They were shooting porn in the dining room, so I had to try and stay quiet. But this wasn’t your Grand Daddy’s porn, this was S & M so there was a whole lot of hootin’ and hollerin’ going on . . . not really to my taste but I was a vagabond, traveling across the country, The Gypsy Andini Autumn Tour ’09, and for now this was my home.
I had left California almost a year to the day before, tail between legs, fancy house gone, heart shattered, brain more than a little dented but I wasn’t built for safety and it was my nature to dangle off some psychological edge, peering into dark caves where others wouldn’t, or couldn’t, go. Outlaws, porn stars, witches and goblins and all manner of artistic broken souls have followed me, crossed my path like a black cat in the moon light but this time I was Lazarus, rising from the dead, and there were envelopes a plenty to push, dark paths to walk, angels following my every move. A wizard – such was my rep with those who knew me best, a high wire act with a fancy cauldron and the power to see what others could not.
My life kind of makes bad fiction, so many twists and turns, hats a plenty, high speed crashes, miraculous escapes, a Houdini of the soul . . . there was no road map when I started, just a vague impulse an inner push and the ability somehow to stay calm while the house burned. I have accomplished tremendous things, had “peak” experiences by the score, mystical highs too high to even imagine possible, lows so low one couldn’t believe morning would ever come. I had walked to my own cosmic drum beat . . . paid my toll – but the post cards were beautiful.
This is a look back at that journey. Truly, I’m not like the other boys. My story is different, as, most assuredly, I am different . . . girls by the hundreds, trophies and plaques and countless pats on the head yet there have been so many tears, so many broken hearts; broken bones and bitter bitter disappointments piled along the side of the highway, baking beneath a grieving Sun. I have been Icarus, flying towards the Father and yes sometimes my wings have melted. I have been Prometheus, giving secrets away, chained for my sins; Orpheus singing my song, my lyre spun like gold in to the tips of my aching fingers.
But I have survived, lived to tell the tale . . . Karmic Outlaw
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