The circle of creatives in my city is incestuous. I introduce talented friends only to find they already know each other. What bliss to have a family like this. Such support and love. When we are together, the joy is palpable.
This weekend we found ourselves in the living room of musician friends after their concert. The Bulgarian's drum fell silent and the clarinet and trumpet played together in a quivering duo that had the profound power of a prayer. Candles flickered. It got softer, softer still... We stood around them in a minyan, our breaths stolen by the hushed mystical communication of sound.
Around 3am, I brought our wine and we began a procession into the street. We marched, led by the drums, violin, clarinet, trumpet, dancing in the crosswalk in the middle of the intersection, occasionally stopping on the sidewalk to be gawked at by passing cars slowing to see what was going on. Cubans exchanged rhythms with Bulgarians with Peruvians... We clapped, we danced, we sang, until we found ourselves in a little cave at the park, huddled together, humming meditatively until 6 am. I love my life.
Earlier that night I bit the neck of the Tunisian who coincidentally showed up at the concert. He told me to break up with my boyfriend and that he'd make me couscous. A day earlier I slept with my ex twice and let him cook me dinner before confronting him about his cheating. I enjoyed hearing the fear in his voice when he realized I knew everything. I haven't replied to either of their texts. The female race has grown wiser.
5:35 p.m. - 2012-10-08