|Trippin' on down
||[Jun. 17th, 2004|02:28 am]
|||||Sha-Na-Na - Those Magic Changes||]|
I decided tonight that I needed a trip down memory lane. Unfortunately, all the obstacles had been removed.
I went to Chimes St. What we referred to as "the street" during our misspent youth. It was where all the freaks congregated. Some years it was violent and angry and mean. Others it was peace, love and bunny rabbits. The one constant was that you would always feel like you were coming home.
That street raised me. It taught me to use my body to my advantage, it taught me to dream big, to smile, to cry, to be myself, to sell my soul for freedom and return it for captivity. It was our refuge from the yuppie hell that most of us actually grew up in. See, the funny thing about the street. Very few of us were really street kids. We were just the black sheep of our families. The artists, the musicians, the tattooed, pierced and outcasts of the oh-so-prevalent white bread upbringing that seems to run rampant in Baton Rouge.
The punks, the goths, the lost, the found, the searching and the teaching. It's gone. Much like "The Fountain" in Birmingham. We've all grown up and gone on to have kids, get jobs, go to school, cut our hair and consider tattoo removal. Perhaps the sub-culture we all basked in is still there, but we're just too grown up to see it now. Anyone for a freak's version of Peter Pan? Tinkerbell, bring me back!!!
The Bayou burned down. It's now Cafe Reggae. The Bayou had been there for years. It was a hole in the wall with 12 pool tables, a small stage and a long bar. It was dirty and I never did feel safe in there. It had a "vibe" that made me feel like someone was always hovering at my back with a knife.
The Library. Oh how I miss it. I was never a bar person, really. It was quiet and had this huge porch and people walking from State St. to Chimes would pass by and you'd end up standing in that alley by the porch all night. It's changed hands three times since I've been there. It's now the Northgate Tavern and seems to be frequented by the frat boys and their girlfriends.
I swung by Louie's Cafe. I wanted something to be the same. We used to sit in Louie's all night drinking coffee till our hands shook. Drawing and writing and loving the waitresses for not taking our last dollar and bringing us hashbrowns. I ordered a cup of coffee. Two creams and a packet of Equal. Well, at least the coffee was the same. No, really....I think it was the same pot I drank from 10 years ago.
I don't know what I was searching for. I knew this place had changed. I knew I wouldn't find any ghosts. All the places they once haunted are long gone.
I think, perhaps, it was more of a soul searching journey. I'm so hell bent right now on figuring out where I fit into this massive puzzle in the universe. There are support groups for the youth that's trying to come out. They have therapists for gender dysphoria. What about me? Who is Holly?
I've spent so much of my life trying to take care of the people that I cared about that I rarely took time to stop and take care of myself. Coming out was just a small step on the path. I know I feel so much more comfortable with who I am, but I still feel a need to explore where I came from. I have a pretty good idea of where I'm heading. I just want to explore the history of my life and make sure I don't stumble in the same places I once did.
Are we not all a sum of all our memories and moments and actions? I know where I stand on so many issues. I know what moves me. Where do I go from here? Do I follow the trail of breadcrumbs? Or is it time to make a new trail?
I think, perhaps, I'm simply trying to lay the past down so that I can get on with the future.
If you read this far, thanks for enduring my babble...I'll leave you with a song.
The little conversation
Was over very soon
And I watch in admiration, from my corner of the room
And they shine on me with starry eyes, and they rain a friendly storm
Like kids around a Christmas tree and then you smile all nice and warm.
These little conversations if I try my very best
You know I never could say anything in 20 words or less.
Somewhere, sometime down the line, someday I may confess and tell you all, that's all.
The little conversation, on me are very rough
They leave me all in pieces, you know there's never time enough
It's like a book with missing pages
A story incomplete
It's like a painting left unfinished
It feels like not enough to eat - Starving
You know these little conversations
Well for me they'll never do
Now what am I supposed to do with broken sentences of you
I'll stay in my corner cause that's all that I can do
Let the others speak for me
Little conversations are we, are we....