Monday, October 26, 2009
Experimental Blog....Is there really such a thing? And are the dimensions of love not where you think they are?
I am caught in a vortex.
Still thoughtful over a woman who was either a stone psycho
or another writer who was trying to help--
to suggest to me that I had to suspend my belief in ordinary reality, if I were to enter a world of illusion, mystery and suspense. The world of fiction. And that world was she. She was the fiction, she was the book. She should have been my novel. She should have have been my project. She was he wild mare that I had to ride on my way to authentic artistry.
I think that S, as another writer (and gorgeous woman), wanted me to understand that the "specialness" of relationships was not really held in the place that we tend to think it is, nor does i manifests itself in the way that we wish. Love is not what we think it is and unfortunately can sometimes only be gain it through situations that we would otherwise find abhorrent.
"What do you know of love, you who has read Plato?" She had asked when she finally seemed to have had enough of a stubborn mustang who came off more like a mule.
At the time, to enter a relationship with a married woman who all the while had still another besides me, and not her husband --I found abhorrent.
So I chickened out.
I wished I hadn't now, after all these years.
Some important juncture had been missed.
Or was she just trying to get me into a Hotel California situation:
Her mind is definitely twisted
She's got the Mercedes Benz.
"She's got a lot of pretty boysthat she calls here friends.
Or, more prosaically, was she just plain gay?
The world of illusion, mystery and suspense. The world of fiction. This, she perceived me striving for.
Or was her mind "definitely twisted" and I was the poor Cossack hung up on a rock by a Rusalka, a Loreli.
There had been no wisdom here.
I felt myself a tree in whose bark barbed wire had been ingrown. The tree absorbed the the wire, barbs and all-- grew all around it.
So it seems with unsolved problems, conundrums.
I suppose if you want to be Jesus, you have to absorb the spike.
Or, in the language of Burrohghs, was it a spike that she was on and did she expect me to get hung up as well?