the man with the peace inspiring face once pulled my body close to his and i felt the physical intensity of his being, while unable to distinguish desire for movement from desire for warmth, i was left feeling part of his world without any ambition of ever belonging. i had found a muse. my muses inspire, and leave me free from the ills of possessive desires. these muses are men, but for a being who formed "its" identity inspired by a male, men, are the natural source of inspiration since they provide me with the best mirrors i can find in humanity.
today is filled with anxiety. i will not even?? try to understand this anxiety, for me it is time to savour it. my bones hurt; my personal physician is on vacation for the next two weeks, and i do not feel like going to a stranger. my bones have hurt for weeks, i have procrastinated and rationalized for weeks, eased by the fact that during training do i rarely feel my pain. sometimes the thought that it might be something nasty, not just arthritis, occurs, and i find myself not caring. now, you are allowed just one guess as to what the theme of the story i am working on is.
i got up and then found myself doing something that i have wanted to do for a while, a first step in the editing of "out of context" now published as a blog very much as a first draft, full of punctuation errors, to say nothing of lopsided sentences. i want to indulge in the editing, and i do not dare the indulgence. first i must complete the present project. anxiety, as the dictionary claims, is that state of muddled up doubt and fear of ever impending doom lurking in the immediate horizon. no, the dictionary does not put it in those terms. before and exam or a very important public appearance, i can count on diarrhea as though trying to get rid of the fear and apprehension. the fear of failure, the disappointment of not looking good, the apprehension about being though a fool.?? no, those who know me, will never have guessed that being on the spot light is something that frightens the daylights out of me. at least, if not the daylights, certainly the bowels get discharged. bowels can perhaps not be equated to daylights, but you get the idea. still, anxiety is a dark diarrhetic state of ill being.
i look at his face, and i know that i can do it. it is about success, success without guilt nor shame. just as i write these words, i know there is something infinitely sweet in them. truth has always eluded me as the biggest lie ever. the trouble with the english language is its fucked up insistence in ignoring orthographical differentiation. still, with all its imperfections and ambiguities, this is the language which i have chosen to colonize and make mine. lie down and die, cast your die and and lie. how sweet it is to have been held in your arms, and how sweet it is to have experienced those fleeting moments of energy and movement! that, my friends, is ecstasy, that is it! that is what i fear.
we are all fucked up about the fact that what we like the most, we claim to be improper. human nature, if it is anything at all, it is contradictory, not just fuzzy, but plain contradictory. between lies about lays, and being fucked up about sex, we exist. that is not the truth, that is sweet. but then i love the way stephen king writes, and his stories bore me, while i delight both in the style and the stories of doris lessing.
it could be that, as doris lessing says, unhappy childhoods seem to produce fiction writers. i have yet to claim either an happy or an unhappy childhood, only because i have never quite claimed my childhood, much less have i attempted to classify it in general sociologically sugar coated nouns. happiness goes right along with truth, and it too, abounds in the realm of the Chimera. happiness is not what i experience after an orgasm, then it is either exhaustion, thirst, or the need for sleep. at least that is not what i call happiness, for that particular sensation is?? beyond the claviature of my being, i do not know how it sounds, tastes or smells, and after a good run along the beach, then i also feel exhaustion, thirst and sometimes the need for sleep.
this story is one that i am feeling down through my bones. gratitude is what i feel when i look at that peaceful face of a man who to me represents ease, speed and focus. will i claim my own childhood, or does it matter how many loves i have left stranded on those beaches?
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