Other Stories, Other Windows............

TRAVIS -
Sing

Baby, you've been going so crazy
Lately, nothing seems to be going right
Solo, why do you have to get so low
You're so...
You've been waiting in the sun too long

But if you sing, sing, sing, sing, sing, sing
For the love you bring won't mean a thing
Unless you sing, sing, sing, sing

Colder, crying on your shoulder
Hold her, and tell her everythings gonna be fine
Surely, you've been going to early
Hurry, cause no one's gonna be stopped
But if you sing, sing, sing, sing, sing, sing

For the love you bring won't mean a thing
Unless you sing, sing, sing, sing

Baby, there's something going on today
But I say nothing, nothing, nothing,
Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing

Other Stories, Other Windows............

Midnight Words ~ Thomas Carroll


Certain features may be unavailable.
The words come,
Hidden beneath her snores
And the sound of a fan keeping time
With his voice,
Careful, stepping over commas
Like a cat stalking shadows
Every word remembrance
Of fingertips forming moans
Across skin steamed with lacy indecision
He reads to her
Skin on skin
Warmth kissing every word with near silence
She wakes for a moment
And he stops,
Tears hidden
Wordless again
Mouth buried along the curve of her spine
That moments ago was an arch to heaven
He stops and murmurs
Naked in her eyes

Magic...

Detail

Something Blue..........

When I wake at night, I reach for the smooth landscape of your back. You instinctual whisper of easement as I curl into your warmth. Some nights, it’s only the memory of you that I find… the cold crisp of your pillow.

There are times when I lay in the dark and listen to you. (Not the loud version… but the dusky breathing before your tempest.) What I hear is the rising of some phoenix within me, the soft flutter of wings. It’s not just you that sighs as I slip my cold breasts against your back.

G.

Magic...

Bacchus and Ariadne, by Antoine`Jean Gros

Bacchus and Ariadne, by Antoine-Jean Gros

Where the Wild Bees Swarm

Here are a few secrets that I have been keeping.

I want something, bigger… greater… deeper, darker, longer… sweet and salty, hard and brilliant. I want something that fills me with its silent tide, simple and primal as the counting out of days. I want something that is both a risk and a known.

I want a house filled with memories that I made with you.

I want a photo album brimming with smiling faces and varied stories. A labyrinth of adventure, from that weekend stolen in October amongst the leaves to the grand trip overseas.

I want years. Not months.

I want to know when I come home, it is home. Home being built not just in timber, but in sweat and compromise. In love and conflict. A home built on shared principles. And mostly, on laughter.

I want friends. Many friends. And a dinner table to hold them.

I want to know you as well as I know myself. Know how your eyes look under many different skies… or how you handle the reality of our lives.

I want firsts. Lasts. I want to know I can lean on you and you will stand up tall.

I want to be proud of myself. Of you. Of what it stands for, having come down that long road.

I want this feeling to go away. The one that makes me doubt that all of this is possible. That I don’t feel fortunate enough to find this sort of fulfillment, that perhaps there must be more hills to climb over… rivers to traverse.

I don’t know if it’s you. I want this to be. And honestly… I am not sure if I can stand the disappointment if it’s not.

This all takes time, I know. But can you feel it? My pulling into myself. My closure. It will pass. I hope. Don’t react by shutting me out. I am not sure if any of it will come to fruition. It’s so much, too much, to ask for at this time. (Hell, I have NOT lost my mind.) But be patient. I just can’t tell you these things yet. I still want my secrets.

For right now… I just need you.



G.

Something Wicked this way Comes...

Young Woman with a Fan - Rotari (Taken at the National Gallery)

Detail

Confession

Is there a difference between giving someone “space” and playing hard to get?

I have to muddle through this one. It’s where I knee jerk. (And as you all know, knee-jerk = bad.)

I want space. I want to create space. There should be a healthy balance between who I am, who you are… who we are.

Yesterday, I should have just let him do his “guy” thing… done mine. In retrospect, I misspent my day. (I have read the entire contents of the truck, labels included.) Take it as a learning curve… But there are other times when there is no clear distinction.

It’s at these times that the “space” hardens, almost like an angry playful. But if I analyze this further, I discover that it’s not anger, but pride…. I feel foolish for not getting the natural road signs. Yes, I should have… but did not. Dammit. Next time…

And it’s not about him… it’s about me. God that sounds bad. I mean, yes… he is in the equation too, but mostly I want to make sure that I take care of myself. I don’t want there to be burnout. Too much, too soon. I am sure that I am not alone in this struggle. You hear this complaint from men over and over again… (yes, even outside of Cosmo). So in the past, my solution is to play hard to get. Distance myself. Create some sort of wall that he has to chip away at. It’s childish, a waste of energy that could be put to good use on other things.

This weekend should be still. A quiet, un-man-adorned weekend. I am NOT looking forward to hearing the “Whistler Stag Monologues” but on the other hand, I am. It’s better to separate and experience things… bring back new tales and misadventures to the table. We can cover way more ground apart than we can together.

I am really good at beginnings. At the ends. But it’s the middle… the meat of it, that I am atrocious at. I want something real and un-dramatic. Something that fits into my life.

And I want cake. LOTS and lots of cake.

Ok wait. This is not the relationship buffet. Shit.

Are you sure they don’t serve ‘Icing on Penis’?



G.

In The Eye Of the Beholder...

Winter Green

Library

Looking Window - Three

Looking Window - Two

Other Stories, Other Windows............

Please ~ Richard BRAUTIGAN


Do you think of me
as often
as I think
of you?

Something Blue..........

We all accept things as they are. Accept, for example, that our mates are not as into art or gardening as we are… or they accept that we may not like hockey, football or the latest stats on the percentage of women who have breast implants. (And dayam, don’t the look real?) I know I have settled for this acceptance. Said to myself, really… compared to the big things, this is so small.

But that is a slippery slope.

Those small things grow. Become larger issues. So he drinks too much? So what if he can’t keep his eyes off the waitresses? So I hate how he sounds when he chews. (Would a knife in the jaw kill him?)

We have all been there. Made the rationalization that those things we don’t really care for, those things that make our good sense shudder, will really not matter on the large scale… long term.

Wrong.

I have loved like that. Only really given myself half permission. We know in our souls if something is going to go south. Instinct. I don’t know if there is a correlation or not. The petty small annoyances, the compromising principles and half love. But I suspect that we have all known somewhere in ourselves if something will work or not. If the fact that he hangs his clothes on the doorknob will just be an excuse later, a direction in which to throw your disappointment.

I am in love with this amazing, messy, distracted, kind, loyal, and sweetly selfish man. Yes. I have accepted all of this…. All of the nuances of him. (I am sure that there will be more discovered.) But not once have I settled. Not once have I had to rationalize or play the excuses over in my head. This is not a court of law. This is my heart. And, let’s be honest, I am hardly perfect. Have you seen my closet?

I have tried to explain this a couple of times to people who get that glazed over look, it’s not that difficult a concept. But I think it’s in our nature to assume that acceptance is a form of “settling”. We are who we are. And the moment we understand this, and not just say … but KNOW that there is no changing our lovers, husbands, boyfriends… friends… family… the happier we all will be.

I cannot change you. But I would not want to. You are who you are… and I fell in love with that man.

This does not mean that there are not seven hundred beautiful things. There are. Time will only add to that deck of cards.

This brings an interesting twist to ponder. Will internet dating allow us to have more control over who we meet… to slow down the roulette of what we must compromise on? Will there be less settling, more “Hello, Goodbye”. It’s an interesting idea… that the way we met… under the circumstances, allowed me the ability to choose WHO and what I wanted more.

Of course it’s not going to be all wine and roses. Of course.

But I know that we are on the same page… that I “get him” enough to move through it. And perhaps, even enjoy it as an opportunity to learn something new.

Settle. Nah.



G.

In The Eye Of the Beholder...

Something Green

Something Blue..........

The Bee Box ~ Sylvia PLATH


I ordered this, clean wood box
Square as a chair and almost too heavy to lift.
I would say it was the coffin of a midget
Or a square baby
Were there not such a din in it.

The box is locked, it is dangerous.
I have to live with it overnight
And I can't keep away from it.
There are no windows, so I can't see what is in there.
There is only a little grid, no exit.

I put my eye to the grid.
It is dark, dark,
With the swarmy feeling of African hands
Minute and shrunk for export,
Black on black, angrily clambering.

How can I let them out?
It is the noise that appalls me most of all,
The unintelligible syllables.
It is like a Roman mob,
Small, taken one by one, but my god, together!

I lay my ear to furious Latin.
I am not a Caesar.
I have simply ordered a box of maniacs.
They can be sent back.
They can die, I need feed them nothing, I am the owner.

I wonder how hungry they are.
I wonder if they would forget me
If I just undid the locks and stood back and turned into a tree.
There is the laburnum, its blond colonnades,
And the petticoats of the cherry.

They might ignore me immediately
In my moon suit and funeral veil.
I am no source of honey
So why should they turn on me?
Tomorrow I will be sweet God, I will set them free.

The box is only temporary.

In The Eye Of the Beholder...

Today, When I Called...

I had wanted to say
thank you

for filling my life
with this soft ache
of contentment

Confession

I can smell fall today. On the edges of the sun. In the wet relief of rain on the pavement.

Have you ever wanted so much, to bursting, afraid that you could not possibly get it? I keep asking myself, what good thing I did to deserve such sweetness. Look at my life… there are such wonderful things in the small singing birds, in the small fragments of simple prettiness. There is so much to be thankful for.

Complicated? Yes, sometimes.

Easy? No.

But there are moments when I feel so … full.

Last night the dogs could sense the coming rain. In their giddy dog ways, darting across the summer burnt grass to the trees, the sky turning bright gray. A natural instinct. Like the scent of fall in the air. Something we know, deep in our selves. Deeper than our egos, or petty meddling. Deeper.

The sliver of truth, buried in our hearts.

Sometimes he says things that both thrill and frighten me. (Is it wrong to say, I want that too?) When did I get so jaded? I want to shake my self out like a rug, let the bitterness and fear drift out over the tall grass and vanish into the air. I want to believe. Hope. I keep listening for that sliver of truth to contradict what my heart wants... and it never comes. The doubt. There is only quiet. A quiet of a sleepy house, not of an abandoned one. (Does that make sense to only me?)

Love is only the start. Remember, I always say… “Love is an action word”. Time tells. Oh yes, I know. Cliché. (Who cares anyway, if the words are well worn?) Slowly, this will unfold…. Summer turns to fall, fall to winter.

There is more to fall than the leaves and the golden sky. It’s a time when I hear katydids singing, when I can look at the full moon and map my heart on it’s face as plainly as I can see these words here. Fall is a time to stretch yourself, to take that final leap into the cool water and kiss your summer stained skin goodbye. It’s when we get real. When we are less frivolous.

Fall is when I shall see if the sliver has spread, if the truth has a voice.

When I might stop talking in riddles and say it as plain as I feel it.

G.

The Littlest Birds Sing the Sweetest Songs...

Drive

Confession

I passed my physical testing today. Against some personal odds. And sure, it was not the best score… but sometimes… passing is enough. Enough to put passion back into one’s heart. Enough to light the fire again.

I want this. I want something more than what is right now.

The dream? Perhaps. Or something more. A calling… a silent whisper in the dark hallways of my self. The closer I get, the more of the whisper I can translate from darkness to light.

G.

Something Blue..........

"Spread your flesh on me
I need you wild tonight" ~ Jack Harlan


My bed seems empty. The apartment more bare. I am pool of water with only the ripples as memories.

Why is it that the presence of someone only makes you realize how alone you are in their absence? It makes me feel more vulnerable. More on the edge of myself.

I suddenly realized that there was no point of return, that if it came down to it, there was no preventing the ache of losing. If I risk nothing, I gain nothing. Despite the dangerous coffee shop girls or the shoe fetish.

But this hardly touches the other things I wonder about. (For other days... ) How couples match one another... when does that start? Please, lord... shoot me if I match my shirt to his shoes. Or what happens if I wake up one morning and it's gone. Is that possible? Or... god forbid... my friends think he is only half as amazing as I did.

No worries. There are always lips on this happiness. Always that shadow of doubt. (Or is there? It could be just damage control.)

It's pettiness.

What really seems to matter is trying to figure out if his eyes are green or brown. Or both.

I am going to savor the missing. It means that there is more to know, more to want... more ... more...


G.

In The Eye Of the Beholder...

Kent District Graveyard

Forgotten Gate

Confession

I wanted to say something about being lost.

It’s a quiet thing, a still place that we find ourselves. Timidly making plans, aching for the reality of coming home, finally. Seeing that things have changed while we were gone, but filling with that inexplicable peace when we walk through the door. In being found.

Letting someone in is difficult. For me, especially. I like the safety net of secrets. Those hidden shelves high up out of reach. Yet, there is this stubborn woman in me who says all that is bullshit. That to live life completely, there should be no secrets. Only surprises.

Love is something I was not expecting to find here. In this quiet place. The secrets don’t seem as insurmountable now. And slowly, I will empty those shelves.

I want a world where I am found. Every day, coming across that sudden happiness, like walking through the front door after a journey. Grateful. Unexpected.

I want my world with you in it.

G.

The Littlest Birds Sing the Sweetest Songs...

Lake

Hicks Lake

Lake