Stupid Girls

Monday, July 12, 2004

Dear Judith,

You are reading

Dear Judith,

I think I see you visiting my pages: earthlink, pacific time.

I received the email you sent to my webtv account and I replied.

Last night, I found one in the rriverstone email box. I replied.

I'm sorry you're having SO much trouble with your computer! I TOLD you I prefer WebTV! LOL

And you can buy one for about twenty-five bucks!

Well, as you can see from my blogs, I've undergone a radical transformation again.

I'm back on the radio, where I belong.

I'm back to loving women, where I belong.

I'm back to loving myself, where I belong.

I really missed myself! These days are poignant and tender, as I hold up fragmented memories and try to see my story in them.

I tried to get someone to help me photocopy the Hood Life blog and mail it to you. But the beurocratic traps are so tricky. If I'd been caught, I could have been in real trouble. And so could the person who would have helped me. So I gave it up.

My printer was out of ink, and I didn't know what to do about that for awhile. So I couldn't do it, here.

I'd love to sit and talk for a few hours, in person.

I'd love to bring her to meet you. I know you'd be smitten. I don't really know why EVERYbody isn't, except that she disguises herself to the point of invisibility sometimes, and people just don't see her.

Apparantly, I'm an Elder now. First, young children came to me for assistance, advice, etc. Now, it's young adults: particularly, Queers. They want to know what I know.

I'm always alarmed that nobody else has taught them by now!

What we did, what we learned, what we accomplished thirty years ago: these young people desperately NEED it now! And nobody's making a conscious effort to teach them, apparantly.

I'd hate to see our history disappear. I'd hate to see them have to reinvent the wheel, for another generation.

So, I'm pulling out the old folk songs. I plan to learn them on my autoharp, so I can teach them to the young ones.

And, of course, I'm writing like a madwoman, trying to record my process. It might be useful to them, somehow.

I have a good archive of old: events fliers, underground press, videos, tape recordings, vinyl records....

I can teach them, based on what these artifacts stimulate in my own memory.

So, I'm knitting together these threads into a blanket to warm them.

Radio means life. I can teach, I can explore, I can create, I can record, I can remember. I truly love radio. I'm learning it as well, and as quickly, as I can manage.

It astounds me that, thirty years later, radio is as relevent to the culture as ever. It's still people's companion.

It's so intimate. I really like the idea of talking to people as they go about their lives, chores and errands.

I'm making the best friends I've had since leaving California in '88.

The people who visit my home are intelligent, purposeful, witty, committed, hard working, and funny as hell! Only the best, at my house.

When I lived in the War Zone, I intentionally decided not to allow people into my home. I had to protect my body, my animals, my possessions and my work from unpredictability and predation.

Now, the door is open. People know how to undo the elaborate latches on my gates. They come in whenever they choose. The "bad guys" can't figure out how to get in. Besides, my pit bull dog, Porkchop, scares them to death. But he LOVES my visitors!

So, here I am, at the end of my life, beginning my life.

It's a peaceful, happy time for me.

I miss you.

I thank you for your support and friendship.

Too seldom in this half-mad life do we connect with Genuine People. You're one of those, and have been for me, since I was eighteen years old. I'm forty-eight now.

In spite of everything we've done to each other, you are a lifelong friend.

And I'm grateful.