I have more reading for the first two weeks than I would ever care to retell. This is helping me keep busy, and taking care of myself and my house in those spare moments is fulfilling in ways I can't describe. I can really see this place as home- with the added bonus of a surrogate family (who for all of their flaws have really given me a feeling of security and belonging).
Not to blight the prospect of a perfect post without complaints there are things missing, one specifically. I unpacked what was left of my room, and vacuumed my rug. I thought if everything was in order I'd find it hiding in a suitcase, or spinning around in my chair, cuddling nala, or stretched out across my bed. I looked in every corner to no avail. I suppose it's lost forever. But I knew that going in, and have only myself to blame.
There is so much to be done, I feel as if the fabric from which I weave my life is changing bit by bit, becoming more sturdy and coarse. I'm fine with that; and as I reflect into my styrofoam coffee cup, I am glad that the rend left in the wake of last summer can be mended, though I am sure it will leave a scar.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Monday, August 16, 2010
This Dying Soul ~[Dreams]
[Fade in from black]
[scene:]
A barren landscape stretches out for miles, giving way to rolling midnight hills. This silken night is broken only by a white path that winds its way through the nighttime landscape. The moon rests high to the North. It offers no comfort or clue as to the observer's surroundings. Off-screen two shades embrace, meeting gently and parting just the same.
They enter from the South standing side-by-side. They do not look at each other or touch and an unbroken distance forms between them. It is as if this had always been so and in fact, was meant to be. They pass over the distance, following the path's every turn, softly ascending North. They follow the path to its--and perhaps their- conclusion come what may.
[Fade]
[scene:]
The curtain of night lifts on a noontime school scene. Adolescent fancy and energy abound as the observer wanders the crowd. Jeans and sneakers pass in an endless stream around and below the observer, who is looking down without much thought. The sea of shoes parts before the shades, now fully of flesh. They their drift around fellow students, in front of a row of lockers, across the length of the corridor and around a corner.
They are still side by side, still untouching, though closer now.
The noise of the hallway recedes, giving the pair an intimate silence. The scene blurs around them, who pass effortlessly through the crowd to some unknown destination, still walking the path on which we met them.
An unspoken acknowledgment passes from one to the other,and back. It is their secret to keep and the gap is closed by two innocuous pinky fingers linking souls, linking understanding, ending time.
They are not together, though in a past life they stormed Mount Olympus, of this there is no doubt.
The hallway noise returns, and the shades are consumed by the tide, dissipate and blow away, sharing a secret smile before the end.
[fade to black]
[scene:]
A barren landscape stretches out for miles, giving way to rolling midnight hills. This silken night is broken only by a white path that winds its way through the nighttime landscape. The moon rests high to the North. It offers no comfort or clue as to the observer's surroundings. Off-screen two shades embrace, meeting gently and parting just the same.
They enter from the South standing side-by-side. They do not look at each other or touch and an unbroken distance forms between them. It is as if this had always been so and in fact, was meant to be. They pass over the distance, following the path's every turn, softly ascending North. They follow the path to its--and perhaps their- conclusion come what may.
[Fade]
[scene:]
The curtain of night lifts on a noontime school scene. Adolescent fancy and energy abound as the observer wanders the crowd. Jeans and sneakers pass in an endless stream around and below the observer, who is looking down without much thought. The sea of shoes parts before the shades, now fully of flesh. They their drift around fellow students, in front of a row of lockers, across the length of the corridor and around a corner.
They are still side by side, still untouching, though closer now.
The noise of the hallway recedes, giving the pair an intimate silence. The scene blurs around them, who pass effortlessly through the crowd to some unknown destination, still walking the path on which we met them.
An unspoken acknowledgment passes from one to the other,and back. It is their secret to keep and the gap is closed by two innocuous pinky fingers linking souls, linking understanding, ending time.
They are not together, though in a past life they stormed Mount Olympus, of this there is no doubt.
The hallway noise returns, and the shades are consumed by the tide, dissipate and blow away, sharing a secret smile before the end.
[fade to black]
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Cruciatus in crucem, eas in crucem
This isn't a repository for my emotions; it never has been a place to dump my emotional waste, it isn't about to become the same now. But there are times that emotion begs address. This is my one and only tribute to you, and my warning.
You're marring my art.
The feeling encasing my heart was the thorny thing called "regret" which in the heat melted into the vile sludge of remorse. That feeling oozed far away and has given rise to the seeds of guilt, which withered with each slap of a 'could have been' and was replaced on a stiff wind by terror mingled with self-loathing. And the keystrokes like tears fell, exploding pools of sympathy and pain the ilk of which you could have never imagined, but under your thumb lay the red button. This alloy broke apart bit by bit and the flakes remaining were "resolve".
(interlude)
Loneliness and Weariness are painful friends but they soothe too, and I am no stranger to that gentle touch. I have tried to meet you, I have used every appeal in my quiver, nothing remains to shoot out into the dark. ...And when the truth strikes blind out of the night, and when you've pushed me away, and when you stand alone with your thoughts and your flames know only that I fired to save you, and also myself.
(end)
I'm fighting while I have fight left, to bring myself to a place where I can breathe without regretting the impulse to draw breath. I've endured beatings for the burden of my existence. I felt the whip dig into virgin flesh and tear at the spot of vulnerability I bore to you, my sacrifice to your pain. I was willing to indulge in the fancy of watching my emotion run red against the sorrowful pyre of your fury, but enough is enough. I gave you a chance, and for my tact and generosity you abused my virtue and spat on my good name. I have stood the indignity of your berating. I have stooped, I have scraped, and now I stand on my own two feet to level a glare at you and declare it finished.
But still I wish you the best, because my well-being does not allow me to wish evil for others. The universe is not kind to those who pray for the ill of their fellow man. You have taken your fair pound of flesh. Let no more be said, for that is all.
You're marring my art.
The feeling encasing my heart was the thorny thing called "regret" which in the heat melted into the vile sludge of remorse. That feeling oozed far away and has given rise to the seeds of guilt, which withered with each slap of a 'could have been' and was replaced on a stiff wind by terror mingled with self-loathing. And the keystrokes like tears fell, exploding pools of sympathy and pain the ilk of which you could have never imagined, but under your thumb lay the red button. This alloy broke apart bit by bit and the flakes remaining were "resolve".
(interlude)
Loneliness and Weariness are painful friends but they soothe too, and I am no stranger to that gentle touch. I have tried to meet you, I have used every appeal in my quiver, nothing remains to shoot out into the dark. ...And when the truth strikes blind out of the night, and when you've pushed me away, and when you stand alone with your thoughts and your flames know only that I fired to save you, and also myself.
(end)
I'm fighting while I have fight left, to bring myself to a place where I can breathe without regretting the impulse to draw breath. I've endured beatings for the burden of my existence. I felt the whip dig into virgin flesh and tear at the spot of vulnerability I bore to you, my sacrifice to your pain. I was willing to indulge in the fancy of watching my emotion run red against the sorrowful pyre of your fury, but enough is enough. I gave you a chance, and for my tact and generosity you abused my virtue and spat on my good name. I have stood the indignity of your berating. I have stooped, I have scraped, and now I stand on my own two feet to level a glare at you and declare it finished.
But still I wish you the best, because my well-being does not allow me to wish evil for others. The universe is not kind to those who pray for the ill of their fellow man. You have taken your fair pound of flesh. Let no more be said, for that is all.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
"When you grow up, call me back"-A Prayer to Our Lady of the GaGa
Nothing Else I Can Say: part one.
I've been feeling rather ill recently- no surprises there, it's all metaphysical. But for the first time since last winter I am able to feel cold, and the pleasurable sting of natural weather below 70 degrees. Nothing is set in stone.
Again, Again: part two
I understand the pain I am and should be feeling, but there is a liberation in solitude. I'm growing to enjoy it.
Caught in a Bad Romance: part three
But how does one reconcile the simultaneous upsurge of freedom and positivity one feels with total liberation and abandonment of the concept 'self-preservation' with the crushing sense of weight and negativity that is being sucked into another person's mire? I understand pain, and offer up a prayer for those whose faith is dearly departed, but I'm not about to watch her martyr herself while crucifying me as the reason for her self-inflicted righteousness. Thanks, no thanks.I'd rather be a heathen.
And if this is to explain my self-imposed silence for the past week then to all those in-the-know, I'm willing to attribute all to the process of healing. Fights happen, friends are lost, and I've received my lumps for it, believe you me. But there is nothing worse than the pain felt by an empathetic person stooping to help the miserable. This, perhaps explains Dante's reaction in the swamp of sorrows. I'm not quite ready to beat back the heads of those who would drag me down into their miserable midst- but another two days of that heat and her searing scorn and I might just have grabbed for my cricket bat.
Poker Face: conclusion
In the meantime the world still spins. Life is too short to let drama overtake you. Make a fiction, tell a lie, and make that the most fucking real lie you've ever told. That's what art is. I believe that, and for too long my truth has been a fiction, but that didn't work. Now's the time to make a spectacle and call it me.
I've been feeling rather ill recently- no surprises there, it's all metaphysical. But for the first time since last winter I am able to feel cold, and the pleasurable sting of natural weather below 70 degrees. Nothing is set in stone.
Again, Again: part two
I understand the pain I am and should be feeling, but there is a liberation in solitude. I'm growing to enjoy it.
Caught in a Bad Romance: part three
But how does one reconcile the simultaneous upsurge of freedom and positivity one feels with total liberation and abandonment of the concept 'self-preservation' with the crushing sense of weight and negativity that is being sucked into another person's mire? I understand pain, and offer up a prayer for those whose faith is dearly departed, but I'm not about to watch her martyr herself while crucifying me as the reason for her self-inflicted righteousness. Thanks, no thanks.I'd rather be a heathen.
And if this is to explain my self-imposed silence for the past week then to all those in-the-know, I'm willing to attribute all to the process of healing. Fights happen, friends are lost, and I've received my lumps for it, believe you me. But there is nothing worse than the pain felt by an empathetic person stooping to help the miserable. This, perhaps explains Dante's reaction in the swamp of sorrows. I'm not quite ready to beat back the heads of those who would drag me down into their miserable midst- but another two days of that heat and her searing scorn and I might just have grabbed for my cricket bat.
Poker Face: conclusion
In the meantime the world still spins. Life is too short to let drama overtake you. Make a fiction, tell a lie, and make that the most fucking real lie you've ever told. That's what art is. I believe that, and for too long my truth has been a fiction, but that didn't work. Now's the time to make a spectacle and call it me.
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