I remember the first time I came here. I’d been out in the mountains for a few weeks, tracking coyote on a mesa and worshipping a waterfall goddess. Then I went to Las Vegas and I was like, “woah, people! Cement! City! Yikes!”
And then I came here. It was summer and I drove into town with my windows down, looking at all the people walking around in long pretty skirts and tank tops. They were dancing on the sidewalks! Ah, hippie heaven. A town full of people like me. I came around a corner and the people changed. It was the God Hates Fags people. I recognise them because I wrote a paper about hate one time, and studied the guy extensively. But that day they were God Hates America people, holding signs about how much God hates America and America is going to hell for not killing the gay people and the witches and whoever else needs killing according to their god. I had to stop at a red light, and I was just staring at them, this family that I’d read all about. I recognised the wife from a documentary they did, and she looked up at me and yelled, “GOD HATES AMERICA.”
I was inspired (I was also reading Inga Muscio) and I yelled back, “your god is a son killing, war mongering sadist!!” Which upset a nearby cop and he yelled at me and told me to roll up my window and keep driving, except that the light was red.
Now I’m here again, and it’s still awesome and backwards.
I hung out with Darcy and we smelled and tasted all each others herbs and tinctures and yummy things. Then I met this very awesome cool sex worker who previously existed only in the internet, and we hung out in my van and ate Indian food and she was my call person while I cleaned a house (well, it wasn’t exactly house cleaning and it deserves it’s own post someday). It turned out that she knew one of my ex’s from this festival that they both go to every year. We went to the strip club here, which I dubbed the Strip Club At The End Of The Universe last time I was here. Never before have I seen a club so empty of customers and so full of grown women who you just want to shake and say, “stop sitting with customers for free! Dump your abusive boyfriend! Get outta this bossy club and go someplace where you can make money and they don’t tell you what to do!” It hadn’t changed much. There was one customer. He tried to read me poetry, and I told him I didn’t listen to the poetry of random men who didn’t pay me, which got him all upset so he told me that he won a trophy from the American Society of Poets, which only cost him eighty dollars. Yeah, so did I. When I was twelve. I tried to ignore him and not crush his delicate ego, for the sake of the girls who might someday get some money out of him, tho it seemed unlikely.
Then Darcy and her boyfriend and I went to the best Indian buffet in the whole world, which is right here in this little hippie oasis in the midwest and which I’ve been looking forward to since the last time I was here. Afterwards we picked poplar buds by moonlight and I started oils and a tincture.
This morning the cops came. I was sitting right here in this very spot that I’m in now, in front of Darcy’s house, and he cruised by three times and then came up to me. For a cop, he wasn’t too bad. He didn’t ask for my ID, just asked what I was doing here. He suggested that I make myself look less suspicious by moving often and by having Darcy go door to door telling all her neighbors that I was her friend. I told him I wasn’t that invested in other people’s suspicions, and he was welcome to tell whoever had called himself. He asked for Darcy’s last name and I made my eyes all glassy and stoned looking and said, “dude, she’s, like, Darcy Blue, cause she’s, like, a sea turtle, man, and it makes her blue blue blue like the ocean!”
He rolled his eyes and said, “yes ma’am. Darcy blue like a turtle in the ocean. I’ll pass that on to the next officer in case we get any more calls, ma’am.”