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My legs, this past Saturday.

It might have been the grossest f*ckin’ weekend I’ve yet to experience in New York this summer, as I was out of town the last time I heard we had a hot spell and therefore, a pretty gross weekend. Although those thunderstorms yesterday were pretty damn cool and extremely intense, and nothing like I’ve seen in years, until the rain literally came pouring down, it was hard to want to motivate to do anything. Still somehow we managed to get out and do.

Saturday, a group of us got to hear the master, Timothy “Speed” Levitch recite his verbage about this great city. He took us on a tour of Washington Square Park and we ended at a nice cowgirl type establishment in the West Village. It was strange, none of us were tourists, yet because we walked in a large group, with a tour guide, everyone assumed that we were. It was the first time I’ve ever been called a tourist in the city that I’ve called home - on and off - for the past eight years. It gave me a whole new perspective on living in New York.

But let’s get back to the storm…When my boy (I like to use that term as it makes me feel all manly and stuff) and I were walking down his block last night, we were greeted by a big mess of tree that had been significantly destroyed by the heavy wind and rain. In all actuality, it was probably hit by lightning and that’s why it was damaged, and in it’s few moments of struggle, it uprooted an electrical pole down the block (the wires of the pole and the tree were somehow tangled). It was insane and beautiful and made me fully appreciate the power of nature, something that Joseph Campbell would say human beings don’t necessarily know how to appreciate.

But there are lots of things I don’t know how to fully appreciate. One of them is being my relationship. The boy and I are currently still in “Deep Space Nine” the time, around nine months, where you re-evaluate space as an issue. And because of me it’s still an issue. We talked a lot about space during the hot humidity of the weekend. But I’m going to make a change, as Michael Jackson would say, only mine won’t involve little boys and a bed.

But it will be involved. At least in my mind. Cause I’m not only a thinker, I’m a brinker..a word I’ve made up about living on the brink of whatever. Today it might be the brink of sanity. Although some might argue I’ve fallen over that edge a long time ago…