Crazy Goodfonuthin

I think about writing every day but it has been a while.

The wind that blows now is one of sense, but it carries under my feet and I feel like I can leave simply by thinking of it. I have the odd urge to hide, an urge which caused me to take over an hour in removing my coat and scarf in the Middle Ground yesterday. I hid in the corner with my book as protection, and even when dancing, the book came along. Until Elbow and Textboy and Moonface appeared and then I relaxed a bit.

I was chatting to an Estonian man who was like a black giant. True Caucasians have beautiful cheekbones and mouths and skulls. My father always says the I look at people like I'm a doctor, which is kind of true as often I try and imagine people's skulls. Imagine my delight then, to discover an exhibition of holographic images in Mexico City, which flicked between people's faces and their corresponding skull. I have a skull like a cat. Because I am of such mixed origin I often wonder which race I most resemble. My sister is definately germanic, as is my father despite his colouring, and my mother is hispanic looking. But I wonder what I look like? Lately I have had a lot of polish people approach me, which is apparently a compliment because, as one lad put it "All Polish birds are rides!" How unfortunate then that I don't resemble a Pole.

I have spoken of Seventeen before. He is actually 18 now, but I always think of him as 17, not because he is immature, but for reasons that will become clear shortly (I hope). Seventeen and I met after a gig I did with my band. It was a big gig for us and afterwards we came into the band lounge delighted and exhilerated. I perched on a seat looking across at the neon sign across the road contemplating smoking, and discovered a slight, dark scraggly-haired youth sitting beside me. I knew he was young, but he carried himself comepletely on his own. I recognise that person. This boy was like me.

I grew up being allowed to do pretty much as I wanted. Once when my mother smacked me (I was about 3), I told her to treat me like any other human being and tell me what I'd done, and not smack me. I remember her look of surprise, and fair play to her, she never hit me again.

When I reached 14, I was beyond controlling. My father met me one night in a pub and said exasperatedly "I don't know what to do! Should I be your father or your friend?!" Taking him for granted completely, I answered, "My friend of course!"

At 15 I would phone home to let my parents know I was not coming home for the night. "But you've school tomorrow! Come home right now!" they would yell. But I didn't. "You'll be in big trouble!" only served to make me refuse to return until they calmed down. Shouting over the phone made me hang up. When asked if I smoked or took drugs, I would cock my head to one side and answer "YES". Cold and thoughtful.

Seventeen has grown up in complete charge of himself. He knows who he is. He gets patronised a lot and tried not to get annoyed, but sometimes worries if he is being arrogant thinking he knows what he's doing. He is intelligent and funny and doesn't suffer fools gladly. He is insecure and hard-working.

One day last week he was telling me and a friend about how he had never slept with a woman as women inevitably became friends. But he had slept with men, despite the fact it seems, that he doesn't really like it. Then he nodded hard once and grimaced saying "I know. I don't look like a candy boy - everyone says that." He was explaining honestly how he wanted to be with a woman but it never worked out as he didn't want to push any girlfriends he'd had, but stopped after a few sentences and said "Oh fuck it - I'm probably over-analysing it, but it's so damned confusing! I just worry about it, that's all - it'll work out some day."

I could see he was feeling a bit insecure at having displayed his weakness to us, as though we might feel he was begging. I wanted him to know that I was certain it was no reflection on how attractive he was, as he is very attractive. I came out with one of my usual clangers, which made the other girl laugh really hard - I told him that if I thought it would help I would invite him home with me. That threw him, and I was genuinely amused when he said "Yes...no...yes...no....yes..." I reminded him that it would NOT be a good idea and I think he was relieved. I know myself well enough to know that I do like this guy and am far too demanding. Besides, I would crush him.

But in any case, it turns out that he is working in the bar that I am due to start in. And not only that but I have met him 5 out of the last 6 nights by chance, out on the town. I leave him do his own thing, and he me, but at the end of each night we have a nice chat.

Last night he was also very agitated, by which time I'd cleared up a bit. He started talking about his insecurities and without trying to be pushy I said I might understand where he's coming from, having also been the youngest in my peer group for ages but not the stupidest. He was relieved, and opened up a bit more. I like being able to connect and although last night our conversation was broken up by other happenings, I hope to resume it soon. He's a pet.

Tonight I go to visit Earnest and make some music. Kaptain Kat is a lot better and going crackers cos I still have to keep him inside and he's hating it. I'm reading a children's book at the moment called "Lirael", which I bought for my brother. I bought him the first one in the series as well. I really like it - it's about walking in death and seeing. I love Dianna Wynne Jones books as well, as they too feel tangible. I think in order to curtail myself I need to have one foot here and one foot in another place, because it keeps my mind occupied and stops me from putting constraints on my world. The word constraint in Irish is beautiful - SRIAN (pronounced Shree-ahn)....you can hear the woven silk bind your wrists....