M wrote to say there was a problem with today. Which I, of course, will not detail here. So to say that I will miss her begets regrets beyond the unknowing where she will not be today with me.
I’ve heard that life is a painful affair but then the alternative sucks so some say.
laughter!
Intimacy once meant merger of the carnal kind of and for which i exhausted my sense of longing to know what love is or is not . . . then being found, a stray, by M and brought along more nearly to manhood . . . a self more than adult male aging rapidly growing gray so to say I am a man is closer to God than most would think the words mean since between you & me to be is simply fabulous. An intimacy with which one builds bridges beyond any toll tithe toil.
. . . it follows: I am celebratory of births, as well as deaths, being co-equal for which/within the tutelage of M I’ve come to know what real intimacy is . . . yet there are others: . . . shamelessly men as well as Lions and kittens, elephants and whales mice and sometimes even lice are nice.
Orgasms nice but fleeting pleasure while friends in joy are forever intimacy beyond silence eternal vaporous expansive ascendant
. . . to be here now worth every fractured nose falling down stairs yet ascended again.
To wit the purpose of my wandered maundering is gratitude for several women whose souls as well as bodies I’ll never know biblically literally but virtually for those words they spoke not to me but of and for themselves:
Maria Popova http://www.brainpickings.org/ comes to mind blowing me away and apart daily but then we share Anaïs Nin as lovers.
add:
“There are moments when the sail flaps. Then, being a great amateur of the art of life, determined to suck my orange, off, like a wasp if the blossom I’m on fades, as it did yesterday — I ride across the downs to the cliffs. A roll of barbed wire is hooped on the edge. I rubbed my mind brisk along the Newhaven road. Shabby old maids buying groceries, in that desert road with the villas; in the wet. And Newhaven gashed. But tire the body and the mind sleeps. All desire to write diary here has flagged. What is the right antidote? I must sniff round. I think Mme. de Sevigne. Writing to be a daily pleasure. I detest the hardness of old age — I feel it. I rasp. I’m tart.
. . . "To admit authorities, however heavily furred and gowned, into our libraries and let them tell us how to read, what to read, what value to place upon what we read, is to destroy the spirit of freedom which is the breath of those sanctuaries. Everywhere else we may be bound by laws and conventions—there we have none." - Virgina Wolfe
Ricocheting Star to Star over Edna St. Vincent Millay happy birthday today and the four thousand pound gorilla in the bunch http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Main_Page add et all to my daily dalliances http://www.dailyliteraryquote.com/daily-literary-quote-share.htm
http://chasingtailfeathers.tumblr.com/archive busy busy busy boy http://www.thefreedictionary.com/ . . . my point? Merely that the news and movies and TV are gnat farts on the far other side of my saw tooth sun dial; The Organ Mountains marking the marching seasons back and forth eternal with or without my annotation . . . at lease until they become as Muhammad said; “ . . . come to me.”
To be the best you can be learn to read. To write: write; but to write well: read more.
“When the fight begins within himself, a man's worth something.” - Robert Browning
“The language of friendship is not words, but meanings.” - Henry David Thoreau
"What do you think of God," the teacher asked. After a pause, the young pupil replied, "He's not a think, he's a feel."- Paul Frost
130222 07:32 love affairs
© 2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved
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