So, one gray hair says to the other...

In 57 hours it will be the day of my birth.
Another year has come and gone. This last one with a renewed sense of purpose.
To sink or to swim.
Undoubtedly with sharks.

How many back Birthdays can you remember?
I gauge my troubled memory by thinking of what significant other I was sharing my time with. What kind of cake I had. Who was my company. And what dive bar I was in.

Every year seems shorter and shorter than the one before.
Either I'm busier every year, or my memory is getting spotty.
And I make no apologies for not remembering people who I've met a thousand times. The ones that leave an impression are golden.

I know I'm maturing when I see gray hairs in my nose.
That's nature telling you soon you'll either become a legend or be completely forgotten in time.
There's no in-between for me.

I wish the gray would stay on my head.
Coarse, silvery, thick and sometimes kinky.
They're lovely up on top. and different. Every one has its own story.
I snuck on the train hoping not to get caught.
I don't have all the rent money this month.
My body is in ill health and I have no insurance.
Every one is a result of an experience.
I can't wait until my entire head is covered. The whiter and more wirey the better.

Sometimes I read under very low light, wishing my eyes would go bad so that I could wear glasses. So I could squint when I read in public, only to open up my glasses case, pull out my chamois swatch and clean and carress the glass lenses before putting them upon my face.

I think I am in love with the process of getting old.
I find myself napping alot, reading alot of books I deemed "uncool" when I was young, and enjoying the simple comforts of a well cushioned cabseat and a cashmere cardigan.

Making a cup of tea, has never been more gratifying.
Scooping the loose leaves into a stainless steel strainer, finding the right thickness of a tea cup so that it enhances the experience of the first sip when your lips touch the warmth of the cup and the hot of the tea.
Finding the right combination of steep time, milkfat, and tea leaf.

I find myself more and more in comfort shoppes rather than clothing shoppes. Looking tirelessly at thread counts and pillow tags. Relentless in my pursuit of the perfect ingredients.
Contrary to popular belief, the higher the thread count, the coarser the sheet, not the softer the sheet.
400 TC is just about right. Anymore, and your sleeping with a oversized sheet of starched sandpaper.

But what I love the best is coming to the realization that I simply don't give a shit about having to prove myself to anyone. I've never been accepted by the majority and I've never wanted to be. I always felt comfort in knowing that the majority sucks and that the minority is always the cool one since they've had to fight to survive.

Looking over hundreds and hundreds of photographs from the past 15 years of my life of hosting events and parties, bearing witness to the happy expressions of all the drunk and cockeyed people in the pictures, that I used to know, makes me feel that I have contributed something to society. At least a few dozen memorable nausea inducing hangovers, I would hope.

At least a momentary sanctuary. A slice of time where bliss was experienced.
Now just a faded memory, attached to a slight chuckle.

Getting old is fun.
I can be crabby and a bitch for no reason.
and that is accepted.

I've lived through the best years that this society had to offer and I'm content and done.
There is nothing more for my satisfaction, other than knowing that I inspired someone to do something.

There is no more hope left, other than what we find in an addiction. In a bottle. In a pack of smokes. In a schoolgirl crush.
A momentary ecstasy. Not forgotten.

The world is now geared for the young. And the very old up at the top holding the strings. Anyone in between must find satisfaction in the little things, as we have no real power of positive change anymore.
I find interest only in events and experiences that celebrate the past. The new is not for me.

I find satisfaction in my solitude. I am proudly alone in my world.
There will be a time where I will come out of my cave, perched atop the mountain and look down upon the people and say to myself, "I, too, was once one of them, but then I cut my strings with my teeth..."




UPDATE (Oct. 8th)
So last nite we celebrated my 54th Birthday. My peers took me to The Magic Castle, for Dinner and a few Magic Shows. Here are a few pictures leaving the studio and then at the end of the nite since they don't allow pictures inside the actual Castle.

Leaving the Photo studio on route to the castle.


With my peers, chums and immortal brood. At the end of the night.


With Lily, and the car.

I love to live in squalor.