limbo: when the aliens descend

there is a state between awakefulness and dreaming. it is unrecognizable when you are in it- the state of full cognition flows right into this limbo without marker. but it seems to me that this limbo might as well be a whole 'nother person taking over my body. invading my skin as my conscious slips from control. maybe it's an alien having fun with a corporal human. or maybe it is a me from an alternate world.

i have often wondered if our dreams are reality some where -- after all, if the multi universe theory is correct , everything that can be is somewhere. why not then our dreams?     if in a dream we can see into another version of ourselves, maybe this limbo is a different kind of blurring between our realities. this would explain why i still feel like me even if i can only vaguely remember what has happened, what i have said and done.

could this also be what happens when we drink? maybe not when we just drink to a state of drunkeness, but when someone's conscious blacks out, when we are still acting and speaking and doing, but not recording any of it. maybe we aren't recording it because a different version of ourselves is recording it.

have you ever stayed up all night? had a sleep over? as a four year old or fourteen or forty four? have you had those late night conversations where you know you are making complete sense and then you wake and your friend or partner or sister laughs and says "you were saying the funniest shit last night!" and you don't remember.

i have long loved to document those moments. well, i love to capture those moments for myself. but if they involve other people they can sometimes be embarrassing or too revealing just as often as they can be good fun.

but alone they are like tapping into some secret. the bulk of my really bad poems in highschool came from mining limbo. i wouldn't be able to sleep, would sit up under my skylight with my journal de jour and scribble away my thoughts. in the morning i would look over what i had written. the last few pages often enough were illegible - even my other selves have atrocious hand writing. but before it trailed off into chicken scratch, there was pure adolescent angst gold.

i don't do this anymore. i don't have the luxury, my days packed going from one thing to the other in my desperate attempt to realize a career of a working artist in nyc. it seems my nights are a delicate balance between struggling to sleep and dropping like a rock. if i tried to write as i sleep, i'd probably keep my mind spinning on endless tracks till dawn breaks.

however, i do take a very long subway to my pinnacle of manhattan. at least late at night i do. and i am becoming adept at thumb typing. which means my itouch is filled with "notes" thumbed out as i force my eyelids open to stave off opportunistic thieves, rapists, and hoboes.   sadly the touch screen keyboard isn't quite as forgiving as my  young penmanship. and the apple provided automatic word correction doesn't always help.

but flipping through those late night subway ramblings, i again wonder- just whose thoughts have been pouring out?  i'd like to meet her.    


ps. if you haven't seen the joe iconis rock and roll jamboree yet, what is wrong with you? don't you get how awesome it is? my sister, katrina rose dideriksen, is a superstar and joe iconis somehow taps my brain. not to mention the awesome stylin' of the rest of the iconis family. seriously. get on the train.

she used to be a classy lady. and then she met me.

in her mother's dress. beautiful.

so the question i've been asking myself since The Wedding is: is blacking out the gods way of giving you a free pass?

yeah, yeah. i know your answer to that one. however, this time (not that i make a habit of this sort of thing) it kinda feels like it was. a little gift from above, saying, you made it here, it's done, you can let go.

i mean, really. i am a damn fine imbiber. i enjoy a cold beer. love a cocktail on the beach. i lust over a perfect bloody mary. i dream of sweating Kilimanjaros in the African twilight. while i don't often go crazy, i have had my share of wild nights all over the world.  so why, on this occasion, with barely 4 drinks over an 8 hour period did i manage to lose an entire evening?

well, let's just say there was a heck of a lot of stress on this wonderful televised weekend.  some i brought with me-- though the "gay hell" :) of my dear friend's first fashion show all night before was not one of those stresses and is a story for another time.-- most i walked into disembarking at LAX.

there are too many awful stories to tell, somehow squashed into 72hr period. and some are not my stories to share. the main lesson though, is tv producers have only one priority and it won't be yours.

the "real" wedding ceremony was beautiful. almost the complete opposite of the wonderful event i last attended. a complete, honest to goodness orthodox ceremony, full of pomp and circumstance.

from the ornate church, to the greek cantor singing, and the careful attention to procedure, my biggest concern was not being struck down for all my wickedness.

not that it was free from the TLC debacle touch. there was a moment of impending catastrophe when one of the TLC photogs  started to cross into the inner alter sanctum that literally no one but the priest is allowed to enter or fear the wrath. i hesitated a moment too long for maria's parents' sanity, for fear of crossing the magical line myself, before reaching in and pulling him to safety.

we had some time after the church ceremony to reach and prepare for the second course. i maybe should have taken a nap in the limo. having pulled an all-nighter, then a very late night with the rehearsal dinner and catching up with long missed UI lovies, a very early morning with the stylists, not to mention jet-lag, a nap--even in my bridesmaid dress--might have helped in the whole let's-remember-this-evening plan.

ah well. hindsight.

instead we took the limo to the cali favorite In & Out. i had half a milk-shake. again, smart? no.

the second location for the day was a mansion high up in the hollywood hills. the guests had a large open lawn to mill around while waiting -endlessly- for the ceremony. the cliff side pool served as the open air alter. guest rooms made for bridal party respite and the wide courtyard made for bar, dinner, and dancing.

on television, i'm told, it looked like a dream. i haven't yet seen it myself.  my outlook on the place, what little i remember, is marred by the series of disasters, from stupid scripted mess-ups, to down right life endangering f*ck ups.

guests hike the mountain after 2nd bus breaks down

it probably would have helped if someone on that production crew had realized prior to the actual event that the mansion was in a cell-phone dead zone and that the crews' walkie-talkies would only work within a few feet range.  maybe some of the mess could have been easily resolved before it affected the rest of the evening.

the "party bus" waits patiently for the firemen to fix things above

but that is seemingly a lot to ask for from TLC. for some of the guests, including our wonderful UI family, the mistakes just added to a fabulous story. but maria and jeff repeatedly begged the crew to get things under control.

i often write here about memory and the creation of reality.

what is more important? what is more true?

is a list of "facts" more real than what we remember? and when the memory fades, polished by time, is that true? if we agree that what we remember to be real is more important than bare fact --"Maria Pallas wed Jeff Dyll on May 8th, 2010"--whose memory wins?

is it lisa's, who brought a calm touchstone in the midst of girly hysteria all weekend? is it mimi's, who overran incompetent caterers from poisoning the bride's family? maybe brent's, whose full bottle of maker's mark was an empty bottle before the over delayed tv ceremony even began?

i hope it is not my fellow bridesmaids', whose drama erupted, melting everything in its path.  surely maria and jeff's parents get some say, though they might not want the paramedics or panic attacks marked for all time.

the "happy" couple's memories should get most weight. and there are lovely pictures of the stunning bride and handsome groom to help cement those memories. though, as my best friend, i would wish away the heartbreak, the frustration, the sobs from maria's truth.

of course my own plays like reel-to-reel, where the projectionist has lost the second case.

not so TLC's "reality." it has been captured, cut, and recombined. it has been smoothed to a glistening 47 minutes of dreamy perfection. where a couple's "wish" to have fantasy only hollywood can provide is maybe the only thing that was really delivered. a fantasy.

twenty years from now, which will remain?

as long as no one shares a certain tape, my guardian something-or-other decided my reality never needs to include a certain speech.

classy ladies always cry.

classier ladies save each other.

solastisi

kilimanjaro. beautiful

i'm freezing today. in africa. ha.
but then again, yesterday was the shortest day of the year here--the winter/summer solstice!
it has been cloudy and hazy, though there hasn't been any rain in nearly three weeks. the roads are as dusty as always. my feet are particularly grim as i haven't made it into the shower during the daylight in a while. by the evening we either are in a "brown out" or have no power at all. during a brown out, the voltage goes up and down erratically and lights, especially florescent bulbs flicker on only a few seconds every 5 minutes or so. the bathroom is pitch black by 730pm. we keep a flashlight by the sink and if i aim it just right, i can get it to reflect off the mirror and give me a tad more glow. it's just enough to show me the difference b/t the shampoo and conditioner. yesterday my itchy legs drove me to the razor-light or no light. luckily i managed without any scarring.