I’ve been sleeping a crazy amount – I haven’t slept so much since I was on Seroquel, or maybe Geodon, though I would be awake all night with that one.I don’t know if it’s sadness, or a sense of “now what”, or my body just crashing after having to respond to the erratic, round the clock sleep patterns of someone with senior dementia. It’s still strange to come and go as I please, to not juggle schedules with my Dad watching her or have to hurry back, though being out too long gets overwhelming. Eric and I have been out twice, once to the Underground reading salon Lydia Lunch was holding at an absurdly posh hotel downtown. And once to a Pagan street festival on Astor Place, partly to walk around and partly to sit at the Temple of Thelema booth a while.
The talk of this particular festival, however, were a group of fundamentalist Christians who decided to show up and protest it. They stayed relegated to their little corner, harassing anyone who got within earshot while disinterested cops leaned against their squad cars making sure no one escalated it beyond that. What did happen though, is that someone produced a bucket of multicolored street chalk, and a bunch of us began to create occult themed art to cover the street between the police and the protesters. And of course THAT I was in on!
Even though I’m not known for backing down from a fight or an argument, there was something very exhilarating about responding to these people’s vitriol not by arguing back at them but by simply making art right under their noses. Don’t hate, create. When all the chalk had been worn down to nubs I stood up to return to our booth and overheard an exchange between one of the fundamentalists and someone who had decided to argue with them.
“These people are all deeply miserable” said the Christian.
“What?” I interjected. “I just got to make art on the sidewalk in front of you guys AND the cops! ¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡ COÑO I AM FUCKING OVER THE MOON!!!!!!!!!”