it is the weekend, or those couple of days that are different from the preceding five days, and to add to the leisure account, in switzerland, monday is the national holiday. tomorrow will be the day that politicians make big speeches and right wing extremists protest the fact that they are over taxed in a pluralistic world.
me, i am blissfully alone in the capital. i went to bed this morning around 4, after installing XP on a set of salvaged PC parts. the details of this exercise, albeit a lot of fun for an old experimental physicist, are much too boring. that is, i would get bored writing about all these details.
it is sunday, and i got up around noon. got myself the usual brew of soya milk and coffee, and turned on the mac mini. sunday morning when i check mail, it is also the time that the macs are programmed to back up to the external hard drive. when it comes to data storage, i believe in redundancy. when it comes to men, i hold the same beliefs. both are very fragile, and the slightest lapse of attention can have their whole content crash and unrecoverable. hard drives are usually made of glass. men's fragility and vulnerability comes from their strength and power.
the last weeks have thrown my routine off kilter. i really miss getting up at 5. i conclude that i am ill adapted to sharing quarters with anybody. for the past 8 weeks my son has been around here, we are sharing office and living space. it is great to have him around, we do not talk much, and sometimes we sit around the dinning room table and have these great discussions that leave me content about the wonderful being on the other side of the dialogue. on other occasions he is a total ass, and i feel that this fellow has much to learn. this weekend he went to the mountains with his father, and i am enjoying my solitude.
at this point i need to take a shower and get going, i have a running appointment with a friend, yet my thoughts revolve around a picture, not the man, of a teacher and friend. in writing earlier today to a another friend in saudi arabia whom i have not seen in much too long, a loyal friend, someone who often is a sparring partner in my monologues, i found myself pronouncing that "what makes fiction be fiction is the distortion of reality" in allusion to my post from yesterday. at the time that that picture was taken i was feeling rather calm, not excited, not happy, not having fun, just serene and calm. i like that feeling, and i like that feeling even more when i have so much to do that the only approach is to be the task rather than some excuse for bad behavior. the more there is to do in making this woman's dreams be reality, the more focused i became, it is as though, time dilates. there is time to do it all. all being just that which i want with all the integrity of my being.
the friend in the picture is not irrelevant, he is one source of continued inspiration. wherever that inspiration that transcends him, is not personal, it is not about him, it is all the distortion of a reality of infinite beauty, and a wonder of canvassing into my own decryption of essentialism.
i need my solitude just to feel my life again. feeling alive, being in love. you tell me the difference?
yes, i return to my muse. i have been much too busy with the gorgeous mundane in this life of mine, and i have run the danger of almost neglecting you! how could i possibly?
once, he told me that one day i would ask him what is more important, his life or i. he would say, his life, and i would walk away never knowing that i am his life.
