October 01, 2000: the fever becomes my home
I got *almost* nothing I planned to do this weekend done.
I was supposed to do laundry. Clean the kitchen. Make lunches for tomorrow and Tuesday. None of it got done.
Okay, it's not so bad, i did have fun. Drinks and movies and spaghetti at Chris' yesterday, and nest today, and I've been surrounded by people who love me all weekend but I dearly want a *break*. You know, a day or two on my own. I can feel the pressure building, now.
There is a day a couple of weeks from now that's blocked out, with "MY DAY" written on it in big block letters. You know, a day when I don't worry about where I'm supposed to be or who I'm supposed to be when I get there.
But I did, genuinely, have fun this weekend. Pushed a few boundaries, feeling them flex like live things under my hands. Caught in memories a time or two, called back by a quiet, persistent voice. Enjoying the moment. Not thinking about what it means.
It's when I get into meanings that I go slightly crazy. I keep about three steps ahead of the meanings, and by the time they get to me, I'm already gone. It works, most of the time.
I play these games with myself, hardly ever being in the same moment with myself. I close my inner eyes and ears and keep on relentlessly.
I'm enjoying myself, though. And if a few of my boundaries seem to have grown fangs and claws, it's only because they've been four years in the making and it's my fear that's animating them.
I just sort of wonder what lies beyond them.
give me/this life
Goddess, seven suns ago
you were bright, we were swift
we were fascinating
desert horses pounding the sands
beneath the sun
This sparkling dream we lost ourselves in
this entrancing fable told after dark
through the wires, through the screens
we are again a nymph and her lover
running through the tangled jungle
We were dun horses
bleached by your fierce sun
and reborn
into crippled bodies
shattered minds
ready to teach us a lesson
and we tell each other fables
of a thousand million years ago
losing ourselves in our own stories
losing ourselves in our past pain
We were blood bay horses
thundering under a dying sun
The wind blows across the sand now.
It's empty of horses and we are human
as we were born, as humans
we will die
and these fables we weave
nearly choke me
And I was naked
heartrent
torn from limb to limb
and you took your stories
your horses running underneath
a mutual sun
and went
I stand upright.
Clothe myself in the ragged
remnants of my human story
square my shoulders
and walk off
over the sand
into the sunrise
I'm looking for the ocean
returning to the sea.
--10.1.00
