Archive for the holidays Category

under water

Posted in grunge, holidays, insanity, life, Philadelphia, philly with tags , , , , , on February 14, 2008 by staticity

Dear God I just don’t know if I can do it.  I woke up dreaming about a house in the forest with a few other large houses next to it. There were a lot of glass windows and sliders. I was walking around the woods one afternoon when a group of prisoners took me away. I was headed for jail but we were sentenced by guards to cross the mountain.  Coyotes. Guns. Rape. It was terrible and so real. Nic was looking for me, I could tell, but I didn’t know where to find him. The prisoners and I ended up in a big house somewhere remote where a prison guard pulled a giant switch on one of the walls. The entire house was plunged under water.  Somehow I got out and started running back to the house with glass windows.  Days and days later I made it.

The last part of the dream was me looking out the sliding door at night and waiting. I knew they would find me and bring me back, but I had no other place to go and I didn’t want to leave anyway.

I can’t stop crying. This is terrible. It’s valentines day and I want to call my mom, but I know if I do, I’ll end up telling her everything and she’ll get worried and I just wanted so bad to be alright. I wanted to move to Philly and prove that I could hold my own.  I hate myself. I hate every part of me.  I hate my hair. I hate my shoulders. I hate my brain.  I hate everythig. every goddamn last thing.  I don’t think things are going to get better. I thought about ending it. I always fuck that up too. I thought about going home.  I fuck that up too.  There’s nothing left. nothing except a house underwater.

No, Rebecca. Remember the first day was worse.  It was colder. You were sicker. There was less to eat. Now you’ve got to get up. Put on your makeup. Brush your hair. Clean yourself up. I know no  one is home now, and it may feel like you’ve lost your support group, but this is the time to prove that you can be alright.  It’s valentines day. You’re going to make it.

I hope so.

I know so.


New Years Gestapo

Posted in adventure, holidays, insanity, life, New Years, police on January 3, 2008 by staticity

According to Wikipedia:

The Mummers Parade traveled northward on Broad Street in Philadelphia for decades. black face paint was once a traditional part of the parade. Growing dissent from civil rights groups and the offense of the black community led to a 1964 official city policy ruling out blackface.  Because of the large number of clubhouses there, South 2nd Street (Two Street) often serves as a party location after the parade, with the epicenter being South 2nd Street and Mifflin Street. Local residents and others in the area for the parade crowd the local bars, clubhouses and sidewalks, sometimes joining in the unofficial parade. With the parade they spent months preparing for over, the Mummers let loose and celebrate. This multi-block party continues well into the night or early morning, with some Mummers not sleeping for 24 hours straight.


New Years day was the mummers day parade. The Mummers day parade is basically a tradition carried on in Philadelphia which consisted of marching racism. Black painted faces. People dressed as Mexicans. Drunk men and women with their children watching as free bottles of alcohol were distributed from elaborate costumes.

That was only the beginning. Around eleven p.m. Mr. eyebrows, a few others, and I walked down to second street where the after-party was lingering. I figured it might be a group of people drinking and chatting on their stoops. As we approached second street however, we were greeted by several policemen in knee high patent leather boots and shiny leather coats. They were standing in a line in front of thousands of empty beer bottles littered across the street. It was like nothing I had ever seen.

Jesters getting drunk and screaming with Italians everywhere you looked. The perfume of beer was so strong if you weren’t drunk- you might as well have been. Bars were packed on every corner with blasting music that could barely be heard over underagers scarfing down 6 dollar beers. People sold blinking lights and face paint while most people were still in their costumes. The streets glittered with aluminum. Though the police looked strikingly similar to Nazi’s – no move was made to stop what was seemingly a riot of loud, pushing, screaming, Italians, neighbors, women, kids, everyone. Filling streets for miles into the night.

Fire Season

Posted in distant, family, holidays, life, relationships on December 26, 2007 by staticity

There are three types of fires and three types of people one should always be aware of.

The first fire is the kind that’s burning out of control. You’re not sure where it’s going to end up or what damage it could potentially do. You haul the furniture out of the way and make room for this explosion because when it comes, it’s there.  The kind that attracts your eyes so flamboyantly that your body feels it. Bright. Quick. Sharp. Despite the spark that let it begin, there is a madness to it that can’t easily be escaped. It’s an attraction that you might be fooled into thinking will be there forever. You could be having a fine time when all of the sudden you are sucked into something so beautiful that by the time you take your eyes off it, you could be burned up in the commotion.

The second type is one that’s kept in a fire place or wood stove. Little bits of paper are saved up from the Sunday New York Times and stacked neatly in the living room for special occasions. You wait all year for fire weather to begin, and if it’s not quite there by the time you NEED a fire, than you crank the air conditioning or roll down the windows, and light a match anyway. The firewood has been stored in bulk from last year, ‘just incase.’  There are fire pokers, fire prongs, sawdust, wooden stakes, boxes among boxes of matches, and plenty of supervision. This is the kind of fire that takes timing. It takes patience and lots of care. Perhpas you are sitting around drinking cocktails with family or friends while one eye is always watching, ‘just to make sure.’ At night, when you pry yourself away from the glow, you can still hear it crackeling downstairs as if it’s calling to tell you ‘I’ll see you in the a.m. Don’t worry.’

The last type is probably the most quiet. The kind that is decorated in an upscale house with fruit paintings lined ‘just so’ on the mantle. Guests may come in and out and on such an occasion you might need a fire to keep some sort of entertaining image glowing. These are the times of fake logs. The twenty-somethings or the money holders with out experience and patience. It’s the paper kind that you don’t even have to peel off the log before setting a match to flame. They burn for a few hours, it’s a rich glow with out much sound. There’s nothing to it. Ease comes fast and no work is required. As the hours grow longer the fire starts to dwindle. ‘It will last longer’, you think to yourself, but the crackeling was never there to begin with.  When all the guests have left the house, you see yourself rearranging the pictures on the mantle and blowing out the candles. The fire is almost out. You don’t have to pour a bucket of water on it. You don’t have to poke it with a fire stick. You know that there is no sound to tell you it will be there in the morning. It wasn’t really there in the beginning.