clogged up

really. that is how things started me on blogging. the kitchen sink on the pied-à-terre was clogged up. i opened it up, and there was no obstruction. that was two and an half years ago. come to think of it, a long time. much has happened, some of it i have discharged right here in the kitchen sink, a lot not.

i have poured my heart out in "fluage" and i have tried to be as sincere as i can when i here attempt to answer the question of how i am. mostly i am, often i find the how a bit irrelevant.

i have been in love i don't know how many times since the blogging started, and that is irrelevant too. i am always in love, mostly with a stone, or with the spiders that share my living space. spiders, i love the spiders unless of course one errs into a place that i claim is mine, and then i get rather basic about it, and the spiders loose. no, i am not a good Buddhist, but then, on days like today, i feel like i am a good nothing. if at least i could be a good thief! alas, not even that!

i am often very sceptical, and there is precious little that i believe in, not even logic, not even maths. it is all abstract, and i love the abstract. love? yes love. love. that too is pretty abstract. what is love? liking, loving, being passionate, being intensely curious. the abstract is my love these days.

i keep a portrait of a friend of mine pinned on a wall because each time that i look at that face and see the representation of that expression that to me exudes calm and serenity, a lot of my fears evaporate. other friends have wondered what it is between him and i and i have found myself a few times tempted to somehow justify my need to be reminded of his existence. it is a need, yes. i do however count my blessings that i have not developed an obsession with him. loving is nothing more than the pleasure of having experienced presence and knowing that for a few moments you have shared existence without the lecherous morpion of possessiveness.

there is nothing harder for me right now than to admit my own needs, and to allow myself these. i pray, i do not believe!

tell me, why do you write?

above all i write for myself, because i need to communicate, and because often when the time would have been right, i can not find the words. i call this writing, fiction. yet, the fiction of this life of mine is based on my experiences and on that which i feel, whatever random and associative thoughts meander through my mind that find their way to my fingertips. the whole of the fluage blog is special to me as it is the one that is dedicated and above all inspired by my most adored muses.

last week one of these muses and i spent the whole of sunday evening together with a group of other aikidokas. those few lines i thought that i had forgotten were inspired by that evening and our interactions which i fail to understand. i feel that i have no way of reaching the man, and all that i have access to is the muse: he inspires me. i am aware that the man is far from perfect, but then humans are only perfect when they are not perfect. it is exactly his fragility, weakness, sincerity and so very human condition that inspire me.

i write for myself and my very selfish need to share life as it happens.