...the devil is the spirit of gravity."

"He who is not a bird should not build his nest over abysses."

--Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

Too true, too true. The devil is the spirit of gravity. I've been here nearly five years. FIVE YEARS. A personal record. Often I've felt that it was gravity keeping me here. The DEVIL. But I am a bird. I can fly. Ain't been stretchin' my wings much lately, tho' (you noticed?). So, before they atrophy and I die in a lonely bridge-jump, I'm burnin' down the house. Cuz the obvious extrapolation from the above quotes is how do you know if you're a bird if you don't challenge the spirit of gravity? If you don't live over an abyss?

So, Portland, I gotta go. Though it breaks my heart to say it. I become too complacent if I'm in one place for too long. In my life I've mastered this trick. I call it the Phoenix. Once I've ridden roughshod over all the hearts and hillocks I wanna, then I've no choice but to set it all aflame. Burn the bridges, burst the bubbles. And like the mythical Phoenix, rise from the ashes.

I guess my destination is New York town. I got a bass player out there. And a million friends. My only goal is to make y'all proud.

'Course I do owe you a lot, Portland. I mean, when I arrived back in '96, I didn't know how to drink at a bar, didn't know how to carry a purse, had never seen eyeliner or owned naughty shoes, never tasted a manhattan or let someone buy me a drink. I've totally fallen in love with so much of you, so many of you. Hell, Old Town is the fifth chamber of my heart.

Right now I'm suckin' down a Marlboro Light and chit-chattin' with an alcoholic elder at Huber's ("#1 Kahlua sales in Oregon"), where I've conquered the demon writer's block many times with one or two Spanish coffees. And let y'all see me ALL nude. Strikes me as funny, how stripping can be so intimate, yet so superficial. I've bared a hell of a lot more in these little columns. Viva's cocky "WHAT I KNOW," "WHAT I WANT," and "I SPEAK THE TRUTH." And ya know, I've been sifting through the past three years of musings, and I must say my opinions have not changed:

1. Rock 'n' Roll should make your panties wet.

2. Zen Guerrilla rocks the MOST.

3. Stripping is art.

This older gal down the bar from me is butting into my column, all lubed-up with vodka sodas, tipping quarters, and imperiously demanding of the bartender,

"Gavin! A match! I've read everything on this box (Marlboro Lights), Gavin, and it says 'Made in the U.S.A.'"

"Richmond, Virginia."

"They have the best horses there. I read somewhere that that's where Queen Elizabeth vacations to buy horses."

Anyway, I'd like to further investigate the above truths in the next few years. And it looks like I'll be reporting back to y'all from the front, as Exotic has asked me to keep up the good work, albeit from the other coast. I think maybe I'll change the title, though, from "the Gospel" to "Sex in the City." Oh, YEAH.

"Gavin! How do you spell eenie meenie minie moe?"

"I try not to very often. I'd rather spell supercalifragilisticexpialadocious, ya know?"

"Well, you're educated."

This is a great town. Don't think I don't think so. It's just...the abyss...the abyss is calling me.

And once more with feeling, ZEN GUERRILLA, motherfuckers!!