The above is from Les Miserables, on emut�s. Vs. Insurrections. Which was on my mind to-day, but more I was thinking about a girl I know, who is my best friend in the same way that I'm related to my parents. More so, because she raised me practically. She is a princess who, kind of like Louis IV, had to be a queen out of the cradle.

I came across a thing she wrote in one of my notebooks today while we were watching Sacramento band Seven Seconds at Cesar Chavez park one time. She was thinking about angels and stakeboarders and Kevin Seconds and L and her father and watching me write.

I miss her. I think it's telling that instead of dating someone like my mom or my dad, the person I'm seeing right now reminds me most of Babs. She's the one who taught me that anyone could do anything, that you're better than what other people think of you, and that pot can be nice. She taught me that there was a place for someone as rediculous as me, and that there was even a chance someone might find me important to life. Babbit is a roly-pory fairy queen, the goddess of cool, and also of pain and fear and insecurity and trust. No matter how much intolerable shit she ran into-- and Babs attracts it-- she managed to kick it's nazi ass.

I never wanted to be Babbit when I grew up, but I wanted that ability to brush off and keep right on trucking.

I want to play scrabble and walk the streets I keep seeing in my head like they were right here. I keep thinking, "boy, I've got to go to the bookstore" but I see Time-Tested instead of the numerous ones around here. I think I even said we ought to go there to Fox. And I keep thinking about capitol garage and New Hel and the Capitol rose gardens and most of all, old Sac. K street mall. The Crest theatre.

I want to play scrabble and free associate at Eppies, which is still the first place I thought of when asked 'where's someplace we can eat that's 24 hour?'. We went there so Babs could smoke. We went there when we were so unbelievably stoned that I ate a bacon swiss burger and a whole plate of fries and was still hungry.

Percy is the sweetest thing. He's curled up on my sweatshirt asleep. This is the warmest room in the house.

I had so much to say. About work and snow and concealed weapons and more about Babs and about kittens and barricades and multiple personalities and just everything. About gypsies who marry SS officers, and boys who fly planes into banks.

About such exceptional times as these.

But ah! Fox is home. Sh'lom.

<<agé chose>>

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