tack

 https://youtu.be/7jYtlPUMRZ8

chi ydyw; notes to a stranger

I wake up with my mind caught in a lasso. emotions and then nostalgia …. destroy me…. and no idea why…. 

if I could, I would admit …. 

and say 

the only grip I have ….tossed out through the cyber channels and volleyed like a whisper ….from the language of our codes —that very threadbare faith …. I am truly heard…. and it is not imagined

         ….thank you

 ac eto, mae eich distawrwydd yn fy llenwi ag amheuaeth nad oes gennych unrhyw ddiddordeb yn y prosiect na….  ydych chi'n aros am yr eiliad iawn yn unig?

for electra: thoughts today

the blog was always the apparatus; the clipboard; the place to gather notes and work out the plots and the characters. that I did it this way and not privately, was—at first, mostly for the convenience of using a public forum that didn’t require having to save everything into documents I’d lose because of my tendency to travel and move around a lot. I could pick it up anywhere I was and look back to old posts for reference. Ironically, I had not expected a certain reader of it to often remind me of certain posts —and—feel more encouraged of aspects and plot lines. so enormously helpful 

Especially when I stopped putting links to the posts through social media, I started to realize over the years of working on a public site, that my aim was not intended to ‘trend’ but to find ….through accident or word of mouth…. my intended following; nonprofit and altruistic and with the purpose to inspire, hence create a pure ‘cause’ or creative humanitarian ‘platform’ but not to be an activist per se; never mind who my father was and dna memory that I have come to realize, cannot be escaped 

As I read through the newer edition of the Decameron, with a fresh interpretation and introduction, I realize more—and some things I had not consciously thought of. Like the format of the telling and the author’s voice, but also, how I somehow fell upon the stories within stories 

evaluating what I have done recently ….I’ve had such moments of terror over my recent choice of moving and circumstances ….(and the instinct not to share this site)…. was it to come full circle? to let go of a past —from this lifetime…. seeing someone in a true light instead of a teenager’s impression and finding that most really…. came from my own imagination. I must consider how often I tend to do this; embellish what is not otherwise there

as then I realize everything is meant to apply because it is a journey of growing and life; comparing a present with so many pasts…. and understand, as a human with flaws, how to pick up a new direction with what those mistakes showed —the expression ‘there are no accidents or mistakes’ seems to be the guided path I have unwittingly stumbled upon as my course 

the present real concern, hence becomes, am I in a physical place to focus…. shifting the blog story format now back to a script format…. but as I have a few years of notes to draw from—but dialogue was always my natural and more comfortable ‘voice’ —I know how to do this….so…. if it means, at present, turning the focus of the project to preparing what I’d always intended it—into a ‘product’ 

electra…. I have always been honest to him about my work, my purpose…. if I am not heard by someone….that is on them, not me…. 

 à quoi ressemble un effondrement implosant

Sometimes in sleep we join

sea air fills my head 

as the voices drift up from the courtyard …. 

I say to ambush …. 

voices linger across the currency ….strategies and plans spoken and hatched…. 

someone else says, 

surprise attack….

Only I don’t want him to go. I don’t want him to go chasing some evil demon….don’t want him to—fear—tempting fate ….and watching the sea as it drugs the mind with its hypnotic rhythm; how it pulls and tugs….you back…. on its currents; ever forward its encroachment onto the temporal earth; pulling away to sink and drown its sandy flesh, leaving behind skeletal shells that fossilize 

….we are all fossils, dust

but we are more than this, 

more, much more, than flesh, 

     more 

          even 

              than ashes

                   and dust….

                       more, 

                           much more too….

                                than de roet 

he says it is ‘to heal….’

I forget myself…. the limitations of the human mind that conflict within but it is so easy to give in to

How I have searched and longed for, in truth 

—why I have avoided anyone getting too close

this bond. It cannot be broken. not even by lifetimes. Still it keeps me

like that first moment when I first saw him…. It was something in just his walk

I recognized….

the way he moved ….

how his hair caught on the breeze ….the hut with the deep fire pit; the beat of metal against metal; the symphony 

“Tell me why you stay,” he says pressing himself deeply within ….as thought and words are like tedious knots; booby traps, confusing and causing any ability to process to malfunction 

“Tell me,” he says and withholds himself and his motions

But dream takes over, and I watch the shadows on the wall…. and listen to the pounding of the piano keys ….his opera that plays in my mind as I press to him mimicking his motions —and with it, it naturally comes, this urgent need wrap around him, to press to hard to him as I say,

“no,” as I do this

but he does not move at all

“….please….” pressing to him

Only he repeats,

“tell me why you stay,” still holding back

“Please….” I say, and whisper,  “don’t go with the others—promise you will stay here, I don’t trust the others!”

“Stay where—here? The others, duva?”

“Yes, please! don’t make me wait….”

he says,

“wait for what?”

“The sun, you said! Don’t make me wait!”

“Duva….?” he says with a jab in a whisper, sinking deep, pressing 

“don’t leave…. promise me! Don’t leave here alone, please!” but all thoughts dissolve, overcome by the fluidity of his moves 

I hardly hear him say,

“no, never again, duva! I promise —not, never again….”

but I do hear ….as it echoes in the morning in my mind 

…..upon waking