Goodnight, Charlotte

Unannounced, I went busking in my usual spot in uptown Charlotte. The corner of Trade and College streets, in the shadow of the Epicentre, just across from the Ritz. Unannounced because I didn’t want fans and friends turning up. Sorry, gang: I wanted the feel of pulling my own crowd, gathering disinterested souls and entertaining them ‘cold’.

In court earlier this week, the attorney for the other side sneered at my art, my career, and my means of income. Condescending questions were asked about the ‘hidden cash’ I earned ‘regularly’. Snide comments were offered about my character and my life. She was trying to make me upset, I think. Sorry, Babe … performing on the street for so many years thickened my skin, and nobody runs the entertainment hustle like I do in this city. You just made me smile, recalling all the lessons my sidewalk theater taught me. One of those is: don’t get mad at the petty insults hurled by those frustrated by their own inadequacies. Rise above. I did, and I handed you a definitive loss.

I digress. Sorry.

Inspired by the events of the week, I tucked my table under my arm and went to set up shop. The night was crisp, but not unpleasant. I created spectacle. I gathered the people, danced with them, let them fill my hat and sent them off into the night … changed, smiling, happier than when we met. I did good work.

Charlotte is my beloved hometown, and everything I became was birthed here. I love the people, I love the buildings … especially some that have been removed for ‘renovation’ … and I love the feel of this wonderful, shining jewel. I recognize her faults, but I love her anyway. So I gave her, her citizens, and her guests my very best. Especially last evening. I did my card tricks, yes, but I put my art and my heart right out on display and offered pieces for them to take home. Streetlight for spotlight,  passing cars for background music.

We danced.

I stayed for an hour or so; the hats filled, the air rang with gasps, laughter, and applause … and I was once again truly happy in my home. I took the cash I made and gave it to the humans asking for some of it on the way back to my car. Emptied my pockets. My pay was greater than mere money.

So, goodnight. Thank you to the Charlotte streets that shaped me. Thank you to the thousands i had the pleasure to work for. I’m off in search of new horizons, but I will never, ever forget you, Charlotte.

I love you, and I hope there is always love where you are.

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#firstart

preschool

Pots of paint and huge not-quite-white sheets of paper.
Smocks.
Paint flecked hands and faces because ‘some of us are a bit too enthusiastic’.
HA.
(I never changed, you know.)
“… christopher! the sky cannot be GREEN … you arE DOING IT WRONG!”
 
Also I ‘ruined’ the yellow pot by dropping a dollop (ilovethatword) of blue into it so I could MAKE my AWESOME green sky.
 
Still doing it ‘wrong’, I guess. BUT I made you LOOK and I made you BREATHE and I got you to THINK and … raise your voice all you like: it is my calling to transform human beings.

I did not know this at the time, but I have come to embrace the notion..

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Cost

One price I have to pay in my divorce is being without my family on days I hold sacred.
It isn’t just. It isn’t fair.
But.
I’ll use the empty day: there are souls to whom life has been horribly unfair, and I have the means and skill to serve them. 
Food, laughter, astonishment.
Maybe I’ll save a life.
Maybe it will be my own.

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November 18, 2017

I was going to sit this season out. Just let it slide by and focus on other things. Then I was gifted with a ticket, so i put on my armor and went to the final weekend of the Carolina Renaissance Festival. Former home of Hannibal the Liar.

It was odd, being on the other side of the stage, playing the part of a patron. Old cast-mates greeted me with love and hugs, and I was immediately welcome. I saw shows i never got to see as a performer, I saw the first joust I’ve seen in over 3 years. I saw love and joy being dealt right out on the street. I watched a brand-new game get created. I danced a little. I rocked out with the Craic! I turned my face up to the surprisingly warm November sunshine. I was home, even though I wasn’t performing. (That’s kinda alien to me. They loved me without anything other than simple love in return. They just … loved Me. For Me.)

So I’m learning. Perhaps i do have some value. A good friend slightly drunkenly told me how much I meant to her life, her daughter’s life … another told me of how her father, who lives in basic solitude, had heard of me somewhere.

I went to dinner with the Angels, laughed and dished and ate … then came home to continue work on the ‘new thing’. I feel loved. I feel confident. It’s a really good day.

Off topic, but important: The new book is now available on Amazon, both in Paperback and on Kindle.

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My First Book

Across the Table: Tales and Inspirations from a traveling #cardmonkey.

Now available at Lulu.

Thank you for your support, I hope you enjoy it.

h

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A Bar

Musing thoughts on a surrealistic bar. You know … you’ve heard about it.

There are hundreds of ‘guy walks into a bar’ jokes, there’s even a youTube channel dedicated to them. An establishment that could be a real bar. A guy walks in, or a girl (usually blonde), A minister, a priest, and a rabbi, and some humorous exchange takes place.

But where is the surreal bar, and what does it look like? The one where a horse walks in, or a bear, a sandwich, a piece of string. How startling and fun it must be, not to mention Happy Hour!

For me that bar looks the same in every joke: A room of about 20 feet square, the bar itself on the left and a bit too close to the door. Tables are scattered throughout. The barkeep and timeline is around just prior to prohibition, and the clientele is pretty sparse. (Except for the odd crab, sipping his beer in the corner)

What does the bar look like to you? Would you buy the depressed horse a beer?

Best made the observation earlier: Bars are the place you go to drink poison out of fancy glasses. And I’ve justified it in the past because the poison took the edge off the pain, helped me bear the loss. (see what i did there?)

Have I been the weird, persistent piece of string? Not me. I’m a frayed knot.

h

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Musings on a Move

Charlotte. My hometown is green and peaceful. There are tons of memories, and there are people who respect and love me in abundance. I love it, and I find solace there. Like a cemetary.

Los Angeles. Is smelly, and dangerous. It’s full of risks and overwhelming challenges. There are no guarantees, and fewer promises. Its hard. Like life.

Like a new life.

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