hide.” I definitely do this. Part of my hiding takes the form of disguise (eg. pretending I’m an NT) and part of it takes the form of misdirection (look over there! [ha ha]).
I am polite, and I pretend to be submissive (as do most Aspies). NTs seem to conduct psychic, inner, mental “conversations” (through body language, etc. AND thoughts?) with others around them. I NEVER do this; I hate it. It’s disturbing, scary, and I don’t understand it. On top of all that, I am often misunderstood and people seem to think I am doing this weird communication thing. This pisses me off, and it upsets me. That really makes me hide.
My hiding often takes a definite physical form. For example, many times I have literally sat for hours with my head turned away from the person whom I perceive (rightly or wrongly [projection?]) to be doing this strange, unfathomable, NT communication style. It’s very uncomfortable but vastly superior to having any interaction with the person-in-question.
I hide so as not to be involved in social interactions that I neither understand nor want to understand or participate in.
I know who I am, and I know what my inner world is about. I want to live in MY inner world, not in someone else’s and certainly not in a group’s conceptual world.
Secret worlds I have penetrated (even a little):
Mysticism/other worlds/alternate realities
Ian said he used to be submissive. Now he tells people what he wants. I am becoming that way, too. He inspires me. Ian said he didn’t used to know how to end conversations with NTs. Now he says some nice words, like “Great talking with you.” They get this.
I would like to have Cesaria Evora (Cape Verde Islands singer, deceased) as a mentor. Can you have a dead person as a mentor? She really inspires me. I like how she always had open house and people could just drop in.
I can tell people I am “quirky” (again, Ian’s words) if I have some odd thing come up with them and I don’t want to get into the whole Asperger thing.
Bottom line–my new mantra: “I love myself!”
To others: Let me BE ME.
God, I am tired of travelling. And so sick of hitchhiking. That was a long trip: Seattle to Albuquerque.
As they say in the bluegrass song, Cripple Creek: “This livin’ on the road is gettin’ really old.” Man, is that ever true for me.
I haven’t really settled down since 1974 when I left Hank. It’s all been about moving. In the last 5-7 years, it’s been about real travelling: pretty constant and international.
I hitched a ride from Gallup to Albuquerque this morning from a Navajo woman named Vergie. She talked about her life and her family, and I mostly listened.
I posted this about her on Facebook:
In a “comment” below the above post, I wrote:
Vergie, my new Navajo friend and driver, also told me that the eagle (and the hawk) is honored and venerated by the Navajo because eagles can see, from way up high, what goes on below them. Eagles are known as protectors in Western astrology; they are one of the phases of the sign of Scorpio: scorpion, eagle, and dove.
Vergie has asked her grandfather to do a Blessing on her new home. She believes in the Traditional Navajo ways and still participates fully in modern life. And she follows much of her grandmother’s advice.
~~Vergie’s “friend” (old boyfriend with whom she is now reunited) has several aunties who are very protective and one gives Vergie a hard time. This auntie seems to watch everything Vergie does and then she reports it (via texting) to her nephew. Vergie said, “Do I have a microchip somewhere in my body? I’m going to have to take a good shit to get rid of it.” Ha ha.
I just posted this, a real statement of SELF:
~~I created that persona of American Traveller-Gypsy based on Judith Okely’s book, The Traveller-Gypsies, based on the English Gypsies. That was an artistic act, a very creative enterprise. I didn’t realize that I did this until very recently. I was just living an interesting life-of-my-own-making.
Almost impossible to get a beer in Gallup. The Navajo street population of drunks is so great that there are armed guards outside liquor stores. They won’t let you in if you walk up to the store; you have to come in a car to buy alcohol.
Vergie and Andy and Stanley and many other Navajo still speak the language and follow Navajo Traditions.
We are all a little broken. Life is partly about fixing the parts of ourselves that are broken. We hurt each other because we are broken. Wish others success in their healing.
What’s broken in me: feeling unloved, unwanted, neglected, invisible, numb, powerless….
I have gotten a lot of confidence from hitchhiking and creating a lifestyle that is an art form. I no longer care about the opinions of people who don’t understand or respect me and what I have accomplished.
Flow with–don’t fight against–the current.
I want to let go of my desires. Then, I will leave the cocoon made up of my needs and desires. I will become a butterfly.
Eternal Soulmates: “We are one, but we’re not the same. We have to carry each other.” (~~from the song ONE)
At night in my dreams, I go to the arms of my Beloved. That is home. At night he is a wild cat, prowling. In the daytime, I am an eagle (or hawk), diving.
At Nate’s in Santa Fe (pop. 70,000, expands by 30,000 or 40,000 in summer). Very nice host. Lovin’ it. So tired from long trip, and Nate’s house is out in the country. Rough and beautiful. And he’s just wonderful: very creative, a theater person, sings and plays guitar, writes plays and songs… Lots of love and fun.
More Vergie wisdom: be quiet when someone is being crazy (in a bad way) or mean. Don’t get mad, just walk away. Leave.
Vergie’s teeth are very bad, by the way; many are missing. She revealed to me that her husband raped her several times (she used the word “rape”) and two of her seven kids were products of his rapes. He is now her ex-husband, and she said she tells him, “Thank you for the children.” She never goes back and gets mad at him about the past. At the same time, Vergie knows that he was not a good husband. He cheated on her (she didn’t get mad, but she remembered…) and he didn’t work (she did).
Wound up at Cowgirl, a very trendy Santa Fe restaurant, for dinner while waiting for Nate yesterday. It’s a definite “Scene,” a place to see-and-be-seen. Probably no place like it in ALL of Alaska. That’s fine with me.
The Cowgirl logo has a sexy, outdoorsy, Tomboy girl on it. Cool. The place was buzzing, just super-=stimulating. They let dogs in.
Two nights ago, I woke half-way from a dream, and a man in a (brown?) suit was walking away from a group. My dreaming-self (soul-Self?) said clearly, “That’s him.” WHO? My Soulmate? I couldn’t see his face.
Yesterday I had good talks with three people here in Santa Fe: Doro who was drawing the vegetables in a local market. She advised me to get colored pencils that you wet with a sponge. They are paint or charcoal pencils.
Then, with Raphael from Ecuador in a weaving store near the central Plaza (where the native people sell their crafts). He told me he was raised very poor and it doesn’t make you less (or more) happy to have more stuff and money. We were discussing Haiti.
My third contact was a native American man who approached me in the public Library here. He blessed me after we talked a little, praying over me while touching me. Very nice. He smelled like marijuana.
Yesterday on Facebook I re-posted a woman’s art work on “Clitoracy.” It’s about giving the clitoris more status and getting to know how to please a woman. I posted several things about it in addition to the post about her show. I felt good after doing this.
I got a couch for tonight in Albuquerque. Tomorrow, I go to Ian’s; he’s the head of the Albuquerque GRASP group.
Bought plane ticket (United) online today: Oct. 25 I fly to Anchorage from NOLA! And I paid my rent for Sept. in New Orleans: $325 to Travis Bird.