Monday, July 25, 2011

The Perfect Man Is:

Quick to laugh with a killer smile
He is fit with a six pack
Well read and of proper books too, none of this Malcolm Gladwell popular fiction nonsense
A Professional
Good with his hands
A Yogi
And Masseuse
A baby whisperer
Tantric sex master
Plays the piano
Parallel parks with one hand
Love foreign films
Is a world traveler and is multilingual.
The Perfect man is more than a renaissance man he is pure fiction.

John Frederick Kensett's Sunset on the Sea
My care my love,

Sunday, July 17, 2011


Louis Aston Knight's Flower by the Edge of the River

I can’t bear it and not because the change I’ve so long anticipated is nowhere in sight but I’m bothered by the near comfort I take from the mundanity of todays that too often resembles yesterdays. I’m afraid of my pass, terrified my ills will manifest themselves as some awful change and so I’m glad to wallow here in the relative misery of Tuesdays that favours Saturdays. I’ve been wicked and ungrateful but it does not weight so heavy I fear as the worry of the consequence that karma promises. Though, why I a non-religious descendant of nonpracticing Catholics and Jews turned Rasta and half-assed Buddhist should worry so about sin is beyond me.
Bad people get away with murder all the time while innocent babies die from hunger. Let’s face it, good things happen to bad people all the time without rhyme or reason and still I can’t help but fret over the grand judgement. I wonder if that is a universal human worry.
My love my care,

Saturday, July 9, 2011

Why I never wait by the phone

Because at sixteen I wrote this in between breaks of frantically pacing the floor of my room while waiting for the boy I liked to call

Odilon Redon's Ophelia
Me at 16

For him I’m flames on the ocean and any thought of him sweeps me up as frenzied northern wind on wild fire
I burn and boil the water scalding the fish
I’m mayhem near cataclysmic

Violent, no?
My love my care,