the weekend has come to a rolling, whirling, tumble weed end,
and my poorly stacked inbox of unanswered emails intimidates me,
and so i have been roughly, insincerely answering them
so that the ether can do what it will with my distorting stories.
but here, right now, my sincerity returns,
and i am back in the moment of now.
justin vernon seeps out of this slick, tech-sheen machine
spilling out in to the red night light
dancing with the flumes of warmth that rise from the heater.
i have spent too long a time away from mind altering substances,
and may just increase the sublimity of samsara,
(the newest incarnation of the koyaanisqatsi iterations)
with something more powerful, and less trustworthy than my eyes.
we do eat well, and leave empty handed.
but even in my low spirits of late,
find that too reductionist and devoid of the cracks of light in between.
the sun does set, but it hasn't set yet.
it is hard, nay, almost impossible to leak light into the crevices of minds
that are barricaded against hope, perspective and colour.
it is harder still to accept the dull, sometimes unempathetic,
words of others and feel those letters with the sincerity they are packaged in.
but what irony to package something so beautiful.
spent a lovely few days with some inspiring, but crazy friends;
r, the artist, who for the last three years has had a self imposed project
of a painting/drawing a day.
to avoid inevitable procrastination she set herself a midnight deadline,
which strangely, surreally, she broke the other night while we made love.
but she continues, validated by something that makes herself feel alive.
she was telling me how when she was at the tail end of a torturous relationship,
she took herself to the library every day and slowly made her way through most of the library.
a few years later she taught herself drawing from books,
and started this drawing project to improve.
j, the revolutionary consensus software creator,
whose eyes light up, and voice raises when community, politics
and new age democratic systems enter conversations.
who will push, and push for honesty and open communication
until both members are entwined in free fall off a cliff of words.
who thinks of music, before food.
whose last name is l, and whose long hair wraps comfortably around me,
forever caught in my lips,
and whose californian accent becomes a cradle of wise and liberal ideas of love.
j l who speaks of love.
i feel sad for your heart break, but am grateful that you can create again.
it is what it is.
or as my father would say,
it'll all come out in the wash.
xx
