It's Saturday, early evening, and I'm sitting here waiting for the phone call to show up and babysit. In this meantime, I am thinking I'd like to post something, but, hmmmm, what to post? Flipping through a couple of old journals/notebooks I find the following entries, which I am only sharing here part out of boredom and part out of a slightly rushing need for exhibitionism.
(Hey! You shouldn't expect anything truly exhibitionist from me - I am a Capricorn) =)
once, we were
once i had a family.
i had a mother, a father
2 sisters, 1 brother.
where have they gone now?
i never left, but
where have they gone now?
we were a family. five, sometimes six.
soon four and sometimes five.
shots were fired that i didn't hear and sometimes were no more.
and one at a time
we dwindled away, moved away, willed ourselves away...
from what did we go away?
was there ever anything holding us together?
i never left, but
where have they gone now? - 27 august 2003-
...like flowers stretching up through cracks in a city sidewalk, i ne'er expected you. -20 october 2004-
...for your beauty eclipses all thought. I am left with nothing but the ache from my memories of you - of us - and the heart that beats for you now... -20 october 2004-
-25 july 2004-
i don't know whether writing is the good lover with whom I am not yet mature enough to commit, or if it's the bad lover with whom i will always suffer bouts of insistence and resistance.
i show up at the page, but only for a little while. our love affair is not torrid so much as it is ephemeral - brief. i am fascinated to see my thoughts unfurl onto line after line of un-chartered paper. usually the fervor with which i jot down words hurts my hand as it struggles to keep up. when i finish i am almost breathless, exhausted from the effort. and just like a man i relieve myself of desirous intensities and i put my pen back into its sheath, neatly close the book and hide the pages upon which i have left my mark. i leave.
later i will return to satiate my fix. it matters not the time or the place, the length of my interlude or the breadth of my expression. there is always paper to be had. not that paper is the problem or the solution. it appears as though both reside in me. i am both carrier host and parasite.
