the ability to detach seems to have allowed a zen to have occurred from work lately. I go there and tune out. Just because I lay naked for a man who pays me does not mean he penetrates my walls. I go somewhere else. I don’t feel like I care. It is almost out of body. Sometimes I fall asleep 

 

Est-ce que je compte pour toi ? Si c'est le cas, tu sais ce que tu dois faire. J'ai encore plus besoin de toi. tu es le seul à avoir vu Electre. ne la laisse pas là.

Comme tu le vois, j'ai complètement disparu. Peu importe ce que tu as choisi. Qui. Peu importe. J'ai complètement disparu. Ici et là. Cette partie de moi a disparu. Mais autant que je sache, je sais que se contenter de ce qui est facile, c'est mourir.

dis-moi que je peux venir voir ton jardin …. s'il te plaît

 

dis-moi que je peux venir voir ton jardin

of poets and language

The first time I had ever heard of ‘the PreRaphaelites’ was in my 10th grade English Literature class. 

I remember the moment vividly. It was a morning class. And I was quite sad. A friend at school had just been killed on his motor bike and we were close

English literature had always been a balm for emotional pain for me in the past 

it was the picture of a painting in the text book we were reading from. ‘The Beguiling of Merlin’ …by Edward Burn-Jones; I was utterly compelled to the page —especially as I had just bought a novel with this exact painting on the cover. Part of why I bought the book. 

This was the class that opened my eyes to the vague sense that humans on earth have always been telling an ongoing story through the arts. Each movement. Each era 

The reason I found myself further still pulled into wanting to know more beyond their flooding of senses through aesthetic intense use of color and imagery 

What I loved was that the emphasis was not on the classical expectation of creating art. 

They were rebels. I loved that. I identified with the resentment of having my pencil removed from my fingers by my mother to correct my artistic errors; I didn’t want shadows; I wanted bold lines and my own interpretation of style that was not dependent on “realism”

It was the class that weeks earlier had introduced me to the romantic poets (the language of poetry with their codes)so by now I already loved Keats from my favorite poem. That they depict poems or works of literature in their work thrilled me to distraction 

what’s in the tea leaves

southern iced tea with honey in giant cup

 

oui

turning to William Morris in need of beauty

 ….to remove from horrors and the din I desperately reach to take a familiar page from —a— somewhere else

   —like a ‘News from Nowhere’ 

    to a great and safe and very distant land out of the present I love to take a break with Mr. Morris.The rebel Textile mogul from The Arts and Crafts Movement of the Industrial Revolutionary times —who is actually the little known father of Fantasy/Scifi. 

His work in fiction and art has been well known to have inspired Tolkien; was part of the PreRaphaelites and ‘the Birmingham Set’ while at Oxford

William Morris is a page in my dictionary; an artistic muse hero for me; 

The novel opens like a grand adventure; like some middle earth midlands

In his style here one may see how he inspired another local to write a series of stories which became their own folktale of epic legends 

 from the House of the Wolfings by William Morris

“The tale tells that in times long past there was a dwelling of men beside a great wood. Before it lay a plain, not very great, but which was, as it were, an isle in the sea of woodland, since even when you stood on the flat ground, you could see trees everywhere in the offing, though as for hills, you could scarce say that there were any; only swellings-up of the earth here and there, like the upheavings of the water that one sees at whiles going on amidst the eddies of a swift but deep stream….”

continues pages later, 

“Now the name of this House was the Wolfings, and they bore a Wolf on their banners, and their warriors were marked on the breast with the image of the Wolf, that they might be known for what they were if they fell in battle, and were stripped. The house, that is to say the Roof, of the Wolfings of the Mid-mark stood on the topmost”

So drawn into wonder with these words of great adventure— where will it lead us to?

“ …the men of one House might not wed the women of their own House: to the Wolfing men all Wolfing women were as sisters: they must needs wed with the Hartings or the Elkings or the Bearings, or other such Houses of the Mark as were not so close akin to the blood of the Wolf; and this was a law that none dreamed of breaking. Thus then dwelt this Folk and such was their Custom….”

Legends have many meanings 

 the most fun come with great and detailed hand drawn maps that have interesting word symbols with forests and valleys and unknown creatures 

 

J'aimerais que tu le fasses

J'écouterais, je ne serais pas une garce

 

apocalyptic miss

what — if Elan had managed to escape the Druid?

And lately I like to think about what

— if Elan had managed to escape the Druid father before she’d ever crossed paths with the Viking 

what if the Druid had found some other natural disaster end of life which allowed her independence?

I think about what skills she’d have picked up traveling with the Druid; her gift of healing with herbs and potions. I like to think that she might have had an inner core strength for survival and was clever with disguise to pass safely by boat or land 

What would her stories have been?

stepping off a side street

 

message dans une bouteille

dis-moi. s'il te plaît

parce que ton mot était le dernier. et tu as été clair

jealous peace

it is easy to look back now and clearly see that undoing myself from the mess that my partners have dragged me through has taken years longer than the time I was with them to recover from. And not even partners. Take a love struck deranged obsessive man from my high school who decided to interrupt my life. I guess it started at the Mardi Gras; one of our reunions party weeks with others from our Dutch school— we spent one night together which maybe he remembers different than I do but (which also revealed a mystery about him to me that emphasized this questionable provoking detail)—this was the basis of what became his obsession with me (but I didn’t know of) and what led to what happened four years ago

That was only two years. Only two years. Of my life. Just two. And it was not even a relationship. 

What the fuck was that? —bait and switch-date rape is what I’d call it, but there’s one thing and I never mentioned it because it would be tasteless to write of it here but one major flaw about him that I knew from our time in New Orleans. But I won’t say it here. But this was part of his sickness in regards to me, there was something deeply wrong with him and I am sure his family doesn’t even know. Which I think is why things were as crazy as it was there and must be why he behaved as he did and how he chose to do what he did —first saying one thing then trapping me when it was too late because then he thought I’d never tell anyway. Mostly he got away with behavior like that until me

I know I didn’t process that. So busy with where I escaped into which was itself another bad trap —

 two years 

detained on others agendas 

In limbo. Searching for a way out of there. If only I’d been able to get my hands fixed by the specialist back in Detroit —no thanks to being cut the week of the surgery by my then husband; could he not have waited one week? Then I’d have my own insurance because then I’d be able to get a real job again. These little things that most people scream about. But I don’t scream. And who is listening?

Two years in Maryland I could have skipped. But the aftermath? The recovery…. is still in the process —two wasted years 

Like I got excess time to kill never mind I had my own dreams. Which now looking back must have been only to stay alive to distract me from …. the morass 

so why, I try to see 

why would I want to give up my self for anybody and I guess still this is the part that bores …

I guess was hoping for a better distraction….and so I don’t care to defend why I don’t feel like being detained again 

it’s tediously boring —how much time they take up.of me.i don’t care, except I should, but why I don’t know? until maybe it’s funny that I don’t care.why is it funny?because —that’s when they just seem to chase more so it’s stupid and sad so it’s funny, so I guess why not laugh or slam my head in the wall 

staggered/early 00’s

I did not hear in my head that voice that said, ‘this is just a diversion’ because I was so busy reeling not to drown.to just stay afloat.because I did not want to see the other things, I wanted just to escape the hazard, that sense of the ‘house on fire’ get out fast need to stay alive.which has been the way of life far too long.but his inexperience became a disadvantage; his age was at first a fun alternative away from the ugliness of decease and death but seeing how careless of his own health and the attitude towards his future ….later became clear that—although younger, I’d outlive him because I was a better survivor and he was just a leech;youth is relative when most only focus on the hearts reload in game mode and …. how many years have I worked on Celf and body because….my journey of life data notes and search for higher meaning, requires a higher aim focus 

later I see seeing the two lives of before him and after —what his is now and

    that she I’m no longer which perhaps he’s found a similar illusion of impression that I’m glad is not me —that will never would never was never a she of a me I’d ever be and there is no bitterness to say it’s only relief —what was distraction 

    became destruction.

 his arrogant ignorance and fundamental differences  ….bored me

Just bored me to death