October 6, 2007My phone rings a lot and I don't always answer it but Solar is one person I always answer for. We're fellow ponderers of the great mystery of life... and how to get through it... preferably with some wisdom, a wise crack and a smile. This chick is a trooper, she charges ahead and counts casulties later. I'm grateful to know you, girl. You're a gift to this world. XO
i am wim wender's fallen angel. his femme fatale. i am the source. i am a lover to the core. i have a tendency to sexualize everything because it feels real that way. even eating cereal. i have no singular identity. i am the exquisite culmination of my communities, my tribes. my perspective is intact. my belief systems are as fluid as my breath. i believe i will travel through space. no hippie, in a spaceship. technology turns me on. song, laughter and love are where it's at. i care because you do. i skydive because i am afraid. the suffering i have endured has given me wisdom, strength, compassion, understanding, cynicism, humor in ways for which i could never have written a script. when you look into my eyes, you will understand what it means to be home. i am in love with everything everywhere all of the time.
• • •
where i come from, we wake up to white skies and press our ears to the radio praying for frozen roads and hot chocolate rewards. we see a ring around the moon and smell november's end. little feet prints get smeared under angels in gortex and we flap and fly as our breath silently dissipates into steel blue canopies. where i come from, the arms of pine are plush luscious dripping with symphony they carry the weight of my misunderstood youth. aural backdrops of how soon is now straight to hell bring the noise mind bombs. i am the son and the heir. each eve died behind your lids alone. cerebral novels of john hughes relationship fantasies writing themselves over and over in your exquisite little unleashed potential. now was not soon enough.
i was the great unknown. i was the master of observance and projection. i was the solution to your dilemma. i was the one who understood. i was defining cool and building landscapes into which i would sail. i was stealing plutonium for my rocketship breaking though sound barrier and judgement and kissing io and cassiopia. i will be dancing on saturn with a comet in one hand an unlimited use wormhole pass in the other. i will be sleeping in the creases of timefolds with dimension overlap comforters and supernova nightlights. i will be fluent in mandarin italian hebrew, the mortar of babel. i will teach you how to let go and be love. i will take you through solar systems beyond systems beyond borders and boundaries, dress sizes and magazine covers, you and me. i will show you the way home.
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I can't remember how we met. Or why. He thought I was a narc at first. It took a while before he realized I was just some crazy chick connecting with him through cyberspace. Paranoid and angry, but bright and tuned in. He seemed to trust no one and had little reason to. I could fucking kill all the assholes in his life that fucked with him when he was a kid. And we wrote a lot before his time in Kandahar and during. He was an embedded journalist there. He said the craziest things to me and for some reason, we kept writing each other.Fri, April 17, 2009 - 11:47 PM permalink - 2 comments
That year, May 2006, he sent me a birthday gift from Kandahar (even though my birthday wasn't until January). He had printed out everything we had ever written. Then he took an Afghanistan pizza box, cut out 2 pieces of cardboard from it and bound the cardboard and writings with heavy grade wire. He covered the barbed wire with clear plastic tape and then he stuck it in the mail. Just like that. No box, no wrapping, no nothing. It arrived intact, grease-stained and all. Fucking awesome.
I started packing for NY a few days ago and came across this book. It's scary, because its contents are insanely personal and probably incriminating in many ways and it was shipped internationally. Yesterday I started reading through it again, laughing at how fucking nuts both of us were, in some ways totally different and in some lonely and sad ways, the same. I saw him log on to IM for a minute and was going to say, "No way! I was just looking at our book!" But I didn't. Instead, I cruised his website briefly, stopping momentarily on his art to wonder if people really appreciated how fucking awesome his portraits are. This was YESTERDAY.
For the last few hours, I've been packing a box, filling it with books, trying to fit Shooter's gift somehow without the barbed wire cutting anything. Like a nightmare round of tetris. Procrastinating, I jumped on twitter simply to read, Caleb "Shooter" Schaber, R.I.P. I called the poster to verify if it was true. This was 2 hours ago. I am sad to say it is.
Now I sit here with this fucking awesome book on my lap. This fucked up three-month window into the lives of two crazy people craving substance. Wondering why I would be struggling with this book for 2 days. How weird is that??? Horrified at how Shooter must have been feeling.
I don't pretend to truly know him. His joy, his demons. Our lives overlapped in this way for only a brief period. Occasionally over the years, we would catch up though instant message. But it matters to me. Tremendously. And I still can't figure out how to make a dent in the eradication of suffering. Fuck.
I'm so sorry for anyone that loved him.
I'm so sad that life just keeps happening.
We matter so little. We become memories.
We become dust.
Shooter and I sent each other music sometimes and Mazzy Star's "Into Dust" seemed to be our anthem.
We would meet eventually in the days leading up to Burning Man and of course on the playa.
Typed out and taped onto the front cover of the pizza box was this poem:
Insane Kid's Story Book
You are warm
like whispering syrup
arms of golden snakes
smell of many caves.
I drink and I sink
Tumble over head
In shivery warmth
At ease in your
Wicked and wonderful
I can explain to no
The summertime aura
Of cherry blossom wine
of man made sun.
Shooter may have been many things
but let it be known he was also a poet and an artist.
If you want to rest, then rest in peace.
If you want to fly, then fucking fly in peace.
Either way, Shooter, I hope you finally have some peace.
September 6, 2007.::To The Solar Light that fills the eyes with flight and a new home, through warmth, wisdom and a solid foundation. The leader and listener. The mother tone. Thank you for your love, time and prescence, it was delicious and quite soothing. It has been a while since we have crossed paths, and I am happy to have found the steps of its action once again. You are a lovely creature, I hope your burn was radical. To the burning of ALL bridges!!!
Namaste' Love, Karalyn::.
May 14, 2007From what I've gotten to know so far, a perfect blending of all things. Kind, humble, bright, fun, and unforgettable.
August 23, 2005The tiny rays of light shined through the window, covered in aluminum foil. Somewhere in a crack house in Tucson the first rays of Solar crossed my path. Quickly, I was over taken by a sexualized worship of this sun. Days and nights passed, sun burns over come, and we met. She is still a mystery to me, but holds much promise in my future. Testimonial is a word that comes from the Latin Testes, which was what the Roman's have you do, one hand your balls when you talk. You know, they didn't believe in the Bible. So this Solar testimonial is one that is not complete, but she is real, running hard, and a bizarre word smith with global experience. If you are lucky, she might smile some light on you. Two strangers turning into dust, under your fate.
January 23, 2005On Looking Up By Chance At The Constellations
by Robert Frost.
You'll wait a long, long time for anything much
To happen in heaven beyond the floats of cloud
And the Northern Lights that run like tingling nerves.
The sun and moon get crossed, but they never touch,
Nor strike out fire from each other nor crash out loud.
The planets seem to interfere in their curves
But nothing ever happens, no harm is done.
We may as well go patiently on with our life,
And look elsewhere than to stars and moon and sun
For the shocks and changes we need to keep us sane.
It is true the longest drouth will end in rain,
The longest peace in China will end in strife.
Still it wouldn't reward the watcher to stay awake
In hopes of seeing the calm of heaven break
On his particular time and personal sight.
That calm seems certainly safe to last to-night.
December 19, 2004oh my favorite vixen, will we EVER break free from this internet cage? the r e a l world is just on the other side...
September 20, 2004solar is the kinda person that is always nice to run into....and its true shes serious on the word play...
July 6, 2004Solar is my heroine and my heroin.
June 21, 2004she is from a faraway place where faraway things happen. and that is comforting. i think if she is a color, it is red. one day i will live up to my promise to send her a package. but that is not today.
May 4, 2004solar's the first person i've met from tribe and this in china :) she's absolutely amazing and i'm glad i ever signed up to tribe to be able to meet a wonderful lady like this! Smart, insightful and beautiful inside/out! Power to you sweety!