The Traveling Bonfires
Rock Journeys and Sublime Madnesses

THE TRAVELING BONFIRES / VAGRANT WIND, Leg 5 (sort of) June 30-July 5. West Virginia, Alexandria VA, Washington DC. IT HAS BEEN a week since my poignantly disturbing, eerily fascinating visit at the Rainbow Gathering somewhere in the Shenandoahs, deep in the woods of West Virginia. Just a couple of days since I got back here in Asheville NC—the world news ripped through me like a numbing slug of angry steel. Scores dead in bombing attacks in London. Two extremes of human condition incessantly counterpoint, cut through in my head – almost in-trance physical bodies dancing around a bonfire, dancing for love and peace bloodied faces and anatomy on lifeless stretchers being carried to safety. The chant of ecstatic, physical peace the cry of unmitigated pain and human sorrow. Weed of peace, smokes of war. But how do we keep the love dance, the peace hug from sustaining the aura, the mantra that may infect a universal vibe of joy and justice? How do we stop the bombs from falling, how do we keep the rage from claiming one more life? A day in the life? An early-morning deadline’s entry as we sip the best coffee in town, “I heard the news today, oh boy ” What was it all about? Did “love and peace” take a breather, a weekend holiday in a West Virginia backwoods; did “war and hate” visit the city, bringing with it, human devastation, on its layover? Meanwhile. Hurricane Dennis makes his way to the glade and onto the limbs and hearts of the human condition. War or peace—when Mother Nature visits, we take heed. Can we activists stop the wind, can the G8 halt the thunders? www RUMINATIONS in West Virginia I thought out loud a “rainbow gathering” happens in many little islands in little countries in little cultures, every day, every minute, outside the great first-world empire of tax payments, government permits, insurance accounts, and fossil-fuel tickets to the forest. It’s no big deal. A “rainbow” vibe—dancing around the fire, foods shared, hugs and handshakes and smiles distributed and nurtured like poems and songs sung by a gleeful collective throng. Nothing heavy. It wasn’t a special day-off the jungles, not a preplanned chill-out time to the forest, not a tent-and-sleeping bag foray during summer—“rainbow” convergences is translated as “community,” translated as “life” in some faraway land thousands of miles from the backwoods of West Virginia. It’s a day-to-day life. No one even talks about it, or write about it. Meantime, gunfires slash through the night, bombs pierce on 7-year-old flesh, hunger and poverty sweep like thunderstorm. Like “rainbow gatherings,” these unfortunately also happen in staggering frequency in some little cities and villages in little countries in little cultures—somewhere where CNN and global media choose not to notice. In those hidden jungles where souls pray a-front a wooden idol, where the rain means harvest, and a journey means footwalks towards a long and winding road. In those places and communities where the people look and act and behave so different from us in those jungles and forests and islands where they eat dogs and cats, and women don’t cover their breasts, and people don’t know what “organic” and “vegan” means, and families stay together most times of the day—we see joy in their eyes and music in their laughters How do we sustain the little-island dance and the first-world drumming? How do we link them up and produce a global mantra that may stop the little-village bombing and the first-world terrorist tragedies? Last Friday—for two consecutive Fridays—I witnessed hundreds of jovial, hyper, cheerful, beautiful bodies undulating to the musical heartbeat of downtown Asheville’s drum circle. Why do they dance? What happens after 10pm when the dancing and drumming stop—as each of us head home or head somewhere where no one sees us? A long time ago, in the mountains of the Cordilleras where I grew up, village souls dance during rice/palay sowing season, a dance-prayer for rain commences like a breakfast ritual. They gather around a bonfire, they sing and they dance, then they sit and talk about how to stop the bombs from falling and the hunger to stop by protecting the earth that feed them. A few years ago, I stayed in a Cherokee village in Tahlequah in Oklahoma—in gentle, strong words, I was told, “Are you going to write the spirit, publish them for a corporate ad? Or are you going to return to the spirit and live with us with your beautiful words on paper, my son? Your body is your home and your church, and this spirit that I hand to you is the force that will make you write the spirit You will always be welcome” As I sunk in my floor-bed in 70 Woodfin Place, I asked, “Why does a peaceful dance of love should be equaled by a destructive act of terror?” I need to find the answer to that But I remember as I lay my tired body down on that cold earth in that forest idyll as I watched the dancing by a bonfire—I felt a distant ache of indifference. I tell myself, we can do that everyday, we can chant the mantra every minute, we can praise the Blue Sky Goddess every hour—do we have to check the oil to the car, do we have to work 25 hours in a day to fund a trip to the woods, do we have to look at this as a “reality TV” fare? I wouldn’t be surprised if one day, the day-to-day life of a young Michigan man caught in the Iraqi war becomes a reality TV blockbuster, and we wouldn’t even notice or understand the misery within because we are all busy working day jobs and that, that TV gig, is just a way to ease the wearied bones and mind What if there are no vehicles lining down on long stretches towards the entrance to the rainbow gathering? Would that mean that these beautiful souls will walk to the woods or cancel the trip—would they still start a fire and dance, cant we all do this in our own community, in our own backyard? Why do we have to travel, why do we have to “prepare”? What if the firedance means a good harvest and food at the table, and not a “way to shake the work-weary anatomies?” What if a morning sharing of songs by a circle means a collective stand toward a real, safe houses for those who don’t have them? What if a “rainbow gathering,” a “drum circle,” a “bonfires for peace” actually means the continuance of the life of the village, the nurturing of the heart of the community? What if all these aren’t just occasions, events, festivals, and spectacles to save credit card money from and a weekend in all our 365 days? The Blue Sky God/dess has a way at telling us to wake up and do something to stop the pain. But are we listening? Am I listening? A long time ago, in a remote in village in India, I left my friends as they meditated in the woods, they meditated no end, believing the meditation will stop the war. I left them to go back to the city and continue a young journalist career—as a genocidal dictatorship continued to claim more lives and make more people hungry. Many of my friends perished, some joined the status quo, I survived two near-death experiences but here I am, still dreaming. I ask myself how many researches and data have we done to alleviate the pain? How many college degrees have we consumed money and time on—so we could possibly understand the human condition? How many millions of funding have we consumed in twenty years to help save this earth? How many rock stars gathered in baseball fields and concert halls so they could infect the vibe? But look at “Brother Sun and Sister Moon and Mother Nature”—they have deteriorated in staggering, stunning, monstrous proportions in just less than five years? How many woodstocks and live 8s and star-studded concerts and 15-committee-preplanned street marches have we produced and organized to stop the greed and bigotry? Yet how many wars have destroyed the heart of the community in the last twenty years? But on that one day, few days ago, were the bombs that ripped through the innocent or were the rock stars who performed for peace and love in 8 cities of the world the ones actually responsible, for the almighty G8 to sign a billion-dollar voucher to the poor people of Africa? Do we have to go through all these so that one sleight of hand could sign the paperwork that equals the continued breathing of millions of humanity somewhere? www It’s a Monday morning. I apologize for the morning sermon in the mount. I’d like to thank Lacy MacAuley for picking me up in Asheville (from Alexandria VA) on June 30, and the ride to the Rainbow Gathering, then to the July 4 Dupont Circle protest in DC. Thanks for the accommodating heart, and I am sorry for the oblique self-righteous words though Thanks to Laurie Blair, Shahid Buttar, Kristen Arant, and The Rhythm Insurgency for making me feel at home with the vibe Thanks to Morgan Clarke, the young woman who helped me find my way in the dark as I almost collapse on that one night in West Virginia. This is a belated “thank-you” though because it has been a week since that weekend trip, I’ll return your call one of these days Thanks to Marta The Nicer Osbourne for taking care of The Indie Crib while I was gone Thanks to Drew of Rosetta’s Kitchen for donating his time as cook and for his very helpful advice/s on how to go about the benefit dinner (The Indie’s 3rd birthday) on July 17 Thanks to 21-year-old rock organizer/producer Jaja Campos of the Philippines for your fire and zeal in helping me and Demi Pascua in putting up the first “Bonfires for Peace” concert in Manila Thanks to The Blue Sky God/dess for watching over me. Good morning to all! --Pasckie 8:08am. July 11 2005. Asheville NC THE TRAVELING BONFIRES / VAGRANT WIND, Leg 4 May 24/25 to June 13. Alexandria VA, New York City, Jersey City, Baltimore MD, Washington DC. THIS IS CERTAINLY a belated Vagrant Wind Road Journey, Leg 4 “journal/report.” It has been a full two weeks, 14 days, since I got back here in Asheville. Today’s June 27th, Monday, 5am—just a few days to my next trip to Richmond VA. I have just finished watching a longer version of “Woodstock,” following dinner/DVD-watching in Dale Hoffman’s family’s new house up in Candler last night. Truth is, I am about to freak your inboxes out again with my usual, elongated, ramble-on Updates, as me and Marta The Nicer Osborne busy our ever-crazy systems with pre-prod concerns leading to the next “Bonfires for Peace at Pritchard Park” (set on July 16 and Aug 6), and a dinner evening/intimate show 3rd year of The Indie benefit at Rosetta’s Kitchen on July 17. (There might be a “weekend” Bonfires engagement in Chapel Hill NC on July 8 and 9.) Aside from a self-imposed 3 or 4-day “wavelength-realignment” jaunt somewhere in the woods near Fairfax, Virginia – from June 30 to July 3 or 4 – I haven’t drawn up the supposed fifth leg of Vagrant Wind yet. Although there is a looming “Bonfires for Peace in Manila” and a “Loud & Peaceful” rock extravaganza in Chapel Hill or Winston-Salem this August or late July, nothing is really concrete yet. (I will be discussing this in my Update, so wait up.) (I realize that there’s a more significant need to stay more days in Asheville this summer, than the road—but let’s see ) The last road trip (May 24 to June 14?) was my longest, more than three full weeks or almost a month – away from my home-turf—but it was, nonetheless, the most intimate yet the most wearisome (albeit no Bonfires gig to supervise). I decided to cancel at least three previously booked Bonfires shows to focus and concentrate on rekindling old friendships, build new friendships, acquaintances, and networks, and hopefully, fortify previous connections and hook-ups. My first stop was Alexandria VA—I just basically rested in Lacy’s house for couple of days/nights, sort of “refuel, pump up” energies and motivations before attending the Soweboarts Festival in B’more (May 29). Karla Mancero and Brian Langston picked me up almost noontime of that same day at the Greyhound terminal, downtown Baltimore. The Traveling Bonfires secured a space/stall at Soweboarts. I invited new buddy, Iris, to join me in handling/supervising The Bonfires spot—she, in turn, invited Andrew Byrne of/and Red Emma’s Bookstore to join us, with books, brochures, t-shirts etc. About 5 or 6 other Red Emma’s staffers were also there, but it was Iris and myself, with intermittent help and fiery, inspirational words from Matt aka Counterfeitmatt and Andrew, who took charge at The Bonfires space. Iris supplied me with steady stream of beers and Food Not Bombs food and warm and playful chit-chats (“I’ll be staying in a forest in upstate New York this summer... let’s get in touch,” “I just graduated and my parents threw me a party last night!” “How long you been traveling?”) In between, I read three poems at the Poetry Stage that’s got drowned by a Rock Stage just a few yards away. Hmm, quite an experience but, at least, a Maryland suburban couple and a young girl from Philly (“I can play the ukulele with violin, I call it ukulin!”)  took serious notice of my poetry (and “strange cheekbones, are you Thai or Cherokee?”) and went on to buy my chapbook and CD. Very cool. Familiar friends, cafes, vibes, and Bonfires performers: Estella Ramirez and Audrey didn’t-ask-her-last-name, Julie Fisher, Steve (the Aaron Neville-baritoned dude who openly sang love songs “for her, but she’s married” during Bonfires nights at Wydeye in Fells Point), Sarah Pinsker and Stalking Horses, Ocean May, Chris forgot-the-last-name-again, Peggy and Minas of Minas Gallery, Matt’s homeys, Ryan Coffman, Melanie Bazensky etc etc. There was an after-event party at a nearby art gallery, me and Karla/Brian hanged out for an hour or so. I came across more familiar faces and Baltimore friends: Kelly Richmond, Justin, the-girl-with-colorful-beads, nameless souls that I saw in past Bonfires events, Jim Hickey, Steve of The Whole Gallery, etc etc I realize I have already made many friends and acquaintances in Baltimore. I had a few minutes chat with Justin (“My band, Locust Grove, will be visiting Asheville again this summer ”) I met new people, new network. (I spent the night in Karla/Brian’s apartment near Hampden. Thanks for the homecooked late dinner and breakfasts ) Second stop. Back to Alexandria VA—May 30, 31. Stayed/rested/planned things up in Lacy’s apartment. While here, I replanned and regrouped Third stop. New York City, Jersey City. June 1 to June 11. I decided to cancel/move a couple of shows and instead decided to cool things off and spend more time with longtime friends—Renrick Pascual in Jersey City, Kate O’Haley in Brooklyn, and my Pinoy rocker homeys. I wanted to dig in deeper about producing options, business perspectives. I have waited for a prospective (Charlotte NC-based) investor/business hook-up(?) to communicate but no words came. So I decided to chill, re-strategize, relax. Besides, during these days, my Mother was again rushed to ICU in Manila—I simply stayed more to myself and walked, hanged out, pondered, ruminated all over East Village and midtown Manhattan. (My Mom, once again, survived the ordeal, thank God!) In between, I went and saw one of Sarah Blackman aka Ophir Drive’s gigs—the one at Paddy Reilley’s on First Avenue, was it? (I hanged out a bit, with her, at Grand Central Station ) Had a very serious conversation with Jason B, (his wife) Mitos, and Renrick—all about the, as ever, fragmented Pinoy community, oh well Then, that weekend, I tagged along with Renrick to Westchester for that “wedding gig”—that time, I was a journalist cum roadie. Nothing really physically draining, that time. I already reported, rambled about Gino Inocentes’ successful 10-band gig at Tribeca Rock Club in downtown Manhattan, I think, few days ago well, that was a cool experience—to see and chill with my longtime friends again, Hmmm, all those bloated beerbellies, and stuff. Seems like everybody’s domesticated, all of a sudden. But, hey, the real story here—was Marta The Nicer Osborne’s awesome, productive stewardship/handling of The Indie Crib and Indie/Bonfires affairs while I was away Of course, again, I’ve already reported that last week. June 12, Philippine Festival in Towson, MD (or Baltimore), with Lacy. I just basically spent the day drinking San Miguel beer (Pinoy beer), chatted with Filipino pals (Jimmy, Eric, Marco, Jun, Anthony etc etc) about concerts and all that stuff (including possible new concerts in Virginia)—while Lacy attended to her $1-a-minute massage therapy service. (I sold some of my CDs, too, cool!) The event ended relatively early, at 6pm. Lacy treated me to a beside-the-waters dinner at Fells Point And so that’s the fourth leg. It's more personal, than Bonfires-related, right? I think I gotta do my own blog... Do I sound like I am still tired? I don’t know. I really need a break this week—so I’ll be somewhere in the woods of West Virginia starting Thursday night. But I won’t be reporting details of that rendezvous when I head back here on July 4th or 5th. Gracias! --Pasckie 5:34am. June 27 05. Asheville NC THE TRAVELING BONFIRES / VAGRANT WIND, Leg 3 May 7, 11, 13, 14 2005. New York City, Baltimore MD, Washington DC. GEORGE WASHINGTON University's indoor Hippodrome struck--or eeriely snuggled up--at me like an insistent shot of tequila snaking down my chest. It's warm but it's also intoxicating. The venue of the event--"Students Taking Action Now for Dafur"--where I read two poems with DC's The Rhythm Insurgency cozied up on me like chill out time by a Hard Rock Cafe. There was a pretty decent row of neat bowling lanes on the same floor, various TV screens with the NBA playoffs beaming like sugar-coated enticements counterpointing fiery, sublime passion exuding out of the students spirits... and we had comfy Jennifer couches to lounge on, not rough-textured street gutters. As I read "Black Poem, Blue Ink, Red Blood" and "What is Peace?" -- I knew, I felt that the words connected like a flaming bullet conjectured deep, deep down. That--THAT--is what Paul Simon eulogizes, sermonizes as "the sound of silence," the aching contradiction that magnifies, articulates, empowers a sociopolitical kick. That is where we exuberantly, persistently separate the dark from the light, the black from the white--and scream out the true, sincere message of humanity. We have been pretty comfortable lately... we should switch off the TV, mute the bowling alleys, dump the sofa bed, and head out the streets. Rock it! THUS I BEGUN the Third Leg of the Vagrant Wind Road Journey. After an energetic, sweetly-tiring mini-tour of Washington DC's Adams Morgan and DuPont Circle neighborhoods with Lacy McAuley -- climaxed by twin, half-nervous swigs of Jose Cuervo at a park bench afront Uncle Sam's seat of power -- I joined Laurie Blair, Kristen Arant, Jessica Philie, and the rest of The Insurgency's spoken word/drumming ensemble with GWU's student performers on a 3-hour wake-up advocacy for the beautiful but sorrowful, famine/genocide-stricken kindreds in Sudan. After spending two nights and a day in Lacy's pad in Alexandria VA... she drove me back to the Greyhound on the 9th (morning) for my trip to New York City, where the second "Leg Three" show happens at the C-Note in The Village. I didnt make it to the first two sets--by Sarah Blackman aka Ophir Drive (7-8pm) and The Atomic Grind Show (8-9pm)--but I was able to stride in the fully-packed club as Mambola started its set. "We'd like to thank Pasckie Pascua of The Traveling Bonfires for organizing this show," Ruben Austria interjected on the middle of their set. "He traveled 18 hours, North Carolina to New York, to watch a one-hour show." That's all I ever needed to soothe my aching backs (walking from 1st Avenue all the way to Thompkins Square to Avenue A to C, with my laptop wearing me down like a payloader on my left shoulder). Sarah was there, alright... I said hello for about 7 seconds, shook hands with AGS's bassist Geoff Zink, then I slid back to the bar and finished my $5 Corona--that's all I could afford for the night, I guess. I wanted to talk more with Sarah and exchange pleasantries with the The Atomic Grinds, but... maybe it's the relatively expensive beer (yes, dearie, no PBR or Natty Bo in downtown Manhattan), my nonchalant snobbishness or aloofness at it again, or I was just plain-and-simple tired. But Sarah promised to buy me ten beers the next time I get to New York so... AFTER THE C-NOTE show, I spent few hours at a pizza joint, chatting (or listening) with Ruben and the rest of the Mambolas and their friends, including sister Liza and bro John. As usual, Benrubs made us all squirm and/or laugh with his surreal, grim, crazy subway stories ("This middle-aged Chinese woman caught this subway rat by her foot... on her white Nike shoes, then stomped at the poor fella and then squashed the dude dead, eekkk, eeekkkk, then picked the lifeless thing up, and dumped it!") Oh well, dont mistake it--it was more of a joke, okay. I think I'll book Ruben as a standup comic next time... My next day in New York, I spent with longtime friends Kate O'Haley in Brooklyn, Renrick Pascual (across the Hudson River to Heights, Jersey City), and Lally Cenabre in Manhattan. My couch-moments with Kate, as expected, was sisterly/brotherly consumed with me listening to, "Pasckie,why dont you get a business manager? Why do you keep on eating these crazy foods? Why dont you rest for three straight weeks, at least... Stay, I'll fatten you!" but it was all very family, very warm. Then, in Ren's house--although I didnt feel any semblance of him coproducing a CBGB gig with me soon--he was, as usual, my soul bro ("Sleep good, man, I'll wake you up when lunch is ready, pare, I will cook your shrimp broth and beef dish.") Lally bought me a Japanese dinner near 42nd street, as we talked about a future nonprofit project for elderly Filipinos in NY, NJ and Connecticut, a big fundraise featuring enduring Pinay diva Carmen Patena ("She has sung for many a-presidents of many countries...") who talked with me on the phone ("Yesssss, I want to visit Asheville!") ... the rest, we simply talked about community gossip. What's so touching about chillin' and hangin' out with my Filipino buddies, every time I hit NYC or New Jersey, is that--I feel I just "came home" to my most intimate soul, I spend moments with friends who are more concerned with the amount of sleep that I take or the "healthiness" of the junk food that I swallow than the "success" of my American journey... or "...whatever it is that you are searching for" (as Kate puts it). It's not that my other non-Pinoy friends arent concerned about these endearing, heartfelt intimacies... they do, they really do, especially Marta The Nicer Osbourne (who never fail to email me every two hours), and for this particular trip--Lacy (who even cooked/prepared my travel food and dinners/breakfasts, gave me massage---well, she's a pro massage therapist--and picked me up in Baltimore from DC and VA on the last night and day of this particular leg... she was already so tired as she drove that last night that we had to make a quick rest stop so she could take a nap), and Daniel Stuelpnagel who provided my crash bed for almost five days in his new apartment near Fells Point's waterfront neighborhood in Baltimore. The C-Note show... It was one of those gigs that most talent buyers and booking agents call "successful." Mike McHugh of New Century Productions--the booking mainman that I deal with in New York--was so pleased with The Bonfires bookings at the C-Note that he again offered me more spots at the club this summer. (So Mambola and Ophir Drive--with new find, the two-sister Albany NY duo Sweet Bread--will be back there at the C-Note on July 5, plus in hopefully other NY clubs, this summer.) I wish I still had time. I wasnt able to meet up with promotions consultant Mabel Arenas and club owner/manager Nell Castellvi in Queens (in re paying club gigs and concert hall shows for Mambola)... artist Jennifer Larkin in the East Village (in re NY art exhibition and just to hang out)... and radio host Jason Baquilod in New Jersey (more conversation and another radio interview). All these will have to be followed up on the upcoming trips. MAY 11, WED, BALTIMORE. Daniel Stuelpnagel (himself preparing for a twin art exhibition opening that week) picked me up at the Greyhound. We didnt have much time so we drove straight to Frederick MD... I was a featured poet in a monthly writers gathering by a community group called Dreamers, on invite from its head honcho Daniel Armstrong. It was a very attentive, intimate audience, mostly older than the usual crowd (that listen to my work)--held in a relic/landmarked coffeehouse. An Indonesian woman shared her poetry in Bahasa and Mandarin (her fiance read the English translation) and an older man read a poem about my home-country (Philippines) that he wrote when he fought with Filipino soldiers in the Pacific during WWII. Another man read a rhyming verse about chickens as the cappuccino machine supplied the background effects. It was so cool... I was also able to sell two CDs and three chapbooks. On the 12th, I just spent chilling by Fells Point waterfront, watching swans glide as rain poured down... when rain started to fall harder, I consumed the rest of my afternoon at Wydeye Coffee House, writing and checking emails. (Thanks to owner/manager Jay for providing the internet connect.) I didnt realize that Karla Mancero and Brian Langston were holding their Thursday poetry workshop that night... she invited me to join in... Darlyn Horgos (who will be reading with me there at Wydeye the next day) was there, "I was at Daniel's studio..." (I realized that I told her that I will be there, too, but I always forget things these days...") FRIDAY THE 13TH, The Bonfires third show/gig for this leg--The Royal, Federal Hills, seven acts, including two high school bands from Gaithersburg MD--Crease and Payoff, who brought their parents and cousins and other relatives to watch them rock ("Take my breath away..." / "Oh my love, my darlin'...") The owner (a guy named Mark, who looked like Simon of American Idol) was very hopeful about a huge turnout for the night (based on our cool turnout precedents at Frazier's). The City Paper had three cool mentions about the show that week... We had a pretty within-minimum draw for the night, but I guess, we just expected too much. On a given night, it was fine--but the hype wasnt cool, sometimes The Bonfires is so hyped up that I felt like a superman-who-cant-lose-a-kryptonite, you know what I'm saying? What if it wasnt The Bonfires organizing, what if it's just a three-act gig that's booked on random? I mean, a 50+ draw for the night was within-expectation, but when people hear that we had 200+ on two consecutive gigs/dates in a Hampden club, well, that's too stiff an act to follow (considering that it's our first gig at The Royal). Yes, I was silently frustrated with the turnout, and friends who were there felt that (the following day, Marco and Gino sent me warm words of encouragement). Well, Eric Pepa (Angie's dad) and Jimmy Almario supplied all my beers that night (so thankful about The Indie/Dale Hoffman's short review of Angie's EP) + a t-shirt and a 1/4 first-ad in the next Indie issue, so why am I sulking? And yes, Darlyn was there again (it touched me so to see friends show up in almost all of my invites). However, more than half of the acts and their crowd were below age limit (to drink alcohol), so that's bad news to club business. So no matter how Eric and Jimmy, and Gino and Marco, consume more beers, the bar's aint gonna be happy. The door earned its beyond-$150 cut (but the club also gets 30% cut on top of that)... honestly, I was so saddened by the relatively slim turnout that, to this date, I havent actually found out if we actually earned anything. But I did hand a couple of 20s to at least three acts as a gesture of support. (Kate: "No, Pasckie, you dont do that... you dont have to spend for their gasoline if the gig didnt earn, you always do that, man!") FELLS POINT, THE 14TH. It was the Wydeye show, the last show on this leg. I didnt expect it, but our rollickin' Bonfires Beatboxer, Shodekeh, suddenly showed up. It was a rainy night... quite the ambiance that asks for intimate poetry, I guess. But Dominic aka Shodekeh fired it up first. Wydeye has a very cozy, comfy living-room feel, by the way. As usual, the two couch/seven-to-eight chairs were all occupied. Darlyn (I can call her Darlin', I guess, for always being present) read her "hometown/bedroom breezy" poetry straight from a neatly-collected journal... Texas-born Estella Ramirez, the other featured performer, arrived with three, I guess, schoolmates at Johns Hopkins Univ--Chinese, Filipino, American--at around 10pm (as she promised, soaking wet, coming from a marquee rockfest featuring Coldplay and Foo Fighters). Her voice has a kneading, warm rawness to it, very warm... and yes, as she promised me, she sang "Cucurucucu Paloma." Nice, warm evening. There were three sets of couples, focusedly listening (one--the young woman sat by her boyfriend's lap)... there were young Latina girls there. Estella's friend Audrey (who was with her, when I asked Estella to sing three songs in between two bands at the last Frazier's gig) was also there. As I walked back from Aliceanna Street all the way to Fleet Street towards Canton where Daniel's pad is located... I felt that the minor sadness of the previous night's gig at The Royal was over, it was just a night, it was over. And to culminate a quietly satisfying evening, Daniel's second-day of exhibition opening with friends Cinder Hypki and Naomi Sullivan was a huge success ("I didnt expect it, I am overwhelmed!") He also sold two paintings... THE FOLLOWING DAY, the 15th... I was supposed to attend another invite from students of Goucher College (a personal invite from Iris who was at my Red Emmas reading last month) to an event by an environmental activist group (BuGs) at The Jerk Store near The Harbor. But I was just so tired... I consumed the morning in Daniel's pad, catching up on my emails and Indie writings. In the afternoon, I again went near the waters of Fells Point and wrote a few poems, had some beers and chilled oysters at The Admiral's Cup, later had dinner with Daniel... and then engaged him to lengthy conversations as I waited for Lacy to pick me up at around 11pm. Again, I spent another night in Lacy's pad in Alexandria... before noontime, she drove me to the Greyhound for my trip back to Asheville. I was supposed to read poems in another invite from a group called Word Works (c/o Yvette Moreno) based in Chevy Chase MD, near DC, I think--but, yes, I overshot/overbooked myself, I gotta rest, so I didnt go. As I strode inside the terminal towards ticketing, Lacy called out with a bag of food and a jug of water... Yes, again, I forgot these things. The intimacy of this neverending journey, not the seeming physical/material "success" of the tiring efforts and "sublime madnesses" are the beautiful gifts of humanity that, I know, make The Blue Sky God/dess watch over me, and supply me more energy and inspiration to carry on... The food prepared just for me, the warm hands massaging my beaten-up spinal column, the 3-second recognition said on the mic before each song, the free beer handed to me as I remind the soundperson to fix the bass amp, and the words... the words... "...I had not glanced at your photo on my mobile phone, but I did notice your long dark hairs on my pillow, and shared with you a distant smile... Remembering your fiery warmth..." Yes, the journey has just begun... it never ends, it always begins. The fourth leg has started in Chapel Hill NC last Friday, May 20th. See you this weekend, somewhere in Baltimore... Gracias! --Pasckie Asheville NC. 1:20pm. May 23.

THE TRAVELING BONFIRES / VAGRANT WIND, Leg 2
April 20, 21, 22, 23. Baltimore MD and Washington DC.

ALMOST 30 hours have elapsed since last aftermidnight--when we arrived here
at The Indie/The Traveling Bonfires Crib on 70 Woodfin Place in downtown
Asheville, wearied by aching backs but comforted by well-fed spirits, from
Baltimore and DC. A sober but warm Mozart sonata gently wafts, pacifies--in
the quiet of this basement office where the Vagrant Wind summoned my spirits
one winter night, whispering the sweet sound of highway freedom where
sincere, honest recitations of big city struggles converge with small town
glory in a peaceful marriage of poetry, music and handshakes.

Vagrant Wind's second leg has slowly but surely broke a barrier, built a
bridge that may connect peoples together through musical ambivalence and
beautiful words and hugs and how-are-you's  --  but this time, the spirit
cushions the emotional setbacks and physical strain. It was a five-day
journey that was as human as a mother torn between the silent joy of
performance and the glorious duty of being a parent to an amazingly
hyper-exuberant kid, all bunched in a 500-mile journey away from home -- and
as intimate as a singer who shares heartaches from a love lost and had to be
graciously asked to stop because the cafe was already closing...

Few days before April 20, the night I hopped in a Greyhound to Baltimore, a
Filipino-American friend Jason Baquilod, a radio deejay in Elizabeth NJ,
called me and asked, "Why cant we be one? We are all Filipinos in America?"
He called after I wrote a long letter to my Filipino friends--all involved
in organizing/producing/performing in a little vibrant world we call Pinoy
Rock Scene--in New York City in the midst of a brewing tempest... The gist
of the letter was, "Let's not fight anymore, let's just rock and have fun."
Almost six years since I founded the organization that soon became The
Indie/The Traveling Bonfires in New York City--at that time, with a quixotic
resolve to usher a venue from which the hugely-fragmented Filipino-American
community could possibly unite or dialogue as a community... almost four
years since 9/11 when I left New York for Asheville NC, wounded but
hopeful... I can still feel the persistent need to dream of peace in unity,
agreement in diversity, community in crosscultural divergence. The
challenges keep mounting but I still believe the journey is heading on the
right direction.

Last Saturday night, at Frazier's on the Avenue, a young white urban-bred
woman who calls herself Hop Along Queen Ansleis broke the silence by
beautifully (musically) screaming her truths out in a male-dominated world
and society. A shy smile and a brave heart, this lovely soul, who's
apparently still too young to score Natty Bo but old enough to know
better--sang her heart out and we all paid attention.

Then another young soul--Counterfeitmatt--with a virulent energy enough to
break barricades (much less his guitar strings) pierced the night even
deeper with some help from (Blue Star Kachina's) Phil Swaby's
counterpointing fiddle. But a heart was revealed when he acknowledged his
parents in the crowd who came to watch him perform. However, it was when
Dominic aka Shodekeh, whose dark African-American skin shone amidst the
club's dim lights, who got us all in a kind of "multicultural, cross-genre
interface" via his mystifying, rollicking "beatboxing" talking-mic numbers.
The dude is a one-man drum machine, spin wiz, and Chris Rock minus the motor
mouth and/or any techno instrument, whatsoever.

Queens Ansleis jammed with Shodekeh, then Joe Fernandez (of P.I.) and Justin
(of Blue Star Kachina) alternated on the drums, then Kelly Richmond danced
along with The Beatboxer, then Dave Cipriani had Shodekeh supply the rhythm
section to his Eastern-vibed guitar. Then, another lovely young woman,
Estella Ramirez, whom I invited from the crowd to sing three songs jammed
along with Shodekeh's awesome "musical mic." Oh well, how my Pinoy buddies
(from the bands The Moonbugs and P.I.) relished the "karnabal" ambiance.

It wasnt planned or scripted, it just happened, and it made the night a
success... Well, if only that urban jungle demarcation line called "cover
charge earnings" dont steal the glory away, if only... So, what the hell, I
shared my beer budget to one or two or more friends in there, shot some
pools, had fun emceeing the show, met quite a number of new people. There
were many instances in my life when a mere $10 got me from Queens NY to
Harrisburg PA to West Palm Beach FLA and back--while reading my poetry,
organizing a show or two, and cooking my salmon cheese grill for my hosts...
It can be done, the Blue Sky God/dess provides.

The Frazier's gig was a more "vibrant" version of the Cafe Mawonaj show the
night before. Although the show was filmed by Ken Meyercord of the public
access TV show, "Songs of Significance," we werent able to pull in a
crowd--as what/how we did in the March Bonfires show that was co-organized
with the local group, The Rhythm Insurgency.

New friend and Bonfires believer Lacy McAuley and her sister and friend were
there. (Lacy also watched the March show). Another new friend Darlyn
Hergos--who shared a beer with me (with Daniel Stuelpnagel) at Bertha's in
Fells Point after the Wydeye show on Thursday--drove from Westminster MD to
DC to watch the show, too. That was pretty cool--when someone follows a
Vagrant Wind from one show to the other, forget about the traffic. Daniel
did that last March. There's another guy who was also at Red Emma's (Wed)
and Wydeye (Thurs). So although we had almost the same lineup of performers
in all four shows--it was indeed so cool to witness a few people watching at
least two of the shows.

Unexpected moments never fail to touch me -- such as when I saw Nicole, a
wonderful woman whose physicality is demobilized by a wheelchair but whose
spirit is as daring and bold as a storm... she was at Frazier's. Her body
was immobile but her face exuded a smile that was more articulate than my
most intense and passionate poetry.

A bearded guy approached me, reminded me that I gave him my CD at the DC
show, and that he liked it despite not understanding my Filipino lyrics--he
asked if he could burn a copy of the CD for his female friend. Moments like
these mean a lot--a smile and nice words from Estella R's friend, Lacy's
presence amidst the slim turnout at Cafe Mawonaj, Dawn Humphrey's son Jed's
exuberant aura making us all nervous, but, no doubt, back to the point of it
all--The Traveling Bonfires is all about family.

Wednesday, April 20, Day One.
I walked like three miles from Sowebo district (from Kelly R's house where
we stayed) to St Paul street, where Red Emma's Bookstore Cafe is--and
enjoyed the feeling of being alone filled with open-ended expectations. When
I arrived at the cafe, I was told that we cant use a microphone, no
amplified sound. Ouch! But as the night wafted along... we somehow managed
to hooked up a guitar plug or two, and... I was surprise that we had such a
great turnout for a small venue. The cafe earned some donations; the show
earned some, too. I expected to earn money for the performers at
Frazier's--but it was at Red Emma's where I managed to at least hand the
performers gasoline money.

Red Emma's "steward" for the event, Kate Kathib, helped me set up and
advised the "intimate crowd" about donations and, uhh, I guess, I gotta have
that persuasive aura next time I host a show. I hope to book another
Bonfires show there. Well, we must have broke some "noise" barriers there,
but the cafe's staff seemed pleased with the event, so...

Day Two, April 21, Wydeye Coffee House, Fells Point.
It was very inspiring to enter the cafe--after Kelly R dropped me off--to be
greeted by the owner/manager Jay ("What's up, man!") and to see Daniel
Stuelpnagel already there. He bought me a latte and then we had a cool
conversation from Toffler/Orwell to government devolution to the lost of
humanity/identity in the midst of technological upsurge to self-marketing
your artwork.

The show was actually a shared (intimate) event with Karla Mancero's poetry
workshop. Wydeye is a small gallery/cafe that is like an average single
individual's living room. When you see all the couches and seats occupied,
that is crowded--so that's what I meant, it's intimate and crowded. We never
ran out of performers here--Steve had to be told to stopped singing so we
can all go home and that isnt bad at all. J Ryan Coffman was always ready
with his dark, intriguing, mysterious, mythology-inspired poetry--which he
preludes with a recitation longer than the actual poem--which isnt bad at
all, it's just different.

Marta Osborne and Dawn Humphrey were to pick me up at Wydeye that
night--from a long drive from Asheville NC. There was still time to kill so
I had a beer with Darlyn and Daniel. Then Marta and Dawn arrived--and, yes,
time to get lost finding our directions to Kelly Richmond's house. That's
always the staple of the Vagrant Wind tour, anyway--getting lost. It's okay.

Another side-moments to the entire experience were the sweet, friendly vibe
that the venue owners/managers have extended to us.

At Frazier's, night manager Marty was always very nice, "No problem, I will
take care of you guys" and sent the other manager home. (Did I complain
about the bartender and the manager?) It's also cool that manager/booking
person John Hill always arrive at the venue as we unwind the show to see if
things went just fine. At Cafe Mawonaj, owner/manager Concei didnt show any
disappointment for the slim turnout and even had to bring his computer down
to the club so I can use it ("I need to check my emails every after four
hours, I am sorry.") It's only after the shows were over that I paused to
ruminate, was I being a brat? (I am sorry...)

There were also great, lasting, inspirational conversations--early morning
talk with Kelly Richmond (about Hopi Indian mythology), aftermidnight chat
with violinist Phil Swaby (about being a journeyman musician), early evening
joust with artist Daniel Stuelpnagel, "homebound" poetry with Darlyn Hergos,
and the young Filipino musicians who looked at me with buddy respect as an
older statesman or a grizzlier rocker. I thank VeeGee of the band The Third
Element for driving all through the traffic to Frazier's just to tell me in
person--all in about 7 minutes--that he is donating half of his sound
management earnings to The Bonfires fundraise on May 21.

Yes, I was mildly shattered by the news that the City Government of
Asheville has refused to give us access to the power/electricity source for
the supposed "Bonfires for Peace" concert at French Broad River Park... but
I usually tend to feed my heart and spirits with the good news, such as new
friends, new believers who offer help as I hit the road with whoever wants
to share the sweet madness--than dwell on the bad news.

Eleanor Crowe of The Mountain in Highlands NC mentions, through her email,
about friends who could help me organize shows in Boston... and/or who might
provide me a crash couch as I lay over in Chapel Hill NC as a featured guest
in an open mic at Branch's on May 20--the start of the third leg of the
Vagrant Wind tour. And, yes, Justin Gostony's assurances that we will have
Bonfires t-shirts and merchandise very very soon! And, Athens GA-based band
Lionz sending out a new mix of their song that they're contributing to The
Bonfires CD compilation. And Matthew Mulder letting us borrow four of his
paintings to help liven up the TV-covered show at Cafe Mawonaj. And, Kelly
Richmond and Justin (of the band, Locust Grove) offering their humble abode
and respective rooms to us travelers... And not to forget, there was also
Jim Hickey, current Chair of the Soweboarts Festival in Baltimore,
personally submitting The Bonfires application for a free stall at the
festival on May 29.

When I left Manila in 1998, it was partly because I felt that the
Philippines has become too small for my spirits to soar, and yes, the
military government (and even after that) wasnt too accommodating to my
"rock journeys and sublime madnesses." So in New York City, I continued the
journey, the community thought my efforts were admirable but
intimidating--until 9/11 sent me reeling towards the South. Then I found
Asheville... It was very cool, until they snuffed the bonfires away. Or have
they?

But PEACE is within, not without--whether it's in a park or in a coffeeshop,
afront thousands of souls (as in Manila in the 80s) or within an intimate
coffeeshop with a crowd of 10 (as in Malaprops Cafe in Asheville or Wydeye
in Baltimore)... As long as peace resides in the human heart, the fire will
burn and it will grow into a bonfire where people will gather, converge,
connect... the vagrant wind will always be traveling without a home because
as I write in my poem, "I do not have a country because all countries are
mine... the journey is my home."

See you on the third leg!

--Pasckie Pascua
Asheville NC
3:11am. April 26 05. Tuesday