12062010

i caress you

like the sun caresses a lake at dawn

you kiss my lingering half-smile

and the shy wrinkles around my eyes

they were not always there, i say

and you say, we gave them life together

and now, like two teenagers

we giggle about our impending age

as though it were a hidden blessing

12042010

this morning. a vivid memory: when i was six, my parents took me to paris for the first time. we checked into a very chic hotel on the very chic ave. victor hugo, and the first thing i wanted to do was explore. my first stop in exploring a hotel room or suite is always the bathroom… because i've always loved baths.

i walked into a nice and inviting setting… large white towels… small bottles of colorful liquids on the sink and by the tub… and two large terry robes. i decided that i wanted to enjoy a bubble bath using some of the enticing-looking gel sitting in a basket on the edge of the tub. i plugged up the tub… turned on the hot and cold water taps… opened the bubble bath gel bottle… and poured the contents into the tub. and i sat there and watched as the mirror began to steam up… and the bubbles to rise… and then… dip!... i was inside. yum!

afterwards, i wrapped myself up in one of the too-many-sizes-too-big-for-me robes and went back into the room.

i sat on the edge of the bed. i remember feeling antsy… like any child of six would feel… antsy and wanting to do something with my idle hands. i noticed a wall-mounted radio… basically a speaker with buttons programmed to play different stations… nailed to the wall. i turned on the radio. i don’t remember what was playing… the singer… the song… i don’t remember. but i do remember this: bending down to look through the slotted front of the speaker… and seeing… in a childhood fugue of imagination… the singer… the band… the stage… the glimmer… the glamour.

i realize, now, that it was the dazzling effect of the expensive wallpaper… seen through the gaps on the speaker. but when you’re six… it’s all about the dream that’s sitting behind your eyes… waiting to be released. and you can’t deny that dream… because… when you’re six… it's all about the fantasy.

12022010

yesterday.

and today.

and tomorrow.

vivaldi.

for fire.

and darkness.

and passion.

beethoven.

for lust.

and insanity.

and sanity.

12012010

it happens almost certainly. almost. that the very qualities someone admires in you when they first meet you... become the very qualities they come to despise in you. if a certain person likes... let's say... the way you tilt your head slightly to the left when you laugh... they will come to hate that very slight gesture in you... more eloquently... more fluently... when the time for the hating arrives. if that person... let's suppose... admires your intelligence... they will begin to loathe what they will call your cockiness and presumptuousness. they might even question why they ever thought you intelligent, in the first place. and that... when the time for the hating arrives.

but, then. must the time for hating arrive? isn't it possible to keep liking and admiring and enjoying forever and ever? why must it begin with, oh, i so like the way she shuts her eyes and curls her shoulders when she's happy, and end with, and that stupid eye-shoulder thing she does when she pretends joy. what a moron!

how do we go from admiration to detestation? are we that erratic?

it's easy for us to say, well, it's her fault for being such a fake. but isn't it a bit of my fault, too? for falling for it? or how about... let's say... maybe... that i am the one to be blamed? oh, no. not i! we're so quick to say. we don't want to be at fault. we readily... so readily... reject blame.

maybe we are products of our environment. but are we really victims of 'the circumstances'? those circumstances that always bear a THE before them rather than an OUR - our very first step in the process of rejecting them. a sort of 'wash my hands clean.' a sort of... denial.

are we victims? i often wonder. but do i really want to know?