new focus, re-orientation. what you thought were neurotic behaviours are really cultural characteristics distorted in this cold land. my need to clean isn’t obsessive, it’s rooted in an artificial way of being.
shifting my energies. drew them inward, focused on my centre. gathering and re-charging. now i’m getting to a point where i’m ready to start scattering them again. most of it will be focused on the immediate life endeavour – the rest, not so sure. feeling new things out, cautiously, i’ve already learned way too many lessons this year. trying to attract light, rather than dispel it.
safety’s now a priority. huge for me to understand. been questioning my motives driving my choices. just figured (literally, minutes ago on a freestyle flow) that it’s always been about safety, something that i had been exploring intuitively through my body. taking my cues on how to act from how my physical was responding. hadn’t failed me yet, but now i understand just a little bit more.
looking at s/p/l/ace – where i need to be, where i want to be, where i belong. where i want to occupy. don’t want to battle for it, however I am armed.
you change time, make it elastic. i’m transfixed, in awe of this talent, of how easy you seem to make it. i want to learn, but i’ve seen the price you pay. you’re looking for something in me, showing me your parlour tricks, i’m not going to be your legacy for that. i need to know your magic, your spells, your enchantments. i need to know you.
next time you come to me, please take me away with you. i just need an invitation.
the act of naming. power, ownership, possession. lovers invent names for their other halves – what happens to those adorable names once the relationship dies? ending up in some kind of name purgatory – an abundance of the generic – “baby”, “darling”, “kitten”, “love” – with a sprinkling of the custom – “lura”, “k’teen”, “moosh.” i can see a pet name cemetery in my head, complete with gravestones:
“Here Lies Ma Petite FouFou, December 2003 – May 2007. Rest In Peace, Never To Be Called Again.”
and then there are the names-bestowed-by-lovers that are re-claimed, re-purposed. the ones granted a second life as pen names, stage names, handles. their origins kept private, the emotional attachments erased, deleted for the name’s newly re-defined role. those names, the re-used ones, seem like an in-your-face to their ex-lover originator, a removal of the sacred from a dead relationship’s corpse, a symbol for the complete absence of nostalgia.