Entrapment

Saturday 25th May 2013

12.03am

'your letters they all say that you're beside me now.
then why do I feel alone?
i'm standing on a ledge and your fine spider web
is fastening my ankle to a stone.

now so long, Marianne, it's time that we began ...

for now I need your hidden love.
i'm cold as a new razor blade.
you left when I told you I was curious,
i never said that I was brave.'

              --- 'so long marianne' by leonard cohen.

bittersweet.

1.23am

'nah. i'm being lullabyed by leonard cohen

-- haven't yet got to sleep. drank coffee too late!

hehe. so you can be as loud as you want.

good night darling. x '

6.52am

'remembered i have a skype arrangement

with my g'parents in england - so won't be 

coming to breakfast. have a good time, and a

great day at work. love to you both. x'

7am

skype conversation with my grandparents in england.

duration - 48 minutes

..and then the loneliness sets in.

8.11am

 

'- i have a surplus of apples that need juicing. 

could i bring them over at some stage and juice them? x'

8.25am

 'do you (and r?) want to still go to the

african thing at 11.30am? do you want to have breakfast together

beforehand? x'

9am

breakfast at r's.

porridge with coconut oil, apples and pears

+

fried potato, leak, onion and baked beans.

+

chai rooibos

floodlight of sunshine;

foetal on the single matteress

dreaming of being a child

in a nor westerly christchurch.

i am convinced.

9.40am

monsanto march conversation.

10.30am

resentment rising,

thick in the air.

suffocation.

anger?

11am

 do dishes with tidy flatmate

who is cleaning around me.

not a word.

11.30am

 

african culture day at town hall:

speeches by an egyptian minister of international affairs.

then a new zealander police man:

'safer communities, safer cultures.

can i recruit now?'

nauseous.

leave.

midday

walk down through civic square

along the waterfront,

retracing the steps of the night before

but heavier in heart.

anticipating seeing him.

or somebody atleast.

wind is chilling and my stomach is knots.

why?

why can i not work through this?

what is this?

12.15pm

walk back to the town hall,

back to the festivities.

dancing, food.

need cashout.

still scanning audience for familiar faces;

none.

and then one.

i walk across the hall

and slowly come up behind him.

backward embrace.

and the leave in search of cash,

with promises of return.

12.30pm

walking up cuba st,

that wind has some chill in it,

head home for coat

wondering why, i had left my friend,

when i was so lonely.

is this a refection of me?

knot.

12.35pm

spotted.

neighbour friend. dreamy. and sunny.

cross the road.

embrace.

'i knocked on your door'

coffee?

YES.

anything.

walk down to raglan rose.

order hot chocolate with no marshmallows

'we don't have marshmallows! ;)'

talk about the trap door,

about the opening.

'moving out of the neighbourhood'

stare blankly at the walls.

empty.

emptied.

14.10pm

 pay for drink

card balancing on wallet

ready to get cashout at atm.

get to atm.

no wallet.

calm search through bag.

book. another book. camera.

house keys. pen. pencil.

no wallet.

panic.

walk down street back to raglan,

no wallet there.

check footpath.

nothing there.

panic.

why now?

stay calm.

it's okay.

check footpath again.

check raglan again.

then walk defeated to the bank 

thinking it is friday.

but it isn't.

it is 13.30 saturday.

next step?

14.45pm

go to town hall

'what do you want me to do?'

'i just want to cry'

next step?

go to comfort.

ask her for cashout.

get a hug.

i do.

15.09

march against monsanto.

speeches.

freeze.

glib walk up,

arm around,

and take over the microphone.

mana

disorientated.

overwhelmed.

sad.

heavy.

intense body language.

too much.

boundary crossing.

the march i have been waiting for so long

heads off into the evening.

an i am left with two males,

one on a bicycle 

multilayered,

intense,

caring.

no bad meant.

the other,

young,

shell shocked,

quiet,

a patchiness across his face.

overhwhelmed.

now the two of us sit down.

laugh at our plight.

i nestle my head on his woollen shoulder.

comfort.

15.30

head down cuba st,

putting leaflets in card wind screen wipers.

bemused.

shell shocked

+

overhwhelmed

hand in hand.

kebab.

some comfort.

head home.

walk in the door

and he takes off his bag and dives onto the floor.

quiet. silent. still.

pale faced. 

shell shocked.

i embrace him.

this is not  crossing my boundaries.

kiss him on the forehead.

make some tea.

lemongrass.

give shoulder and back massage.

then we leave.

17.45

 another kebab.

bus stop.

good bye.

18.30

and then she arrives.

lost amidst the crowds of saturday night revellers.

we have dinner.

indecisive as usual.

thai. fast. yummy. cheap.

so comfortable to see her,

after months,

after a decade of friendship

that took us riding into adulthood.

20.35

dropped her at her nice hotel.

$110.00 for 12 hours 30 minutes.

21.05

home and alone.

21.30

neighbour comes over.

daft punk on.

peppermint tea.

and then the dreamy finger traces itself

across a 'lifesize' map of india.

in candle light.

promiscuity?

am i.

23.45

 i slip into my bed,

and she turns out the light.

asleep.

x

Emotional Pastiche

the rhythm, that is,

the light, the sounds

the being.

and are you lonely?

after 3 and a half weeks in solitude.

maybe not if i wasn't proving a statement.

she proves herself.

draped drearily as the farmer.

empowered by a pair of footwear

that associates itself with 

showers. wetness. hurt.

the dread of leaving.

alone.

back to face the realities of linearity?

escapism.

the chill of the country air,

the chickens,

the blood stained fur of shy rabbit;

the scapegoat of the farm.

the new zealand that i see,

in glimpses.

the crashing 45 degree wave that is potent

with the heaviness of the moment.

the sadness.

distilled in smiles, and hands held.

the wetness.

the drips falling high paced

from the branches of wounded trees.

the cut logs.

the yurt.

the container.

the straw bales plastered

in a moment of shyness.

the squelch.

monsooned sadness.

the autumn of our feelings.

speeding past us 

i have not yet grasped;

but you have.

it is a thin spider web of power.

defeat.

deceit.

i must let go.

can you be strong?

i will have to be

is he sleeping on the couch?

thank you for the reminder.

i haven't moved.

refuge surrounded by people i no longer want to see

in moments of pressure to answer

the infinite questions of concern.

i am lonely,

but not lonely enough to answer your questions.

to assuage your guilt?

full round of feeling.

i have returned.

but healed.

i can let go of the academic world.

4 of us in a bath naked.

10 of us in the dark,

sardine like in space,

lustful in intent.

or maybe just overwhelmed?

have we ever struck such sincerity and emotional freeness before?

i am assimilating you all.

too much.

yes. too much.

'perhaps it's true that things can change in a day. that a few dozen hours can affect the outcomes of whole lifetimes. and that when they do, those few dozen hours, like the salvaged remains of a burned house - the charred clock, the singed photograh, the scorched photograph- must be resurrected from the ruins and examined. preserved. accounted for. little events, ordinary things, smashed and reconstituted. imbued with ne meaning. suddenly they become the bleached bones of a story'.

--- arundhati roy (god of small things)'

what my bed has come to stand for?

is it escapism?

the colour of lust?

the silk of feeling,

the slippery, sad slope it descends henceforth.

i must stop.

and i thought it was it.

an item?

but young lovers,

one grappling with youngness

the other

syringed with lover-status.

the glory of lying basking in time and love.

the brisk turn from the door

the sweeping step across the room

just to kiss me.

the somersault onto the other side.

into no emotion.

fun for you,

sadness for me.

she rides a train across india,

and yet a few days ago i was a step behind her.

i sit in 4 layers

while she overheats in 46 degrees.

my heart is there,

hers is here.

x