Last Thursday I put on my backpack once more and traveled to New York City.

That night I was wandering around Manhattan thinking how crazy it all was, and what a big lonely world I live in. It was close to 90 degrees, though, so I was happy to wander slowly through the thick night air.

I discovered Astor Place and a bunch of street/raver kids dancing with streamer poi. I took out my fire poi and danced with them for a while. I talked a million miles a second with a girl named Xera who's madness started to wear off on me. The most entertaining moment was when a random lady walked by and pinched Xera: "Hey! You stole those poi from my store two weeks ago!" "Oh, shit..." says Xera.

A nice kid named Gabriel told me about growing up in Mendecino county, and we talked all about love and life and loss. He invited me to a house party at his place in Tribecca the next night.

And everyone told me to go to a party at a Brooklyn rooftop loft, where I would find my brothers and sisters. Of course I got lost in Brooklyn but didn't care and loved the special Brooklyn glow of streetlights at night shining on Brooklyn characters and an incredibly industrial setting.

I met some kids who were throwing a street party, and we all went down to an empty lot right on the water under the Manhattan bridge. Drummers drummed and firedancers danced. We drank red wine, and it was city lights instead of stars that fell in and out of focus.

I met a guy there who wished he were still 21 and told me what I already know but am completely paralyzed by: youth is wasted on the young.

And of course I talked up the Berkeley Fire Monkeys to the local NYC firedancing crew.

Friday I went to Harlem and walked down 125th to Malcom X Ave. I rested on a stoop with a guy named Paco who hadn't slept for days and had just been taken to the hospital for dehydration. He told me all about de-tox and the horrors he's known. It's all the same, the world can be such a sad lonely place.

I hung out with Mach, a guy I'd met at Astor Place, then went to the Slam at the Nuyorican. It wasn't an open slam, so it was just 5 good poets who read for three rounds. There were some really hot poets there - I couldn't bring myself to leave, stayed for all three rounds, and missed the party at Gabriel's house.

I walked home with poetry instead of white sleep on my mind, and so I bought a notebook and wrote for hours on the sidewalk in front of my hostel.

The next day it was raining so I kept writing until the showers subsided, then met up with Danny and Lynn at the George Billis gallery where Lynn's work was being shown. We had dinner with Lynn's parents and talked about the nature of generocity, which is something that I've been thinking about for a while.

I went back to the hostel and met up with all the kids there. Mostly I hung out with Marcus from Ghana and Monique from Amsterdam. We made big plans to go to Egypt and live in a straw hut, then travel to the dead sea. We went out drinking with all the English kids who were expert new york bar patrons, yet somewhow ended up at a ridiculous place called "Hogs And Heffers," where they played country music and random girls would take their bras off to dance on the bar. Of course, one of the english kids got kicked out within 3 minutes of being there.

On the way there a random limo driver picked us up, so we demanded that he open the sunroof for us to stick our heads out and be obnoxious. We considered it our right of passage.

We all stumbled home as the sun came up, still planning our future travels to egypt and beyond.

I slept late Sunday and then slowly walked down Manhattan to where the World Trade Center used to be. I played chess in Washington Square and watched neighborhood basketball players on W. 4th St. I said goodbye to everyone, but managed to miss Mach's jungle party. I had to be at the airport at 5am Monday morning, so I just stayed up until then and tried to sleep on the plane. My eyes still sting with the memory of a sleepless night.