Letter to Bourgeois

A Story by Sadashivji

A friend of mine wanted me to write a letter to him describing a party id gone to a few nights prior.

Taji babe,

Hey, how are you my paint covererd friend? How are you sultan of the bourgeois? I gotta tell you a few things. I miss you. Yes, thats the most important, first things first. Ive been living up in this wild house with a meditation teacher, playing things stright, realizing how fucked up i am. Sitting on a cushion everyday and imaging diving neck deep into a p***y. Day in and day out, all of my fixations, you know those little things that so many people define themselves with, they begin to erode and i get the pleasure of peeling back the adhesive and pulling them away to reveal. Latley ive been feeling wild man. I mean really wild. Ive been in this state for a few weeks now where i can barley do anything. Nothing seems to matter. Ive tried it all it seems, and if i havent tried it, the thought of doing it burns out before the act can even play.

But along side of that all of my old tendancies have been flooding back. The strength of my old way has been rushing back. Ive been thinking about heroine and ive been thinking about what im "giving" up in order to do what im doing. Im trying to give up all the bad parts of myself, the parts i considered bad, not the bad things but the compulsivness, the going and going and going and going, the non-stop madness. Ive been trying to give it up, all the while it keeps revisiting me, stronger and stronger everytime. Sitting on the cushion, a wave pours over me, a wave of compulsivness, a wave or distraction, of fixation, i dive in and am pulled away, sometimes, on the days im lucky, i can let the waves hit me, full force and i can sit there, unmoveable and watch those waves crash over me, but not disturbing. Those are the days that make everything im doing worth it. The days when no matter how mad i feel, no matter how insane i act, when those waves pour over me and do not affect the stillness, thats when i know what im doing is right. But since those days are few and far inbetween i have a lot of rough days.

So ive been wating to let loose a bit, ive been wating to see what i could discover in the midst of past actions. Ive been wating to drink and play and see whats hides behind the surface that composure deems so nessasary that i cant allow anyone to see. Boy, i let it rip the other night. My good friend had a party and invited a lot of old friends and i brought some too, and a bottle of sake. I drank, cup after cup after cup of sake and i began to numb, dropping into a state of expression unbound by fears and anxieties. I made a fool out of myself at times but goddamn it felt great. I leaned a few things about myself that im sure a lot of my firends already knew. The most important is that i want to be the center of attention. That realization in the midst of giving into me desire was a hard one to chew and especially hard to swallow. I wanted to spit it on the ground and put my foot over it and hide it under there until everyone left the room, then later, pick it up and look it in the face--which ironically looked exactly like me--and scream and yell at it to let me go, to just leave and never come back, to f**k off and forget it ever knew me. I didnt do any such thing, quite the opposite, i yelled and screamed, i played guitar harder and more passionatley then i have in a long time. I sang from my heart, things that i didnt care if anyone knew, things that needed out, things ive been hiding for a long time. My longing, my fear, my depression, my anxiety, my desire, my hate, my love, my clarity and my cloudiness, my addiction, my want, my inabilty, my self conciousness, my determination. It wouldnt stop, the music was cathartic. The music, it unlocked a door. My roommate, Nandi was with me, and boy when we get together the creation really flows. He feeds me, i dont know how but when we play together whatever comes out is just fine, its perfect, maybe not to onlookers but to us. Were in that moment, free from discernement. There is not good song, there is not right chord, there is only expression. Drink after drink, we finished our bottle and moved to the wine, i started smoking and lost track of time. I wanted to be home by 8:30. I wasnt. After a few hours, that want walked right out the door and didnt leave a note or anything. It slipped out while my eyes where blurred and my speech slurred and my fingers pressing down between the frets.

I said some things i regret. I think. I thought some things i think i said, and those things i regret. If anyone heard. I cant be certain. There was this girl there. I didnt know who she was and frankly it didnt matter. All that mattered was that she was there, and she was beautiful. Id steal a glance and play my f*****g prancing games, then shed slip out of my mind. I didnt really care, my dick cared, my impulsiveness cared, my horneyness cared, but deep down i didnt. And i knew it. But still i thougth foolish things and said some too. She wasnt even on my radar, it could have been anyone the alcohol deemed worthy. All i remember is her legs, long legs and some things about her speech. and her dark hair, and her style. Everything else was, blank, nothing, i dont even know if i talked to her. I drank a bit too much. And it was great. Peeling back, peeling and peeling and peeling and peeling back, the residue sticking, towers of adhesive, i ducked between them and ran down the dark hall, i ran down with my hand raised high, screaming for MA.

Anyways, babe, taji, by brother, my master, my father, my lover, my cousin, and my inspiration, i had a great night. I needed to tell you, i know you'd want to know that i found something in all of this mess. I found my teacher in the midst of this sake sogged trench. She came up and i couldnt keep her down. Though i made some mistakes, Ma remided me she was there, and is everywhere, no matter what state im in, though preferably continuing on in a clearer state, we all dip into delusion, we all dip into forgetting, we all slip into giving up dropping out, we all give in, it the nature of man in his limited condition. And its fine. In fact its perfect. There is nothing to regret, only expereinces to work with. And this night, Ma sprouted up from my heart and her arms reached out my mouth and her eyes looked through mine and her hair grew between the folicles and she walked through my feet and she screamed through my voice and she was there.