"NOT TO SAY YOU GAVE UP EVERYTHING AND NOW HAVE NOTHING,THERE NEVER WAS A BARGAIN, ONLY SALTY FAITH. ONLY THE POSSIBILITY OF FINDING SWEET WATER."- D. WAKOWSKI
I think of myself as perceptive but I miss the truth when it is too painful. I look into the mirror, thinking if I can understand myself, I can understand some of the world. What I want to see is the twin of myself, as a completion. But that is deceptive,too. Illusion replaces image.
How I have opened my hands filled with moonlight and found only human palms which stretch into a kind of longing...a winter love that wrestles with summer.....a spirit that wrestles with distance.....and flesh. Partnerships of spirit and flesh.
I wake up wanting to embrace him instead of thinking.
The rain that falls this morning, this summer, since last winter, is silver fish falling from the sky. Shimmering. Falling. Shimmering heaps on the ground. Sometimes I wonder if I remember who you are, except the world you live in comes into my head occasionally. Somehow it is my fault that love slapped me when it really wanted to touch me differently. Even in my head there is a conflict between loving and possessing, between love and sex. This morning you are the man I love most.
When you think you are looking into someone's eyes, are they really pushing you back into your own core where you recognize a message, always the same, ancient and within you? Light. Everything is made of light. We only imagine windows framing it.
I tell you....no sorcery will save you from the ancient fate, the ancient major rules we all are forced to play by, and, if it seems to, then you have only misread them, mis-heard them.
"Here is the pivot point around which my future will swivel. The change happens before my eyes. Now when I begin to obsessively gnaw on my fears, I try to wrestle them loose from myself the way you'd take a slipper from a doberman."(M.Karr) It is all in higher hands. In powers greater than I. It says..."more will be revealed, not more will be figured out." (M.Karr)
Now a wide sky span holds me. Some fist pounding on the center of my chest has unclasped itself. I've let go.
Who are these two selves within me, spirit and flesh, love and fear?
They didn't trust each other as much as they trusted the distances we'd grown up in?
-A re-working of ideas inspired in me by reading DW and MK and that after all the gambling with my life, I fell into the arms of Joao Pedro and how the love object becomes the art object's license to life. Another kind of song, another kind of music wrapped around and through the summer-leafed-infinity of loving him.
for Joao Pedro Placido.
