Selected Facebook Remembrances, 2014-2024

07 Sep 2014 Checklist before leaving the house: wake up madly in love; leave something unwritten; notice the mystery; pet the dog; brush teeth and put on big boots. 21 Sep 2014 The storms we were braced for never came. Everything had been secured too tight and it felt as though the world we protected was hyaving trouble beathing. And everyone I met looked exhausted. So I went through my world loosening all the ropes, unaware that storm clouds were gathering again. I knew that it would be ok if I remembered two things: I love this girl, and this is an enchanted place. Everything else would fall into place when it needed to. 26 Oct 2014 That old lizard that molded my bones said, 'You will see things of this world, you will see spirits, and you will see illusions spun from the silk in your own head. And the best gift of all: the certainty that you cannot tell them apart.' 18 Dec 2014 the moon sits at an angle, and the waves are all inside, waiting for the rain to start, and us, we are separated only by our skin, a thin outline that could pop in a moment, revealing us as the bodies of water we are, hard to tell where one ocean ends and the other begins, on a rainy morning like this 19 Dec 2014 I love this part of the year. Spending time talking to all these terribly interesting people doing amazing things. This life is full, spiritually artistically intellectually all of it. And madly in love too of course. This is where the light is strong. More of all this in 2015, please. 03 Jan 2015 So the dog is at the river, bone in its mouth, sees its reflection, wants that other bone, drops its bone in the river, and thinks: 'hm now, I lost that bone but I get everything the reflection contains, hm now, oh but that was a big bone in my mouth, hm now,' and the river says: 'hahahahaha, that's what she said, haha hahaha I'm 2015, just jump in already.' 11 Jan 2015 i walked to the water, and when i was walking back, i noticed there was a spirit dog walking with me. 'that is extraordinary,' i said. and the dog said, 'no, what is extraordinary is that this happens all the time, and most of the time you don't even notice.' 19 Feb 2015 while i was looking for those hallways marked by careful reason and scientific methods, i was distracted by fairy dust and footprints speckled with glitter, and it happened often enough that i suspected that the tangents were really the path 14 Mar 2015 You want to speak about complex theories of the Other and language and the seven levels of unconscious awareness, but someone keeps filling your mouth with flower petals when you are sleeping, and all you can talk about is love. 03 Apr 2015 If you think there is magic in everything, you can choose to pay attention to something that might seem dull or lost or resigned, until it starts to sing, and when it sings, you may find you have no way of repeating the song, and you might find you have to make up another way of echoing, and when you echo, you might see that what you are making is very much like if not exactly art. 18 Apr 2015 The world speaks in code, and all translations are incomplete. When we stumble upon something close, we start to glow from behind the eyes, but we never recognize it in ourselves. We do see it in each other, however, and it's like looking inside is finding space to see outside. Learning how to see. *11 Oct 2015 I dream I am walking through Mauer park, all these Transart people are doing a living installation. There are groups and every group makes a room without walls or a ceiling and they create around a common theme. Like a third space. One room is the ocean. One is a rave room where the couches have hands in them that rub you while you sit. There are people I love to see again, people that don't like me much (and vice versa), but everywhere there are unexpected connections. The line between life and art, or the dead, or the dream, is a thin veil. It disappears when we stop looking for it. 13 Oct 2015 The heat was already rising, the desert this time of year is a scared and angry old soldier with a rusty gun. My companion said to me, "To put it kindly, you are looking a little weathered yourself. When I was where you are, I was desperately looking for someone who knew me before it all got so strange, before I lost the thread. But," he said, "you know some of us have glitter falling from our mouths from birth, and we think we want to be larger than life. If you let yourself be written, I think you will fall back into your favorite stories. Ridiculously romantic, painted with tragedy and magic and silver threads." 23 Feb 2016 I dream I am at the Kotbusser Tor station in Berlin, in between everything. I've just heard some terrible news and it is gray and broken in here. There's this old companion, this kindred spirit who is like blood family, walking next to me. I haven't seen him for awhile. He asks if I heard the news and I mumble something and he says 'no, the news did you hear the news?' And he's pointing at my heart. And I say 'there's nothing happening here. My heart is beating and I am breathing but that's it.' And he says, 'yes that's it that's exactly it that's the most important thing that ever happened to anyone.' And everything has more color and I don't know why I am light as a feather but it lifts me awake and the day starts like that. 27 Feb 2016 Where that quest that once seemed noble now feels ridiculous, the veil is thin enough that you can recognize the fairies are a little too drunk, and all the stories that once mace your eyes well up with tears now make you laugh until dust comes out of your mouth, you are in motion, you remember this is what it's like to be on the road, this is what it's like when what's around that corner is anyone's guess. 04 Mar 2016 and before birth we were given a list of the people we would be during this life, and some of us lost the list, and we had to make it up as we went along, and as we grew older we started to recognize each other, because we were often in between one thing and another, and never entirely allied to being one person at a time, and entirely distrustful of those who claimed only one mask. *20 Mar 2016 I invite all of my questionable decisions over for a party. I am planning on sabotaging them with a list of grievances, with a powerpoint presentation to show them all the things that have gone wrong because of them. They all accept the invitation. When they show up, and I am looking them in the eye, I realize, "Wow, look at you, you're so beautiful, you're still just so beautiful. This never was about anything but love." 11 May 2016 You thought it was a lake but it's obvious by now that you are in the ocean. The islands you have been moving across these past few years have all turned out to be unstable, and are crumbled or crumbling and sinking, so you can't go back, and it's hard to see. The sun brings mirages so you have to move at night, and the moon will never be bright enough to see more than a few feet ahead, and you know what? a few feet ahead is exactly just enough. 22 Aug 2016 Everything you see is a mirror that reflects you and everyone you meet is a version of you, go find yourself with a mad abandon. 28 Aug 2016 Before we are born, we get two choices: love will make us float and grief will make us sink, or love will ground us and grief will make us unbearably light. Feathers and stones, they do different things to us. Some of us are so light we float to heaven way sooner than anyone thought we would and some of us are so heavy the dead or the sea embrace us and say "there there" and pull us under when we're still so young. The ones who are still here, if we are lucky, we forget which choice we made and look our gods in the eye and ask for nothing but balance 25 Sep 2016 I dream that I move to that same European city I always dream about and I find out that the people there have this thing where, when they love each other their hearts explode and glitter and confetti come flying out, and when they hurt each other or make each other sad or angry, their hearts explode and glitter and confetti fly out. Of course, for the one whose heart is exploding the details matter very much, but not to the culture at large, the culture at large just cares if you are living in a way so that you are covered just covered in glitter and confetti. 06 Oct 2016 On the day my heart opened, the first thing I saw was a row of wailing women grieving like banshees, and next I saw the ones with mops and brooms sent to clean up the water and the dust, and the third thing I saw was a row of women with history written on their skin and they could not speak, and then there were children who never got to learn their destinies, and then there were waves and waves of people of all ages and finally my very first great great granddaughter was there and she had lightning in her eyes and she was made of water and she told me that we are born into fire and water and the secret written on all of our bones is one of the hundred thousand words for love Kit to Abi 27 Nov 2016 may all your inspiring muses dance in complicated patterns to all the old songs yes 16 Dec 2016 i then learned that i couldn't learn a thing, until i learned how to stop pretending that i had already learned things 7 Jan 2017 Your heart jumped once, you were seventeen and the eyes matched the jacket, and your heart jumped and you recognized that everything was connected and complicated, you wanted and you didn't stop wanting and your heart didn't stop jumping. You're still here. You recognize that it's even more connected and more complicated and your instructions are simple, you are instructed to recognize. Recognize that this in front of you is beautiful. Recognize that this behind you is beautiful. Recognize that your mouth is filling with fireflies and your beating heart is being played like the drums of god. 12 Mar 2017 Before you are born you get to make a choice. The first choice is that when you are having a last kiss with someone (not just anyone but someone you will miss for a very long lifetime), an angel appears to tell you to remember this kiss because this kiss is tne last one. In the other choice, on your way out of the world, there is a room you can visit, where you get to live through all the last kisses that you always wish you could remember better. You can stay as long as you like but those who stay forever are mad. There is a third choice and it's so hidden that almost no one can remember it and hardly anyone can do it, where you are born with the capacity to fall in love with a moment so hard that you never leave it, but for this your heart is like rice paper and your life is as short as a dream. 11 Jul 2017 I unzip my suit, the one that is all bravery and enlightenment and “I am detached from the things of the world”, and slip out back to smoke. Out here, I am like I am when I sleep, covered with wet feathers, wet with longing and memories, wet with the weight of all I want to do tomorrow, wet like my tongue is wet. I don’t know if it’s a mirage, but it’s definitely written in water, when she walks out and doesn’t notice me until she starts to unzip herself, cigarette dangling, feathers starting to unfurl. We don’t know what to do, not because we are suddenly revealed to each other, but because we both know at the same moment that we are just like everybody else. 2 Oct 2017 Like any astonished people in an astonishing time, we try to close our eyes and turn to stone. If I could paint I would paint you in flowers, that’s what you do to me when you say sweet things. Let’s make magic, let’s fall with the velocity of a dream. We’re all just light and shadow, let me see you in shadow and light, when I see you like that I want to make beautiful things, then time gets groggy and finally falls asleep. Our eyes are open and we see the fire but we also see the water, love is absurd and love is beautiful and absurdity and beauty are as defiant and persistent as flowers. 1 Jan 2018 there are five or six crows on your car after you come out of the corpse pose. you don't know if it's protection or a warning or a kiss from the river and the thunderstorm, but it's love, decidedly, it's love. you're the lover who lost the map but never lost the thread. you're the griever who lost the friend but found the world bigger and more mysterious than the last time you checked. you're the artist who lost the thumb but learned how to sculpt beautiful things from a broken place. you're the mystic who lost the certainty but falls into ecstatic experience whenever you take a deep breath. you're the teacher who lost the classroom but not the students. you're the student who lost the contest, but woke up with the key to the library on your pillow. you're the bird who lost the feather but learned how to fly. you need less than you think you do, when you fall in love with the world your eyes get larger, the wall between you and your own life gets thinner, and every year you resemble, more and more, the ones you think about right before you fall asleep. 3 Jun 2018 I love how you put yourself back together after you got broken. I love how you made it work with pieces that just don’t fit. I love how your cracks glow in the moonlight, and I love how I don’t know this is happening to me too. 15 Jun 2018 You will love her, and you will lose her, and you will miss her, but you will not recognize her until you become her. 29 Nov 2018 I'm wide awake at 2am, my dream bored me awake, oh, so let me talk about it publicly (it's not really all that public, and it's not really talking, and it wasn't a dream, and of course if you know me then you know that this isn't really me): I'm in an installation with an ex (in the dream, they are everyone rolled into one), and we are doing a durational performance piece about the history of our love. all the people I know who are going through breakups are coming by, and they are invited to add their own objects to the installation, and it is filled with balloons painted with stars, and there are lots of people, except they are bored, clearly, and I am bored, and she is mad at me and bored for being mad, and we are mad at the audience, and they are leaving, everyone decides to leave at the break (and we remember that this is why you don't give them a break in durational performance art, because you need their bodies for the documentation). and I wake up. and I'm thinking about walking on a wall that was built in the 14th century or maybe earlier, and it reminded me of how I felt the last time love tore my walls down, and I thought I was in the rubble and I was complaining, but we reconstruct ourselves, and love reconstructs itself, and repeats, over and over, it repeats like the waves, and some days we are bored, and some days we are mad, and some days we are waves, and I am wavy, waving at the old photographs that come and go in the undertow, some of them from the 14th century or maybe earlier, some earlier version of me who made a wish on a falling star 16 Dec 2018 I was at a crossroads where I could either cover my heart in leather and barbed wire and a very reasonable cynicism, or cover it with a very thin gauze that sometimes revealed its beating and bloody hot mess of a heart but eternally hopeful, and I chose hope. I choose hope, even if I might sometimes reveal it too easily, and embarrass myself for being a damn fool. But I’d rather be fooled, believing that one day soon I’ll wake up and my true love is downstairs making breakfast, that people I love will one day soon stop believing the angry voice in the head enough to see we’re the lucky ones living the mystery, that the next generation has got this, that we are passengers in time with tools to step out of time to see that most of this is an illusion, that love dances with eternity and we have always been written into the cloth that connects everything. 28 Dec 2018 Some kind of bird from where I live now, a warbler or a widgeon, or a tern or a gull, is outside the window, ‘I know I know, but it’s time we go,’ she says. She is my shadow, the way I know my shadow now, she smells like moss and salt water and mince (and she’s not always a she, she’s slippery, this and that and inside and outside and the queen of cinnamon and the in between). I tell her, ‘these are the people I was telling you about, this is how we do things here, that was the woman who raised me and taught me how to see art in everything and still teaches me, and that’s the daughter I knew from another life and I’ll see her again and again, that was the woman I fell so madly in love with isn’t it amazing watching her listening to her can’t you see why I still turn inside out when I think of her’, and the bird says, ‘I know, I know but it’s time to go’, and i say ‘sure and those people kept me alive by making things with me and those people kept me alive by not drinking things with me, and look at this box it has all the conversations that got cut short and the ones that didn’t get to happen and this box holds Socrates and hugs and firewood and hot salsa (here’s a secret: it’s not that hot), and this is a note from one who got lost and i wish i wish i wish so many things for the one who got lost, and this is a ribbon who got lost and couldn’t find her way back but fell in love with where she was (she reminds me of you, how i thought of you when i was younger), and this is creosote and sage and dust and palo verde,’ and the bird is laughing and then she is crying and that’s everything she can do except fly, and I smell the moss and the salt and the curry and the rain on the stones and it’s time, it’s time to go. 3 Mar 2019 You wake in the middle of the night, somewhere in between, hearing something urgent on the other side of the door, and all you can think is ‘I hope that’s not for me’, and all morning your feet hit solid on wet cement, and you hear another step echoing your step, and you see something but it’s never anything as solid as your own step, so you write it off as a trick of the rain and the light. Then someone reminds you, and it’s someone who’s not a ghost at all, someone reminds you that for some of us, waking up isn’t what happens but what we do. You’ve been traveling enough, now just be still. You’re the lost love, you’re the lost dog, you’re the missing childhood friend, you’re the one who forgets that you get to become the thing you’re running from, the same thing you’ve been chasing. 18 Sep 2019 Finally, the only way I could bear the grief that comes with knowing the moment as passing, was to move into it and live there, a perfect and temporary home 22 Sep 2019 We found that aging was like turning a stone to clay, when all this time we thought it was the other way around. Not all the ancients, but my favorite ones, the ones who sing to me in cadences I recognize, move from stone to clay, and clay to water (sometimes fire). When we were younger, becoming water was terrifying, the pain of disappearing was unbearable. Over time we started to figure out that disappearing was, like anything, temporary. Over time we started to learn those old songs, that ghosts live inside the cadences. Over time we learn that time, like anything, is more water than stone. 25 Oct 2019 My nose is running because I was writing outside at the train station and forgot myself until I started shivering. Now I’m in a crowd and they are starting to move but I close my eyes because I always close my eyes when I become disoriented. First you balance the inside then you adjust to your surroundings is what I was taught. This is a night of terrible storms, and no one knows how it’s going to turn out but my hope is that by morning we will all remember something important we meant to tell someone. And then tell them. Make the ghosts so jealous of the living that the cabinets rattle and the windows shiver and the pictures fall like veils. 18 Nov 2019 If i were made of water i would meet you somewhere out there where the light thinks it can’t reach. If I were made of glass I could not yield to you when you ask me to mend the dress of your childhood imaginary friend. If I were stone I could not fall asleep thinking about how the rain here is softening the moments until they melt together. If I were made of wood I couldn’t give a second thought to an empty pillow in a quiet room. And if I were made of flesh I could not miss you without wishing I could turn to glass or stone or wood. But if you remember, you turned me to light; sometimes I am like you, everywhere at once. And sometimes I wish I could settle into the weight of this singular life, the weight of my hands heavy with salt, moss, and love.— in Paris. 4 Dec 2019 This is the part of the story where I find myself on a train, watching the landscape start to get used to the idea of winter coming. It’s already dark and it’s a little cold here, but I love what I do. I’m wondering what would happen if I forgot my bag at the station, the one filled with impossible ideas of perfection, and all those years of notebooks that tell me I’m just not doing any of this right. No sooner do I think it that I feel a little lighter. I see a version of myself over there, not very far ahead really, laughing at the temporary storms that think they’re permanent. I don’t think it’s just me. I think that happens to lots of us who travel, who lose things, including losing the fear of losing things, and know from experience that there’s always flashes and hints of light, even in the longest nights. 31 Dec 2019 You used to like second guessing except you were mostly wrong, and every year you said I’ll get better at it, and it still didn’t work. Maybe not this year. Maybe you’ll stop believing your second guesses might be correct. It won’t hurt to try. This year you’re not going to try to fit in, and you’re not going to try to stand out. You don’t know how, and if you’re honest with yourself, you don’t care. It’s a confusing time of year because blinking lights are a sign of one kind and steady lights another, and you’re bombarded with signs. They really don’t apply to you. These lights are two for a fiver, capitalism not synchronicity. Go to the dark and quiet. Sea or desert either will do, and wait for the light that finds you, in the silence and the dark. The lights say: not that road but this one; close the door but not too tightly; yes and no and maybe. Do you remember that year you lived on Palmerston road, above the charity shop, when you made a wish on New Year’s Eve? you who are not so easily fooled, you who are often delighted, you know the difference, you woke up and found yourself open for visitors, paper squares of you have been here before under your tongue, with all the tools you might need to follow your uncanny attraction to light. 12 July 2020 the voice in my head was always my dad, something somewhen I needed to calm myself down so I talked to myself like him, I must have been so young, and it stuck with me, and here it is again, I can hear him talking to me when I'm here, at the edge of the water, I come here in the morning to put myself back together. and I hear myself talking to myself until I stop talking and that's when everything opens up and I'm the breath and I'm the wave but I'm not breathing me I'm being breathed, and I wave back at the waves and hope they get the pun (they do, they do), and this morning I hear myself talk to myself and for the first time I hear I'm always trying to sound like my dad. and I understand that he was trying to sound like his dad. something about being connected to that lineage makes us feel stronger or something, something about our terrified selves needs to feel better and we just want our fathers to give us a little pat on the back now and then, or something, something in us that's terrified of being erased or turned invisible or one of those silence and emptiness fears, one of those 'they're taking advantage of you' fears. 'you can stop talking now' I say to myself 'you can all just stop talking now' I say, and I think it's going to get quiet but it's suddenly louder because suddenly I can hear the waves (and I wave back) and suddenly I can hear laughing, like mermaids laughing, I didn't come here to listen to mermaids (but you know I always hope in the back of my mind...) and they're laughing because they know I came here to put myself back together, because I thought I could do such a thing, because that just assumes we're not all in this together. and no matter how far we run or how tough we act or how loud we talk, it's just not true, it's just not true, when flowers rain on me they also rain on you 8 Nov 2023 When I fell to the earth I landed so hard that I hurt myself so that I could only limp around like that and it was painful like that but not nearly so painful as the earth I landed on. And the people there were all feeling painful and some just seemed to want to make themselves feel better except for a handful who spent all hours to help each other just make it through the winter. Everything about this place is heartbreaking and everything about this place holds so much promise and that’s why I like glitter because it’s a hint at the spark and the flash and the glow that’s underneath everything we can see here. Some of us get to spend our breaths learning how to see and that’s why when we recognize each other it’s a relief and that’s why when we recognize each other we cry and that’s why we spend so much of our energy trying to catch our breath to save it and give it to the next generation just like love when their exhale is the answer to our inhale like a conversation that stretches out over centuries and only the stones are old enough to follow all the threads 11 Mar 2024 So. This is a rough one. Read when you have time, and please don’t respond til you get to the end: I’ve posted about this ongoing pain in my leg, and if you’ve been following close (and I wouldn’t expect you to), you might have noticed that it was not taking a turn for the better. & it still hasn’t, and the likelihood of it turning for the better is statistically not great. On Thursday, I found out that this pain in my leg is a malignant soft tissue sarcoma, and it has metastasized to the lungs. There is no known cause, and the treatment ahead is likely chemo. I’m in the care of the excellent and entirely compassionate nurses and doctors at the Royal Marsden hospital in London. Look it up, if you like, it’s the best care anywhere (old MASH reference). I’m in good hands, and absolutely positively surrounded by family, friends, colleagues, who have been nothing short of magnificent in how much kindness they’ve been showing, and I’ll be in great company all the way through. I’m not alone. I’ve been able to be friends with the most amazing people in the world, have fallen in love with dazzling and gorgeous minds (and let’s not forget super hot too). I’m not unlucky. Also, I’m fortunate to be in touch with a spiritual tradition where I’ve had amazing godparents and godchildren and siblings, who have taught me the old ways, from lineages that go back to West and Central Africa. Which is to say, I respect your own spiritual paths, but please respect mine and don’t offer to pray for my soul or send along passages I should read - we have our own traditions that work for me. In these traditions, I’ve also been initiated in ceremonies that, I see now, are all excellent preparation for all the crossings one might make in a lifetime. I’ve got an army of warriors around me (some of them look like mermaids, or animals, or other fantastical beings who once walked the earth like we do). I’m going to be posting a lot of things, because I’m having lots of thoughts, and they sometimes find their way into words, and I’ll be writing more often. I’ve been a little silent on here because I’ve been waiting to hear the news, and honestly didn’t expect it to be quite like this, but now that I have the news, I can write again. I’m asking a favour here: for this post, and subsequent posts, please don’t hit reply and ask “how you feeling?” That answer is complicated and requires lots of time that I don’t want to use up. Instead let the post tell you how I’m feeling - and try to understand that you don’t need to respond with more than an emoji. One other thought: How bout this? Instead of saying “I have a malignant sarcoma”, instead I’ll say “I’m turning into a werewolf” and use appropriate language. One last request. If you want to write something like, ‘I wouldn’t do chemo, because x, y, z…’ or ‘you should eat grapefruit’ or ‘cancer comes from repressed impulses or childhood trauma’ or ‘it comes from expressed impulses and not enough childhood trauma’, or whatever, then just don’t. I know it shouldn’t need to be said, but you’d be surprised that in just a short amount of time I’ve heard some crazy things. I don’t need advice. I talk to doctors who are amazing in their training and experience, and I talk to close friends who listen to me, and I also talk to Orishas, Muertos, and the Dead. I’m covered for advice, I promise. Instead send good juju, good vibes, lots of love. I feel those, I honestly do. This is what I need for the road ahead. & also please know that I just love and adore you all more than I can say. Let’s enjoy the time ahead for all of us, and hey. Let’s be careful out there. Sending this with great love, Kit 31 Mar 2024 In the barrage of unstable pain, and a thousand dots on the landscape of my memory pointing me to a thousand wormholes where I can see the details of moments I had long ago forgotten, and the way shadows at night are light and no Ionger willing to disguise themselves as metaphors, I catch the form behind the forms. She is there, like the screen beneath the screens of all these simultaneous films, a weaver weaving, she’s neither she nor they but both and other and none of these, weaving disjunctions into patterns, threading beads into places that we were sure were broken; and then a moment of silence that is followed by a soft pulse; and the beats of my heart fall like beads falling into place. 6 Apr 2024 Lately it feels like I’m in my life, making my movie. It won’t get good reviews, because it’s got to be one of those films that are more fun to make than they are to watch. That’s ok because this is for us and not for an audience who won’t take part. The hard part is that this movie has more than 10,000 scenes to film yet, and we might not have time to film them all, but I want to try. Bringing in old and new acquaintances, for monologues and dialogues, and every once in awhile some huge production numbers with glitter and dance parties, lots of crowd scenes where no one knows where to put their focus, and also at least a handful of moments when everyone from everywhere is on camera at the same time. As the director, my approach is to fold all the people I have ever known and will ever know together in a big cosmic burrito, with several languages spoken, lots of esoteric spiritual traditions, poly vocal and polyrhythmic and polyphonic, and everyone gets to be director for a day so the central themes and concerns are impossible to articulate. This is my movie and we’re making art together and I want you all to meet. So when I say “I know so many extraordinary people” you can say “I know exactly what you mean”. And at the end of the days we can say to each other “You do know that, right? How extraordinary you are? And how extraordinary all of this is?” 25 May 2024 It takes a lifetime, sometimes more, to learn how to see. You have to be drawn to where the veils are thin. You have to be willing to be wrong about everything. And you have to understand that what you see is intimately connected to how you see, that it’s not about intention but attention. Attention turns the gray to gold. I spent the first part of my life complicating the idea of seeing, and these last chapters are being spent on simplifying. From here: Anyone can see that these days are marked with gold. 29 May 2024 Wearing more white and blue these days, because I always daydream about the ocean. In one of my favourite daydreams, I’m a dog in a sailboat, with a blue and white hat, and it’s night, and the sea is calmly rocking me; I look up at the stars, and I try to pinch them with my paws, like a pinch and expand kind of gesture situation, but I am a dog, and don’t have thumbs, so it doesn’t work well. But what I’m trying to do is to expand the space between the stars, as if somehow this would stretch out time, like a super power to make all the moments last even just a little bit longer. But I can’t, so I cry (it’s with the vocal chords of a dog, and plenty loud), I cry because there’s no magic in the world, and while I’m crying, mermaids are surrounding the boat, and crying with me, and soon we’re all crying about the lack of magic in the world, while we’re watching stars falling like rain, pretending that we don’t know that the rhythms of the ocean are more than enough magic. 30 Jul 2024 Hey, they got Facebook in the underworld! 🥹 This is Eliana and family on behalf of the great Kit Danowski, who loved almost more than anything to stay in touch this way. It is with the heaviest of hearts that we confirm that Kit passed away on the 27th of July, 2024 at around 9:30 in the evening. Kit was surrounded by the love of xyr child and mother, and a dear close friend. We feel privileged to have been able to be there. Xe passed peacefully, albeit forever sooner than we expected/wanted 🥺. We all need to take a beat, but are happy to answer questions or share stories when we are able to 🙂. We understand that not everyone will be able to fly out here to England for a celebration of life. We are going to be planning a gathering of some sorts back in Arizona, likely in the fall, so that anyone who wants to remember my papa may do so (i’m thinking a big costume party 🤗). To everyone who made Kit laugh, and helped out in the other ways they could during this struggle, thank you. That kindness never went unnoticed and is appreciated with every cell of our beings ❤️. We ask that you take care of yourself, that with allergies permitting you pet as many dogs as you can, and that you try to love with the same ferocity as our dear sweet Kit. In the last just gorgeous words of Kit Danowski, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH !!!!!