Before I get back to being cynical about cynicism (haha), let me just take a moment to note the amazing etheric weather. Not ether as in Dimethyl Toxic Killer Chemical Something Something, but ether as in the heavens. For as we've been righteously prepped to awareness by the Golden Venus to Uranus Squaring Pluto in Capricorn or as she so aptly terms it the Zap Zone, I've also personally noticed an increase in heightened dream activity. So much so in fact that lately I've been napping fully clothed in gym gear under the deluded assumption of giving my eyes a 5 minute rest before hitting the track, only to wake up a few hours later, groggy yet exhausted as if apres work out.
Dear Goddess of Love,
You’ve had our differences you and I, and I have followed you through many a doorway and on to plenty a-winding path. Must it be like this?
I’m sun-touched feverish, and looking for relief. Will it come or won’t it?
Somewhere in the compendium of astro literature, I've read over and over again that one should simply not expect a Libran male to ask you in-depth questions about your life. Frugen #2 exempted, since I suspect he has Virgoan overtones, I've found this to be shockingly true.
It was true with the Libran Environmentalist I'd once dated who bit my head off when I tried to draw him out by sharing stories which I thought, albeit mistakenly, would help relate to his experience. It's also true of two of my Libran male co-workers whose love lives and misadventures I'm so up to date on, I could be their therapot but neither of whom have a clue about mine. And of course, it's true of B.
B, whom I once informed about this blog - since he has one of his own he's since abandoned. It seems puzzling that someone I spent the better part of a year with wouldn't want to ask me about my own writing, even when I once opened that door as I'd kissed him sweetly and said, "I hope you don't mind, I do write about you." He'd twinkled at me, returned the kiss and never asked.
One would think that in his search for commonalities, THE basis that B always purported made for successful relationships, writing would be a bond rather than a non-factor. But there it is. Don't ask, don't tell.
There are days when I feel I will never, ever sleep again. I used to be sleepless, owing to Sewerage. But now it's just a constant buzz not unlike the way the wires outside my flat snap and crackle through the night. Walking friends to their cars, I laugh as they nervously search above and around, I think expecting a Tesla coil or two to spit high voltage spider veins into the dark. There's none of that, just currents feeding up and down the street to fuel the mundane; the tv, the lights, the personal electronics.
Electric Woman by Shelest
The sound never bothered me, I never wondered why or asked like most people do, "is that supposed to be normal?" Because the answer to me is yes.
It IS normal. It's the sound of my body inordinately warm atop the cold sheets of my bed, my skin brimming with memories, my pores oozing the thoughts that travel up and down me. When I was younger, thinking was a strictly mental exercise - and one usually guaranteed to bring on a headache. In youth, ideas live in boxes, hard edged and inflexible. Without the test of experience, the practiced faith-keeping of intuition and the confidence of instinct, thinking is dry. The ideas we try to sort out hit mostly logical walls, which have no proclivity to bending or flexing whatsoever. There is a lot of confused staring.
Now that I'm older, I know every unfinished thought will eventually find its way, so I've learned to bear no ill will against the puzzles that wrack me at times. In the past, the work of this wondering was to arrive at an answer stat! And failing that, the result is hardening, even cynicism. Now, it's the skill and the crafting of the questions that occupy me. In fact, with so much pleasure. I know that if I build the right question, hone it, turn it round and round against the light, try to hear it through the pitch black of the unknown, the answers will come eventually. Even if they're not what I expected or hoped for.
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?
The decks begin to clear in the weeks before my birthday, as if wave upon wave had claimed it's chosen sailor leaving but a single one standing. It was time for the Rotational to die.
I was dispassionate about Dragan's lies, that alone was proof he'd never managed to storm the real breach. In the peacefully cool marbled halls of my kingdom, the inner sanctum laid unseen by Serbian eyes. And Kentucky, well, I assumed he'd continue on his weary travels, happy to pass on by. Instead, I hear from him again and realize he intended to linger. Was there some jewel I'd not seen? Something else I'd ignored in the encounter?
These are the questions I usually ask myself. Not to say I didn't have my fears or my desires. I do.
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.