to a loyal friend

"alone?" was the question.

one word, and the reply:

thanks for the message!

 

if you got the word from reading "fluage" i can understand your concern. fluage is getting more and more abstract and fiction is starting to sneak in. the abstractions also have quite a synthetic approach, and i am using it both to vent out some of my own feelings, but also to experiment with what is more commonly known as poetic license.

i think that it is somewhat ironic that i would consider you a loyal friend, but that is somehow how you have shown up in my life. in that light i want to make sure that you know that your concern is very appreciated and it does mean something to me, and on the other side it is also important to fill in the context of some of the words that i put out into the public space.

all is well, i am just in a bit of an autistic phase, and each time that i do need to go out and be with people, it is like slipping into another skin. nothing has changed, it is just that i need to get myself concentrated on what i am doing, and sometimes it is not too easy, and as a matter of fact, it is damn difficult. i get easily distracted, and the last thing that i want is this other human to be the latest of my distractions. this other human is also as busy as they can get and slowly i have a feeling that here we have two workaholics who have found each other, so in a rather strange way it does work out. i for my side do need to be alone these days so that i can concentrate on my own writing. however nothing is more difficult to me than to attend to my own needs, but i am working on it.

when i wrote that with this other human i opened the door and unhinged the door, that door into my life, it is true. but then i also always leave the door open anyhow, i do not want to hold anybody against their will. how it will turn out is still rather open, good relationships do not get built overnight, and when both have their nose buried in their dreams and both are fond of calling that their work, then you know that we are dealing with rather healthy egoism on both sides. i for my part need my own healthy egoism. this bit of altruism and sacrificing my life for other's is not quite up my alley.

a lot in my life would be a lot easier if i did not have to worry about somehow making a living, but then it would be a different kind of life. the thing about being a writer, or an artist of any kind, is that, at least in my case i feel compelled to write, but there is no guarantee that i will ever be able to make a living out of it. i am also quite clear that i want to do this on my own. i wonder why it is that i seem to have so much difficulty getting my finances straightened out.

thanks to you i did give my own whore a good spin, so much so that i know what there is for me to sell is what i create between my ears. in my understanding of things, it is good to give one's own whore a good go sometime in one's life. but then it could be that what i call "my own whore" needs to be better defined. i tend to have my own language in a rather fascinating world that mine is. needless to say that there is quite a bit of irony in my use of these expressions.

as far as women go i may indeed be a very odd one, but that is no reason for me to want to change. i like who i am, and slowly i am learning to love all this oddness of mine. some of this is indeed the result of a much too high iq and a very high sensitivity. the universe could have been a little less generous with me, but my task in life is to accept what i got, and i did get quite a lot, not to blame the universe for its generosity or my parents for their own contribution to all of this. from good looks, to wit, intelligence and the ability to feel and sense, somehow i got it all. the orgasms are damn good too. the part that you may not have quite figured out is that my own orgasms were never very important to me. if, like me, one can feel the other so intensely... dealing with one's own body can sometimes be overwhelming. anyhow, years of tantra practice do leave a mark, and it is not what the popular press would have you believe.

life is good.

being just one

colouring my world with the sentiments of your existence

i watched you recently. the minute that you began speaking, i started to shudder. how can you dare to touch us all so with just your very own rawness?

"one day one asks me if i am alone, and i give semblance of ignoring such a message. i do not answer, i do not even spend time interpreting it. it could all mean so much, and perhaps it means nothing at all. on that same day another tells me that no, he does not want to hear all the details, he is afraid that he might understand."

i have also experienced you differently, i have felt you when you totally disappear in reaching out to all, and out there what the others experience is the one that can not be touched or reached. yet that one whom you are becomes so very present within the others that they forget that it is you who is giving them the moment. when i experience you like that, then i really want to cry because you can't see what you are giving, and sometimes i wonder if you even prefer to live in that ignorance.

"i am a foreign emotion, and emotions are alone and unconquerable. think of it as an error in the matrix, or a discontinuity in perception, and i tell you that it is all real, all that i am is very real, all that you feel is real. real and alone we remain. i never wanted anything else, i never dreamed of anything else.

no, even as you remain a precious muse, and i may continue to maintain all my attention and vigilance to what i sense in your presence, i will not explain it to you, you already know and your fear of understanding is not mine, it is yours, and i shall leave you alone with that fear.

are we ever alone when we are alive? isn't loneliness just that fear of understanding? what would it be like if you were to give up that fear of understanding?"

we will fall in love again, we will. we do each time that we look at each other, we do fall in love. each time that that we embrace, we fall in love, we do. each time... again and again...

it is nothing that i need to promise you, it is something that we know.

frustration

yes.

very. truly, very frustrated.

i read that love declaration again... i cried.

i cry each time that i am touched by the immediate i cry each time that i am touched by your strength i cry each time that i think of you

i can not bear to see you there helpless!

why do you withdraw from your own life? why do you hold back your own power? why do you wreck havoc in your own life?

why you disconnect from those who love you?

from whom are you running away? why do you insist on burying your head in the sand?

remember girl, arabia is not here! oh no!

in arabia, there was sand in the sahara, there was sand

at the beach, there was sand

not here.

girl.. woman...

frustrated!

why do you deny yourself?

it hurts

it pains me

it hurts

it really hurts!

there are all these ideas aching to get through and out. i write and the writing is metaphoric delusion, nothing communicates, not the words, not the letters... not the metaphors even!

i love her, truly i do. i read her letters, all her love letters, her love letters never mailed... i have read them, and i have cried. i have loved that woman, oh, i have!

it hurts, it pains me, to see her gone... she is no more. and how i loved her when she gave me her best mask, her best smile, her deep and intense gaze...

oh, i loved her! i did. i do.

i love her. how can we ever be separated?

she loved, she did. all of them. they had all different faces they had all different faults

blue eyes brown eyes green eyes tall dark short blond

compassionate pragmatic optimistic depressed passionate frivolous narcissistic ambitious idealistic brave

married divorced unsolved

they have all been so very different, so very human and she... she loved them all.

she loved the faults, she loved the strengths, she loved the weaknesses...

she just loved them all.

then she would sit there on that corner, she would smile and ask me if i really knew what it was like to not really know...

i never knew what she meant, i just loved her.

her eyes, her smile and what she could see... i could never see what she sensed, i could never dream what she experienced, i could never draw what she could paint, i could never imagine what she could be.

she no longer is. where is her mask? where is her smile?

why her? why not me?

imagine it all on a different plane

imagine that it could have been labeled autistic, and imagine that that autism is barely noticeable except for a slight speech defect and facial expressions that although apparently easy to interpret to an observer, these expressions do not correspond to the emotion, feeling or that which would want to be communicated. often it can not communicate that that it wishes to communicate. imagine that the patterns do not spell out what others would have it spell out. imagine that it is all along the lines of evolution, and imagine that normal is being redefined.

was also born with a fascination for stories. at an early age would read a story, and then could recreate it in minute detail amazing teachers with the precision of recall and the wonder of recreation. the words were not memorized, the story was remembered and recreated live. then, many years later, there are the shredded newspapers covering the floor and the other's inability to gain one single word of response. no response. just shredded newspapers, one page at a time, one strip at a time, one centimeter wide each strip, all shreds... the worth of news spread on the floor lay!

imagine it all down to the stardom of geekiness and forget the conventions and the norms, just forget it all! fractal it was! fracted and insulated within the story, once more it found all the love that it needed.

broken humans, all!

lovely.

imagine reinventing it all.

 

fluage

the woman and the cavalry

why fluage?

fluage is a french word, and it means the slow deformation that a material exhibits upon being exposed to continued or permanent stress and strain. it is the kind of word that you will not find in a pocket dictionary, and i can not quite come up with the english translation beyond matrix deformation. it is a term used in geology, seismology, and material science. in short, it is a very technical term from the general discipline of mechanics. mechanics deals with materials, and material the thing is!

however fluage: the woman and the cavalry is about the ego. it is about my ego, and it is about its interaction with the ego of others. interactions of body, spirit and mind are indeed very human and can be very beautiful, however bringing the ego into the equation is to submit to a process that may bring in irreversible changes. interactions of the ego tend to be very confronting, bring about all sorts of emotion, and they can kill you or make you. the ego is that anvil on which our human being gets pounded, it does shape us. i am not about to damn the ego, i like my ego, and it has on more than one occasion saved my life, and certainly maintained my sanity. still the ego is an unruly abstraction of that which makes us human, yet a healthy relationship to one's ego will demand its disciplining. the ego is a very powerful ally once it has been well trained and you can ride it like one rides a horse. ego horsemanship could be an alternate tagline to these posts.

i get inspired along the way by many of the people whom i meet, and there are a few who have touched me deeply. then there are others whose paths only briefly cross mine, we interact and then drift apart into the entropic universe.

there are no main characters here, no major sources of inspiration. there are muses, angels, gems and the all of you giving form and shape to me by your touch. some of you are very real, flesh and blood humans, others are very abstract constructs of our culture from language to money, and the ego itself. there are places that inspire, and there are places which have inspired or touched me... and i remain an architect, a builder, a dreamer and here.

it is morning

i want to tell you that i miss the sound of your voice

i want you to know...

i want

i want you to know

that happy i am

and that i do not know much at all

i woke up thinking of you

thinking of the warmth

wishing that i knew

knowing that i do not know

trembling...

dreaming...

wishing.

it is morning again...

you are here.

more discomfort

there is new discomfort in this one life of mine...

i am your child, you gave me life, you have been generous with me

you have returned to me each time when i need you

i have despised you, i have wasted and discarded you

i have ignored you, i have done nothing to earn you

yet, i remain your child!

the heresy of it all!

i dare you!

why have you not abandoned me? why do you insist on your presence?

why are you so generous?

you do not even exist you are abstract

yet...

blind to your abstractness, men will kill each other

just to possess you just to take you away from others

yet...

you do not even exist you have no substance

yet...

if it was not for you, my life would not be

it was you and another's greed it was you and another's weakness

and perhaps it was love

yet... i do exist and you are good to me

given that you have made me your child who am i?