Has it really been 20 days since I last wrote here? Here. Implying that I've been scribbling myself away in bits and pieces, in scraps of paper, in email drafts I save & send myself, or slyly shoot off to friends as letters. In unfinished poems, half-sentences and stories with yet unapparent endings, mainly as I write about my own life which as most of you who read this may well know, is really quite inconclusive.
It's tempting to document, I'd worried about this before. To rattle off events and names and numbers so somehow it all sits in a package neatly tied up and bowed, but instead very much like the city I live in, my life is more an unruly sprawl. Spilling into unexpected paths, branching here and there insensibly, random now, reasonable later. Or vice versa. That I paused isn't surprising, writing my last two posts was heart wrenching - to myself and apparently, to most everyone else who read it. If I had an editor, what would this sainted entity say - a little less honesty? A little less pain?
On my dining table sits 8 rose quartz spheres, one huge and seven small. My feng shui mistress recommended this for auspicious romance. Did it work? I'm not sure. I'd had the house fenged to bits a year before I rid myself of the Sewer, as if somehow I'd known I'd need it. I even smudged with sage so thoroughly I gave myself an asthma attack. The Frugens, my gay boyfriends, would eye everything with skepticism, ever Dutch and logical. But it didn't bother me, I'd grown up with feng shui, it was at the very least a practice belonging to my heritage.
I don't know if it was six months of solid space clearing and mad feng-ing that led me to B. I can hardly retell the story as some invisible line dares me not to cross it. For the sake of all who peek here, I'll just say that I'd been writing about and around B since the day I probably met him, in private handwritten journals, in surreptitiously typed entries I never publish. And the only thing I can share about him is that there is always tenderness. I hope for my sake, it always stays that way.
Most of the peeps who follow this or my trailing comments on the Golden Venus' site already know he's a Libra, which in and of itself, isn't as promising as it seems. They're beautiful, fickle, mortally frightened of depth, often fragile and unable to articulate their deepest unhappiness. Sure they'll complain about how the picture isn't quite symmetrical, or why for goodness sake there's yet another mark on the wall, but all the things that make their insides snap will hardly ever be addressed.
So it is odd for me, one so in touch with almost every imperceptible feeling in those around me, to be involved with someone so clearly invested in avoiding his. Or at least, used to be.
FA on feathers, fangs, furies and all sorts of folly, yes, even the serious kind.
content copyright 2011
Yep, my life, my insanity, my copyright. If you like what you read, let me know :)
Did I use your image & attribute it incorrectly? Sorry! Let me know and I'll take it down. "Sssshhhh" image on blog header by Deborah Azzopardi. It's an amazing print now available thru Ikea.