Friday, January 28, 2011

"Now you're here now I know just where I'm going..."

Listening to Nina Simone and editing my notes. I hope you are all well.

Nude Egyptian Girl by John Singer Sargent

I dreamt again of the man of my life, this time he is kissing me. His face above mine, his lips soft and tender, he raises his head so I'm able to see his eye. I’m so happy, I’m instantly afraid and I look at his lips all pink from my kisses. He smiles, I can’t bear how handsome he is and he kisses me with something like urgency. I can’t tell how he feels or if he desires me and suddenly I’m aware it’s all a dream. I grab on to him like an image reflected in water, one is certain, is just beneath the surface only once you reach for it all is last. I’m pulling him down on top of me, yanking at this belt, desperate to seal the deal before we wake but it’s too fine a thread. Something catches my attention and the scene changes I’m in another dream franticly trying to get back to him.
All my love,

Monday, January 24, 2011

the key to communication


I tell you that you are beautiful.
You blush, you smile, you kiss me.
I tell you that I love you.
You blush, you smile, you kiss me.
And sometimes that is enough.
But deep inside, I feel a gnawing hunger for
Your nourishing words, an end to your silence.

Nikolaos Gyzis's Capuchin Monk
My love my care,

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Awful for all involved

Eavesdropping at lunch lends to my blog.

My Daughter Josephine by Edmund Tarbell
The End

“Happy in love is a cruel place to start,” the woman with her back to me said to the furiously still man sitting across from her.
“The fuck it is, you are a cheat and a coward.”
“There is no need to be ugly, I am sorry.”
“If you think that’s ugly you just wait sweetheart.”
“And if you ever really loved me you would forgive me so I could be happy.”
“Yes, and if you had loved me you never would have cheated and turned my goddamn life into a wasteland so you see we all have our cross to bear.”
“Will you keep your voice down, people are starting to stare.”
“What the fuck do I care. I hope he gives you syphilis and you die a slow painful death,” he said in angry rise, “And I want you out of my apartment before I get home tonight.”
At this he storms off leaving her seated while everyone in the restaurant pretends not to notice his little devastation and her open relief at his departure. She takes a long drink from her glass then took out her phone and dials, her voice in a near hush as she confirms his heartbreak to the person on the other end.
“It’s for the best. I just couldn't continue pretending to love him when I really love you.”
My love my care,

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

In Dreams

I wonder what it all means?

The Bathing Place by Paul Ranson

I fell asleep, my body in a sort of tension over something I can no longer recall and quickly had a vision of the man of my life. He is in water clear, on quest for the hand of the woman he desires only she isn’t me. This is instantly evident to me and still I with heart offer him counsel.

“Hold your breath and dive until you hit the warm water that pulls to a current that will rush you along a jet, which will deliver you to the top of the canal from there the swim is negligible.”

He is grateful and takes hold my hand before wishing me a hasty adieu with promises of seeing me at the point of victory. I’m pensive but not concerned watching him swim then dive out of sight before sailing along myself to the line where the winner is to be declared.

When I arrive there is a great deal of fanfare and for a moment I'm certain it is in celebration for the man of my life triumph. That is until I see him emerge from with defeat on his face.

“I’ve been beat even with your brilliant advice and all my certainty,” he laments and I again with heart offer solace.

“You are strong but it was an impossible task, the winner arrived on yacht while you braved the water with no more than body and skill.”

It is here where thing take a turn for the horrid for now the woman he desires with the victor at her side said with accusation to the poor dear still exhausted in the water. “The choice was yours, you could have sailed like all the other participants for my hand but you foolishly chose to swim.”

“But there is honour in my path,” he insisted.

“You could not have won, surely you see that,” she said and her words filled me with a sort of turmoil that made me certain the only thing to do was drown him. It was a kindness really, save him from living with the shame of loss and me with the disappointment of loving a man who would make such a spectacle of himself for another.

I explain to him my decision and he agrees, reaching out of the water to kiss my lips in sweet tender before allowing me to hold him under water without struggle.
My love my care,

Monday, January 10, 2011

As it occurs to me

This I wrote after eating French macaroons in a pastry shop in Yorkville. I looked on with something like sadness while the friendly young woman behind the counter tie-up a box of sweets for the distracted cutie on his blackberry ignorant to her attempts to engage him.

Govert Grapjurk by Erik Suidman

He had been to her little pastry shop before in a way often but not regular, always without words and ordering with regularity a variation on the same theme; an espresso with some savoury something or the other. She was trying to sort him out in between the rush of orders, never bothering to learn his name, referring to him only as the worn Clint Eastwood with the hard sad eyes. Until the week she had gone off on whimsy to her parents in Montréal and he had turned up at their pastry shop near Saint-Laurent and Mont-Royal to tell her it hadn’t been the same without her there.

“Without you it had been no more than the four seasons and I rest my bags then tipped the man at the door. There was no smile or sweet cinnamon and I had been weary traveller.”

She should have been alarmed at his presence but she was no more than thoughtful rising with arms open and he had been reluctant despite having come so far, for theirs had been no more than her kind smiles behind the counter. It struck him them how unlike warmth her embrace had been to him there coiled around her soft giving frame feeling raw as if peeled and drenched in salt. Her words at his ears, “Have you eaten?” as her hands run over his back playing at comfort and familiarity.

He took breath in a sort of relief then said, “I don’t like sweets.”
My love my care,