06/21

I look at the sky but is not there, I have no window view anymore.
I imagine the stars crowding the space I inhabit and the space within
I am longing for a night sky, for a private view that I can hold on to and relish.

It does not have to be our night sky, it can be any.  I simply ask for the warmth that rises in the human.

The visible becomes routine very quickly. Beauty wears, novelty ceases to be. We become bored.

What if we had actually crafted that world where the artisan reigns? Where no artist is afflicted by threats of poverty or failure, where beauty and passion flow.

The systems of the world are not created in harmony with artisanship. A trillionaire is unlikely to rise in such a world, for there is no need for a trillionaire. Accumulation would not be the goal. Money in this ‘utopia” is truly a means of currency, not purpose.

We are in the midst of a big mistake again.

08/03

I ought to bury you in the ground, cremate the fantasies we conjured, feed them to a large fire.

My eyes still swell up in remembrance, the way I do when looking at a portrait by Munch.

The expectations of the crowd are lingering in the face of the subject, the anticipation of seeing a painting they recognize lights up the frame, it becomes alive.

My love is still alive for you. If I don’t admit that, I am the biggest of liars. A deep appreciation for the thought of you. A sadness raises for what never was.

Would I picture myself living in a secluded area, or near grey and off-white buildings in deep mistrust? In abysmal heartache at seeing this man’s past being a pulsating present? Seeing his offspring, without having offspring of my own? Living to entertain a hidden life with hidden worlds with new bedrooms appearing every hour, with new characters and shapes and experiences, a never ending type of sexual psychosis?

I loved an idea of you but not the actual you. Not the deviant you. I loved the handsome masculine you that appeared vulnerable and utterly naked in front of me, I loved the desperate wish for submission of yours. In fact, I rarely felt the wish to be touched by you. You are a bit of a myth in my lore. Like a large shadow projected on the wall that turns out was but a small figure.

I believe I just demystified you.

I love the man I am yet to truly love. I love the thought of him in each handsome face I see walking past me on the street. Could that be the man? Could this be him? He appears to be interested… should I dare say something?

I shall wait, I shall live the way someone who loves themselves would live. I shall dive into pleasures known and unknown. I shall be feeling at home within myself. I shall enjoy this pale blue dot.

For, as I explained in a previous post, only two flames will suffice. I dance the dance, the moth will come to the flame.