Demeter at the gates of Hades, amidst a windstorm of sand and billowing hooded cape of aubergine, falls down upon the entrance door
Our gods are immortal. Their fables misconstrued but they endure the lower minded replicas of them who run around for a time on the game board
The stories have many turns and many many reinventions
Quite by accident, to my surprise, I recently discovered that I still think in Dutch.
You know, it triggered a domino effect in my mind when this realization tripped up upon me as I was in the process of looking for that touchstone; keystone ….of humankind
you know that part of our evolutionary history where we sat upon a precipice. The species were hunted. But that changed. And then there was time for wars. But what happened in between. What about the status quo quietly puttering on the edge of society which cradled them in the means to survive.
In all this to of course find my need for answers. Why I’m different. Who did I come from. What mystery do I need to find? What of those people I never got to know but I am a scion of; I’d really like to know ….who they were
So I found myself deep in piles of handwritten notes— the Charlemagne age, the Romans, the Greeks, the Celts/Gauls, the Minoans, the Vinčas and naturally I had to search out movies next— keep in mind Quest for Fire was my favorite film when I was eighteen, so it’s all about the wonder of the caveman walls and those notes they left behind
my fascination (via Elan’s past life with Vikings) with Frisians after extensive studies of the Scandinavians dragged me further towards others of the Germanic common lines, beyond the Jutes, Angles and Saxons because of the dark horse of a mystery that is my other half of mixed but old aristocracy (on the wrong side)
That was how I stumbled on Redbad and went in search of what films might be on him; so engrossed in the pagan scenes it was fifteen minutes in that I realized it was all in Dutch. But I’ve not been around any Dutch people for years. How can it be possible to immediately know the words
I had a moment of pause as I thought about language. How so many words all originated from the same place. I thought of Proto/Indo/European (PIE) and how they are all connected.
And that DNA memory theory again
What if it is as part of the human dna as the genes like thst sleeping dragon still in the blood even as so many revolutions have past. Wasn’t it Socrates who said we are all re-membering? That we already contained all our knowledge but we go through life trying to recall it from past lives.
you know it was the most strangest of things, yesterday that I saw —it was something almost mythical.
right after the storm, the snow is all powder white, it crunches quietly because the sky is full of snow
so it was this way, a bare skeletal tree at first caught my eye
then suddenly the sounds of wild ravens hawking loudly
when I got to the house there it was! Covered in black ravens, dozens!!! A yellow house covered in ravens all flying around —then up in the trees behind in the bare branches —all filled with ravens.
They circled me as I walked by the house and shouted at me flapping their wings
and I wondered walking away—why is it only thst one house?
at the time, I did not write about fg, it was one of those things that was going on when I was rushing to get everything done with that hairpin exactness that forces you to make it to work o time when balancing a custody demand and a job that required you to be there when the everyone was sleeping.
but looking back, I can say that, in all of my life i have never known those moments which, even during the time, felt like it was straight out of a movie. have you ever had moments like that? when someone you met is this fabulous larger than life artist who makes you feel like you are the most beautiful person in the world. I guess that is what is was about him, and it was not at first. at first i had no intention of even liking him, i thought he was a brat. a very goodlooking brat.
do you know what it was that made me fall in love with him? it should not be such a shock when i say. and i do recall the moment exactly and where we were standing. there was another artist there too; the other one who worked with us for the night crew with the same first name so i called them their names 'squared' as a joke over the PA each night and they liked to compete
but the moment was when fg took out his sketchbook, that was the moment. we three stood by the checkout counter after close. the place was empty except for us until three in the morning. and like all of us there, all artists, all with our mediums so it was expected there would be things to see.
i have looked at a lot of people's work. i have grown up around artists. i have lived in a family of artists and heard the criticisms of works, viewed friends of friends and art college students. but there was a moment and i guess he might have sensed it because before that i really had no time for the brat, but then he slapped down the sketch book. i have never seen anything like that sketch book. i would give anything to see it again. the work was unlike anything i have ever seen. the faces were Picasso weird. the shading so Chagall the images were so complex and involved that each page pulled me further and further through his visual journey. and there was the second named squared loudly sighing in annoyance at me because he knew there was no competition after this.
if ever there was a place to hide a thought, it is here and because those things that matter
often get over looked i guess in my most quiet of whispers years later i may speak of things that got quickly swept under the carpet. fg was mine and if he is the worst than it cannot be so bad but he was such a bad boy that i tried my best to avoid the hurricane.
did i call him another name i forget, but looking back, the sweetest memory i have of him was a sunny day when.... it was all by the by but he pulled me aside and showed me a memory box he had just finished. it had all of his youth and family memorabilia. he was always such an artist, the work was exquisite, the sanding of the wood, the connecting of the sides so perfect, so very beautiful but he said, "do you see what's preserved in there forever with my life?" he pointed inside past the sealed-up glass. it was a photo of me he stole from my jewelry box. there it was glued closed in his beautiful life memory box and .... i was then with his best friend. he was that way, so very Romeo. so very much the heritage of his background, he was so alive with creating, and beauty and passion and being in the moment and he jabbed me to the heart. how could he do that. but it is one of those moments in life that i dont know whatever it was
i met him soon after my mother died. just weeks after her husband and my horrible ruin of loss of custody in court. i was a wreck and there he was looking at me like i was some ....what did he always call me, he would sing the Miss America song when i showed up; i was Miss America to him --but it was not about fucking, it was this other thing that was between us. it was this kind of honesty. it was this secret but it was also more, it was that we could create together, we could come alive when we were together.
was it the art? or the emotions we shared because.... we talked a lot; we shared real life things that were happening and we became closer than any other lover i have ever known
the last time i saw him was at the ruin of .... what became of chris and me. or what we had once been called at the art warehouse, the 'chris and electra show' the ugly soap opera that was our life for awhile but before that it was another show; my scandalous life with one of many mad artists who have made my life so crazy....but fg —i always knew he would ....not be able to forget me
