Spencer’s

this is so stupid to mention, but in keeping with talking about society and what you’re unconsciously projecting 

I got the strangest look from a man who watched me go past him into Spencer’s. why am I laughing about this? this is wrong, it’s too idiotic but no! he actually stopped in his tracks and watched me go into Spencer’s. 

so what? i mean, what was he thinking?see what I mean? they sell other things in there. it’s in a family mall. they also have lava lamps. 

notes

 I don’t know; I suppose I find myself disturbed. As I look at life, whilst doing my research …. I am researching all the impactful writers, thinkers, artists, and philosophers of a wide span of eras …. perhaps I too look to this work I have decided to spend my creative time on as it goes with my interest in understanding meaning ….

purpose ….ive been so engrossed in this research that I am even dreaming g in it now —I guess I go all the way when I do what I do …. you know it was like that for me in theatre…. I was so into my character —on stage I forgot to be shy and it was magic to become another’s journey; feel their sorrow and wish to convince everyone of how I see her…. I loved being on stage. So writing became that extension for me but —what I was thinking about was something else 

That Keats and Shelly —who were my original heroes from ninth grade English lit; hardly fifteen—ripe for their plucking ….but to find they died so young—that they had tragic lives. But sadder is Shelly in a way because of the way he sank into sexual filth. I got sad as I researched all this…. their competition with Mary Shelly and all that about females are brainless; meant to be brainless; property —how could Mary Shelly create Frankenstein ? No, it had to be a man who wrote it. Because—guess what? We are back there now. Women are just brainless property still so how do I feel about that? I shun the world. I really don’t like people. 

The French Revolution writers —the idyllic fantasy to free humans from chains; free their minds —remove them from their rulers and all that 

well…. It would be nice but seems like utopia; really though, it is not like all of them went to extremes in thought but it seems naive as look at what became of industrialism and upon whose shoulders do they drain the lives 

But look at naturalism as they saw it —there is something I must have not seen until now and that is what disturbs me. You see? They were —Coleridge too, they lost their heads in a wild fantasy when they should have been more industrial so— there we have William Morris who was the success story but he had a few lucky breaks; still, he was not a miserly person at all and wrote the book that inspired Lord of the Rings for Tolkien. 

I think it’s about what I should decide I’d rather focus on and what the message is I am conveying…. is that my role then? i don’t care, i think i need it to be said and maybe that’s the only reason; who cares who reads it?someone has to write this; like why hasn’t anyone done it?

life is fluid; it alters and shifts what looks like today will be so completely altered along the winds the future changes the reality of the ephemeral now

~and there is forgiveness ….it is ok to believe in the soul’s redemption because it is what is actually required 

exploring more current day art forms as sources

Shashi Kapoor 

in Heat and Dust —it is one scene, and it is only because of how he touches her

*literary aside notes (for my reference)

such an unexpected subtle shock of surprise (he is more erotic than if it were explicit;so hot)

a very literary note;an aside for the margins

On a post-it writes

“he puts me in chains and makes me endure hours of torture upon my sex with constant onslaught of a soft mouth ….how do I confess this?” 

—found in the translations letters of ancestor 

*frame story/subStory

margin notes

not to give away my new writing work, but I need to work out a few thoughts here. I can only say that as I research this —vaguely, I’m looking at how western movements of thought have influenced human lives especially seen through art —I thought it was a trilogy but it’s growing legs and to wrestle the beast I write now a tiny anecdote of a side thought

consider the actors of Shakespeare time. Of Sophocles time. Of Oscar Wilde’s time and consider all those immortal works and their muses or those that portrayed them on stage or sat at salons for paintings 

To read Forster or Jane Austen as a nerd girl and then see Hugh Grant, Julian Sand, Colin Firth, these lovely men embody characters …. and I have to consider our time and era and what one we are—or were in—QE2? the knights and dames and our a.s.byat 

I think repression is the root of all evil.upon realizing this, it occurs to me that I’ve really never been interested in perpetuating negative cycles of mal intended games played through forms of mental abuse —to me an enlightening discovery as it simply means I see it was just a kind of a blindness I’d not examined.  

Therefore it can be better understood why physical forms of confinement or chains; ties etc. that becomes a fetish is adapted as it creates a venue for the expression to be exhibited through a decoy channel hidden as a subterranean ‘acceptable’; but as an act of perversion; like an eccentric or secret social deviant 

after 16 hours it has stopped snowing. how quaint to find myself atop the northest pole without having to move 

Maverick 

enigmatic 

what does it mean to be a deviant 

 <<so what hemisphere are you on?>> he asked her

But she was still in that state 

<<you can’t know that. I keep my lives totally separate>>

<<why did you come over here to the Internet cafe—don’t you have those over there?>>

<<over here?—like, yours?no, I’ll forget this conversation in the morning. I don’t want to know where you are—ok? Oh—because the downloads are better—duh!>>

She would not have remembered any of this had it not been for the several incessant sounds of alerts ringing in her head like mass bells 

 

And it was only because he caught her in a mood—a very bad day and a few slugs of cheap vodka so,

in front of the webcam she shot her bright teal lace panties then opened her legs and looked into the cam,

<<let me be the object of your desire>> and fell flat on her face from the last shot hitting her just then

arching her back sharing an unintentional view of a nether factor realized and faced around

<<just joking>>

and fell flat on her face again 

Internet cafe story continues

The Internet Cafe was on the ‘other side’ of the northern hemisphere; she had taken the Broadband Cable Jet across which happened to be—at that time—during her coffee break at work 

Anyway she got back in time but —there’s always that second lag between time zones and your virtual self isn’t quite honed to you.

It was hours later before it occurred to her to check her messages. The In Real Life work hours sucked the most, and it’s mostly because people don’t know how to talk to each other anymore. Well, Roux thought, anyway—and she was the worst example of this exact thing, she knew.

They had to watch a boring lecture. On video! So what was the point? And then after, the discussion—in a circle like the ‘Round Table’ concept —and? Everyone is texting each other and no one says a word out loud.

It could be about that they record the meetings. And everyone is encrypted —or whatever they call it.

But it gave her such a headache! People can still get in your bubble without actually being in your physical bubble which —big brother counts on.

So, after downloading her daily stats she went home and ate a burrito and reached for her laptop to write, remembering what she meant to put down —and there was his message —this is not a Pipe man/guy/person/entity who was on the other side of the hemisphere and she ….had his pipe. That’s how this all started with them. That pipe 

virtual life—part of that other story

<<I like to visit your place in your head>>  he said 

<<but that’s not a real place>>

She had gone home with his pipe, as he’d asked and things got complicated ….

I find I start to reach a sense of acceptance; I watch the snow come down and I find I surrender …. I have let out my rage.so this is fine. I am reconciled to the whole of it all.and I think I was a damn good knight 

Byronic rain

And as they watched the rain pour down over the glass of the windshield that faced the swings he said,

“you don’t remember where we would meet….” 

and even though the tone of his words did not suggest any question—it was

but he was looking directly at the swings when he said it 

it is so interesting the things that people say in opposition to their very own thoughts. Because she had heard some things about him. Things from those of whom didn’t know what their real story was…. now such old ….history —what became….? well—she heard he had a trail of quite a checkered way—which not only had given her pause but made her feel such a strong sense of —what was it exactly? not guilt; for there had only been his own bad behavior but —no, more like unfinished business with a vague sense of —bad timing 

She watched the rain come down. The swirls over the windshield made such mesmerizing designs. Like ginkgo biloba leaves swirling down

It swept down in the most interesting layers.

So what really made her decide to RSVP back to the wedding invite?

She was looking at the swings. 

“Uhh—vaguely—wasn’t it….” she feigned an heir of unabashed awkward forgetfulness “….?” as she stared right at the swings. scratching her head. Very convincing too.

“I really wish I remembered ….myself,” Greg said and after a moment of an intended and imposed pregnant pause—he simply added, “….Miss Pim.”

It is possible that it was the nice glow from the nearby safety lights. What do they call them in England? She hardly had an idea of the term in her country but it was a useful thought to —

And at the same moment both said: 

“—did you really believe I’d come back?”

“—why did you really return Miss Pim?”

Sharply her head shot towards him.

He watched her face for the impact. 

“Yes.”

“I…. guess if…. I were willing to be honest with myself I’d say—well to answer your question…. I was hoping to ….find ….out…. whatever might ….have —become ….of you….”

Roux goes to the Internet Cafe (yet another story)

 

Roux found her way to the Internet Cafe with the help of google maps. So it was up three floors and then several more horizontal escalators later, but because the canopy with the name of the cafe written on it was hidden under a heavy oak tree she couldn’t find it when she looked along the long display of store fronts in front of her. The tree she did see as it left an impression on her. Was it a real tree, she wondered? And looked up in search of sources of photosynthesis. Someone just then at top speed ran right into her and knocked her heavy bag right off her shoulder, sending her off balance so that she fell to the ground. 

Whoever it was who slammed into her kept running leaving Roux in a heap on the cement ground.

But that was when she saw the sign:

“Welcome to the Internet Cafe!”

Oh. She saw it now— that she was beneath the branches of the oak tree looking up.

Rubbing her bruised knee she got up from the ground, as nobody bothered to stop to ask what she was doing on the ground, thank god, as maybe that would be worse. She swung her heavy bag back onto her shoulder and walked right to the door of Internet Cafe, swinging it open.

The atmosphere inside was cooler, slightly darker too, with only the slightest hint of music which came from someone playing lightly on a piano. There were interesting neon signs on the walls of each section, and recognizing her favorite genres, Roux headed in the direction of the dark purple and green lava lamps and the koi pools where the music hushed out to silence along the rows of personal booths. Roux found a spot in the corner by the window that overlooked the path to the entrance with a view of the oak tree. From this angle she noticed someone had cut initials into the trunk of the tree. 

Then pulled her laptop from her bag and plugged in immediately as this had just given her an idea for something she was writing. 

She was about four paragraphs into her writing when a sudden message appeared on her screen

<<hi—can you do me a favor?>>

Roux stared at her computer screen and this new odd message from —? After a moment another message came

<<I was just sitting at that terminal and I think I left my pipe behind>>

At that terminal …. oh—it was a messaging platform through the Internet Cafe she realized looking closer at the pink bubble that the message came in which matched the paper napkins on the table and had the letters Internet Cafe written in tiny letters 

In search of —this pipe, Roux looked around at the objects on the table; there was a fake crystal vase with a fake black rose, a fake crystal votive with a lit red candle, a bottle of soy sauce, a bottle of agave, a little crystal holder with packets of sugar, fake sugar, and set of salt and pepper shakers and a shaker with parmesan cheese— concluding her search, she believed, Roux was about to reply that she didn’t see it there—when her shoe came in contact with something on the floor.

She bent down to look at what it was, twisting her body to peak under the table, reaching…. she felt the smooth bowl of a wood pipe under her fingers and grasped it in her fingers.

<<I believe I found your pipe>>

 

Best Friends

 

across the tracks again

It was long past, shoved within a tight carriage of the train, it happened 

  it was like the first time, now so very long ago when she looked up from placing her gloves inside her pockets 

as the other train was going the other way 

he looked up at that very moment from within his train’s carriage and—like before they saw each other 

it was a breath away and then gone 

without a trace —just the heat of breath evaporating on the window