Purpose again

Left early. I had to get out of there 

They call “Coffee Catch up time with the gals” — but there is never any coffee and there are no ‘gals’ there but me and the maid cleaner girl. Instead of coffee it is more like happy hour cocktail time; wheeling dealing and Alphonso showing the latest messages he has received from Davi (Alphonso is Davi’s ‘assistant’ or—no one is sure what Alphonso does actually but—it was he who asked me to show up today….why….? )

Davi returns next week at some mysterious soon to be disclosed time, but I feel a century has passed since he left and I am not sure how to get clear of ….some contract as this isn’t really my gig —what is it? 

Anyway 

 I had considered not going. It has been so good to get back to myself and ….ive been in a weird mood.life.purpose.meaning.often I do things that go against my ethics when I am angry at myself; like I rationalize the bullshit but either way it is anger 

They do this thing in Davi’s world—they make you hand over your phone 

Why? I think it is power. At first I had thought it was because I was being driven to his personal property and I thought maybe they just don’t want any information of their headquarters getting out? I didn’t want to question it

Wealthy people don’t make sense. They are crazy with how they got their money and it makes them insane. They make everyone else around them insane 

I feel like it’s a boring merry go round ride but with an embarrassment of excess of riches. It makes me feel surreal. I feel uncomfortable. Why am I there? 

So you hand over your phone and it’s like this feeling like, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. But it is also intimidation. It is control. How do I call for help, how do I get back, where am I ….snd all the vultures have moved in with Davi away. The heir to the cranberry empire has made his move on me. But it isn’t me. It isn’t me at all. It is only the Barbie doll they want to dress up; it is one thing to exploit oneself but another to be yet another’s more weirder interpretation of their object needs.How boring to listen to him wine and say, “I should just lay back and live off my family’s old money, sell my football team….” (Like these are his worst worries, I’m sewing up socks all winter, can I ever go back to that world again?)I mean, this is sadly very unexciting when I’d rather be staring at a Rossetti, studying as long as I can the color usage until it made me faint 

What will I decide to go was what Alphonso wanted to feel out and so I just left walking right up to ‘Bruno’ yes, that’s what he goes by, and asked for my phone and could he Zelle me money to uber back ….

I can’t waste any more time letting others take up and waste my time ….i need more out of life, I think it is at the point with them, I’m bored; I want to call the shots and if they don’t like it —? I honestly don’t actually care

the start of Sunflower season in the mountains

lovely August gifts for me everywhere 

 

more about La Belle*

When I’d first read the Keats poem my thoughts veered into another direction. Because I really thought—personally I really thought ….the ‘knight’ was a metaphor 

so I thought ….Keats was using this as a way to describe himself as a fallen knight not as an actual knight —but one held up by armor. As though he battled in that great Arthur code of love as an honorable knight and was pierced in the battle. some hint as to where and when I first put on the armor and how the concept arrived to me (and indication of what an impact this poem had on me and remains)

survivor’s guilt 

those things you know, shrug off and ignore ….be tough and never look back?and there’s me….always pondering on the road even as I can only catch my breath running from the demons behind me; I know I’m tough; can be a bitch~but if I let my walls all the way down?all those things matter.more.than the trivial mundane —those are just the bearings your soul journeys on so you do the work of life so that when you are at the gate you know you ….as you ….and the maker; I’m flung in this catacomb examining scrolls of a map I recently dropped and the scars still burn bright but sorry more for all the human that I feel for the souls and the ones who refuse to see and the effort of trying and losing and exhausting my own faith ….i step up from the catacombs with a slow backward departure and watch the black roses rise into morning puce

*footnote

clear other hints

‘wight’ which could suggest a kind of ghostly human

the withered sedge on the lake and the squirrels full granary— a squirrel as it prepares for winter; the harvest being done, no birds sing—they have flown for the winter; are woeful and impending deathlike references 

  ….how could I not have fallen in love with Keats by his tragic heartbreak?

to note of codes

The most important hint that his poem was speaking in poetic language is the reference to the lily—the lily on thy brow 

and then the rose 

the lily indicates the knight is still a young man —but fast wither….means dying untimely in youth 

the rose indicates in the language of poetry, the heart and love or in this case, a broken heart 

Of course ~Wordsworth —as his name would suggest, requires an entire code book 

La Belle Dame Sans Merci is a word in my dictionary

It all really began for me with this one poem—this whole secret language that evoked a doorway to a realm that I forever was a citizen of 

This one poem by Keats in my tenth grade English Literature class as I was desperately searching for meaning those words pulled me under his spell 

But then there was this …. which is my favorite painting Waterhouse’s style is often grouped with PreRaphaelite~his style and principles would be of the genre but he was not in the ‘Brotherhood’ 

La Belle Dame Sans Merci by John William Waterhouse 1849-1917

Here is the Poem that inspired the painting 

La Belle Dame Sans Merci by John Keats 1795-1821

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
  Alone and palely loitering;
The sedge is withered from the lake, 
  And no birds sing.

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
  So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full, 
  And the harvest's done.

I see a lilly on thy brow,
  With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose
  Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads
  Full beautiful, a faery's child; 
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
  And her eyes were wild.

I set her on my pacing steed,
  And nothing else saw all day long;
For sideways would she lean, and sing 
  A faery's song.

I made a garland for her head, 
  And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love, 
  And made sweet moan.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
  And honey wild, and manna dew;
And sure in language strange she said,
  I love thee true.

She took me to her elfin grot,
  And there she gazed and sighed deep,
And there I shut her wild sad eyes—
  So kissed to sleep.

And there we slumbered on the moss,
  And there I dreamed, ah woe betide,
The latest dream I ever dreamed 
  On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings, and princes too,
  Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
Who cried—"La belle Dame sans merci 
  Hath thee in thrall!"

I saw their starved lips in the gloam 
  With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke, and found me here 
  On the cold hill side.

And this is why I sojourn here 
  Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
  And no birds sing.