| Clothes tastefully mismatched, in the summer dancing close to waves. Remember the years of adolescence, growing up in strange, old Santa Cruz... Californian, bohemian ~ broke was glamorous in those days. I was young and improvised well. Back then, chaos was known as adventure. And for battle, I never turned my gaze the other way. Now... approaching the ripe age of womanhood, my name and identity split further apart. Never in one place for too long... tell me, where is it that I belong? Do not let the armenian duduk fool you, or the drums with rings around its frame. We are the dancers and musicians of the night. It is our role to play the misfits that bedazzle and decieve. If you cannot play your part, you are cast out. For even a gypsy has a home in the caravan of her community. You rip to shreds the fortune of your tarot deck, no longer wish to seduce an audience with a serpentine dance... Then what are you good for, sitting arrogant? Too good for the liquor that keeps our bellies full and our beds warm. You sneer at the use of drugs, our laughing children kissing in the woods. Was there not a time once where you were what you judge as lost? Have you found yourself any more than we have? Saying no to every offer and merit that comes your way. If you are a queen then run back to your kingdom, what have you been doing caravaning with us rogues? We are feral, and we fuck and make love the same. We keep our eyes on you, and make sure you finish before we do. What can a knight do but save you? Or a King, but to take another mistress once he tires of you... You fell for the gypsy life that promised the intensity of being free. But I cannot force feed you, I cannot pack for you - when I come into your decorated room and tell you we are leaving again, heading back home. You want to leave without me, even though your kin are headed back that way. It will be different this time, you say. You want to do it alone. But you don't see, you have been. For ten years... you have been doing it alone. You have no family, no caravan, no performance anymore. You are headed back into the mouth of the carnival that once enchanted you. Back to a colorful town where lovers can be found swimming at night in the sea. Back to the homeless sages that whisper your future when you pass them by on the streets. To the woods and mountains of the West... to the graves of Natives, then Spaniards that lay here to rest. Maybe this time you will enjoy the proximity of the ordinary without demanding resonance from this plight. Gypsy princess, noble and destitute! Have you given up finally, on a gallant knight? |
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