Intermezzo noir

 

When I’ve had enough of the Caberet Headquarters dungeon; the weirdness of subterranean life, like living underground, viewing the world in cyber space I can only do that for so long .... I really don’t like that because I so detest being trapped inside. it is like torture —especially this year.... like everyone else 

so much prefer being outside; among trees and wild life .... so desperately long for the forest tree lined trails, the grass and the woods 

Likewise, the desperate need for anything tactile 

which, this year, calls for some extreme invention of ideas towards the primitive 

considering survival options for planning what to do with a long winter stretching ahead.... promising drear.... 

avoiding populous; crowds; society 

....without climbing the walls for the next six months —at least— of Adirondaks mountain-cold; caveman snow and high altitude blizzards; it fills me with dread

hopefully still containing the memory of how to use practical physical exertion skills with some prospect of discernible application

I decide, as I have always had an interest to experiment in botany.... 

to order a wide range of things to grow in doors 

Which today prompts what’s in hand upon their arrival by post —along with what I come to realize is quite an ambitious amount of terra-cotta pots.... I suppose I must have been quite bored at the time I placed the order —as I am faced with a kind of endless and involved Russian-doll task of having to unpack the daunting lot. Adrift in bubble-wrap, seeming a twisting sheet of several meters-long stream of a recycled, paper, boa constrictor, and a million environmentally-friendly (how friendly?) packing peanuts .... what the fuck was I thinking that day? At least the mess is all in the farmhouse, so Jörn won’t have any idea of the extent of my madness 

having dragged the boxes down the hill, as I couldn’t have chanced dropping them through the pantry trap door 

immediately have to go about rearranging my artist’s studio to accommodate some space. 

I always find the process of physical work to be a great device for meditation and clothed in my favorite artist smock gear of paint splattered black leggings with my paint smeared giant plaid flannel shirt—a hundred sizes too big to allow for the several layers beneath, much required in the freezing and gutted farmhouse. So, sleeves rolled up to my elbows, get to work; first sweeping away the summer debris of bugs and then set up rows of metal racks; which arrived a few days ahead, thankfully, I’ve already set up — intended for drying herbs. But then I am finding now I’m thinking of other possibilities.... Is there enough space for candle making I wonder? —as I don’t like being bored.... maybe they could be put in the Caberet catalogue ....?

The gust of cold should have alerted me,

“What is all this?”

“Uh—what?” I walk straight towards my easel and brushes, “just paint and things....gosh, that meeting ended sooner than you expected, how was it?”

Still he looks stubbornly back at the slithering Basilisk-like ‘boa constrictor’ taking over the majority of the farmhouse floor.... along with the infestation of peanuts ....and taking in the mass array of seemingly multiplying terra-cotta pots with a dubious expression

 of ....some kind that I ....don’t know how to interpret (—maybe it’s disbelief?)

 ....and decide not to 

and focus on what is in front of me as his appearance is a sexy distraction.... like how good he looks in that shade of gray with his eyes ....

“So how was it?” I ask going over to him

“What?” he says as I reach up to loosen his hair and watch it fall through my fingers,

“what is that—cedar or cloves?—you smell good....” and breathe it in

“You’re trying to distract me....” but I don’t let him finish that and kiss his mouth, “....from the fire hazard going on in here....” he mumbles anyway 

“It’s just a new project —I would have had it all done in here had you kept to your schedule—so why are you back early?”

“I just didn’t feel right about you being here without.... I just wanted to double check the security system —oh, that’s right! —there’s interesting development with the vaccine I need to act on ....” but I sense he wants to distract me from what he began to say

“What do you mean?”I ask, but kissing me back, clearly he decides, instead to continue my line of attack with marked proficiency 

“I mean, maybe you should leave this hazard in here for later and come back up the hill with me,” even as he raises me onto the nearest countertop, moving his hands up the paint splattered leggings, “but first I think I need to give you a bath—you’re so filthy!”

which is true. he’s not kidding.... as we really have to get better about cleaning this farmhouse and I think I say something like that or —maybe it was, “yeah, I feel so dirty, let’s go....” but then we don’t go right away