Yesterday, I marched in a parade, carrying a giant white flag, waving it through the air back and forth, parading through Bushwick. It was really lovely to have this giant thing that could be set to such great motions by just the air and the force of my arms on the pole, the white stream making figure eights, circles, and looping right over the roofs of cars going in the opposite direction. Afterward, I got stoned and masturbated and rode a bike and those moments were also absurdly magical, powerful, affecting. Then I went to the piers for a sunset picnic for Nathan's birthday, got stoned on the way there, drank some beer there. There was a jerkoff session at Dugout with a friend, a stranger, and friends watching.
This white flag, symbol of surrender, felt so amazing to hold as it streamed through the air. Though I was holding the pole that this thing in fancy flight was attached to, somehow I felt the thing also, the freedom of movement and its pleasures, and throughout the night, throughout all these nights, this life of mine, that is what I have been chasing, that surrender, that freedom, that movement hinting that there might be rhythm, maybe even grace, to the way things work.
This photo care of Joe: