Well then. Yesterday happened.
We started very contemplatively, going to mother Miriam. She’s 83 now. Mel has been bringing her cake for years. She has a new temple / shop. The last place got bad juju when an upstairs neighbour did some crazy stuff post Katrina and boiled an ex girlfriend.
Miriam spoke to us for some time and I swear to God she gave us that time back when we were done. We both listened and contributed to a very involved conversation about The Caspian Sea and the nature of immediacy and expectations versus reality. There in her shop, surrounded by all her powerful stuff, time stood still awhile. I’ve never encountered it quite like that. But we left that house the moment we entered it. And I got some Florida Water and some incense that I’m supposed to give to Lou. I asked her to send some good stuff to her. I want the light to be flowing into her life right now.
We went back to The French Quarter, stopped at Napoleon’s House. They built a house as they were gonna bust him out of St Helena with my great great grandpa, but he died before it came to fruition.
The picture ringed is a picture of him post surrender on the Bellerophon. It has my great grandfather and my great great grandfather in it. The original is in The Tate, but we have many copies in the family. It’s nice to see my ancestors on the wall here.
Then the mallort. Never again.
Today we woke up as early as possible with that stuff bleeding out of me, and we went to The House of Dance and Feathers. Madame Minnie showed us round. Another incredible history and testament to positive change through art, these dangerous boys working all year to sew beads onto garments so they can trash talk each other at Mardi Gras looking like vast beautiful shining Gods, in things they have hand sewn over months and months.
The cycle of this city, it sweeps people up. Mardi Gras is barely finished and already everyone is planning the next one, spitballing names for things, testing ideas. This is a place of light and decay hand in hand. “We just keep on living until we can’t no more and when we can’t no more we just … disappear.” That’s Madam Minnie. She’s just had her birthday, she’s older than she looks and she’s still fire. She’s only gonna open the door if she likes you. Mel knows the people, has lived the life, can talk the talk. I’m just in her wake here, and I’m happy with that.
I’m all packed up and checked in, heading to bed, back to blighty tomorrow. Damn. This has been an appropriate unexpected blast. Gathering time again now.
AlBarclay 