woke up after a strange dream . .i was a michelle shocked look-a-like in an arty black and white music video. i stood outside myself, directing myself around this ultra-cool movie set. "come a long way . .i've come a long way . ." i woke up warm under my velvet duvet . .smiling . .settled . .beautiful!
i want so much to believe in love. anthony said months ago that "our song" was stevie nicks and don henley singing "leather and lace" and now everytime i hear it i think of him breathing those words into me that day in the loft . .everything so unsteady and untried, but still . .i believed. ."lovers forever, face to face . .my city or mountain, stay with me stay . .i need you to love me, i need you to stay . ." i want so much to still believe in that kind of romance. there are moments when i "drift with the empty gladness" of it (as joni sings). and then the fear again. .and the somersaulting in the belly . .and the abandonment .. and i want to run back to paris . .and forget myself . lose myself in the dank, sewer underground of it again . .in the bars and gay cabarets and outdoor cafes and parks and all the loose liasions that i seem to always so easily get tangled in . .and yet remain somehow detached from. .always running. .and losing whoever i thought i was or could be . .but i can't do that anymore . .can i?
gerry, are you there?
something else i don't want to forget . .this weird food metaphor the other night. .anthony and i at a baker's square . snow falling outside and i want to just be home making love . .but anyway, there we are . .and the waiter serves me a piece of hacked up, broken banana cream . .and the server kind of chuckles at how the piece was once perfect but "oh well" and anthony goes and sides with him saying . ."it's alright, it tastes the same anyway" . .and i'm fuming inside . .stewing because it's my pie . .it's my slice of life . .and i want it the way i want it . .not broken up . .not looking like seconds . .and i don't want anyone to tell me what's right for me . .and so i don't look up . .i want to throw the pie on the wall . .i want to be a bitter bette davis . .but what do i do? . .i eat it anyway dammit, and yes, okay, it's sugary and gooey and wonderfully creamy and fruity and it does taste the way i love my banana cream to taste. .but hell, i keep obsessing about how it's not exactly right . .you know, like the gorgeous picture of it on the menu, and i'm so angry, so furious about something i can hardly enjoy it . .and i want it to be so, so perfect . .but it can't be . .it can't be . . .and i think oh gerry . .why can't you just relish it . even though it's not intact. .whole . . just let life be what it is . .sometimes kind of splintered, cracked up, messed around with . .gerry, just let it rest on your tongue and when you swallow remember the sweet . .and be glad you can eat . .and taste . .and then translate it. .c'mon now . .remember . .c'mon and try . or am i really furious because i feel i'm just taking seconds and i'm worth more . .and i'm just angry because i'm not being responsible and caring enough to bake my own damn pie rather than be served something subpar . .okay, don't overthink here . .
but some good news came: the videopoem, "a bird in hand: 13 postcards from paris" won "the vision award" for best direction at the 4th annual edgewise videopoem festival in vancouver . .ahhhh to be seen again . .i want to write again . .!!
i can feel the new moon energy . .i went driving in my nissan altima with the stereo playing old madonna songs: "gonna dress you up in my love . .feel my love" . .and i laughed out loud . .and the mall lights were all a blur of royal blues and oranges . .and i felt like i could drive into wild abandon . .i felt . .
okay right now i just want to focus on growth here . .and i want to remember to savor . .and say that i've been strong and i'll be strong . .and be loyal to the poet who is still breathing inside of me (okay really, really decide what that means!) and let the moon glow brighter and bring hope . .and help me to radiate reverance and gratitude for all that has been . .and to trust in this love that has found me . .and the house that is beginning to sing, and the life that is here now .. however seemingly "imperfect". .and all the sweetness that must surely be forthcoming and needing to be recognized . .and finally . .appreciated.
the sofas came saturday . .and the kitchen table . .a new stove to cook on . .the carpets were steamcleaned . .the house now suddenly waking up and calling for a life to be lived within the four walls of it. i walk around thinking how a house needs a happy spirit to fill it . .and then i remember this weekend: anthony and i in sweet, passionate embraces friday and saturday . .(then saturday night . .as they say in french--incroyable--the love inside) . .sometimes holding him i feel like i'm floating up to the sky .. and i become, for a moment, bodiless . .like air . .just expansiveness . .and starry indigo . .and eternal . .just the drift of it . .the hum of the planets turning . .everything in perfect rhyme . .ahhhhh.
what do i hope for now .. ?
