Intermezzo

25 01 2009

handwire1

Perhaps calling this intermezzo is not correct. Perhaps…

It may not be the best of strategies on my part to bookend random wanderings with something with some sort of organization, at least in title, if nothing else. Are not these “between” postings as worth reading as The Quail Diaries? [Don’t Answer That…]

Today, however, it is intermezzo, because

the moon is new

because

I am almost older

because

had you not met him…you would have taken my place here on this gibbet.

because

place the head on a pillow of oat chaff

the body…protect it from dust

I am not one given to faith other than the sort of faith bound up in the steps of a pigeon pecking up grain. But you must know this by now–haven’t the quail yet proven this?

Could it be Madness–this?

I should note, the quartet I admired during President Obama’s Inauguration was not truly live. You know this by now, I’m sure. They were playing to a recording because of the cold and the instruments and string breakages and such.

How much does it matter? Any thoughts? I seem to have grown numb again. Perhaps it is the medication or perhaps it is just that I am waiting

the seas lay heavy

I do miss the sea…but that is not it.

trees in silence

stood

That is more like it…do you wait as well?

My next post will be about my parrots, Aratinga species both–a sort of seeking of forgiveness and absolution for keeping them as pets because they have been in captivity too long to be free (and because I love them, of course, but if I could give them freedom I would I so crave it for them).

But this post, and I apologize, will be an end of such, at least for now, of the dialogue about my friend.

this nothingness is the non-being of evil

I apologize. And you will likely move on…why not.

Here are words I never thought I would hear seriously spoken by apparently clear thinking adults: possession, Satanic potion, black reiki, the dangers of moldy pot,

you are allowed to be crazy in the state of Washington

I suppose I should be grateful that I’ve been spared this sort of morass–although I’ve been tangentially involved with other ones [As I’ve said elsewhere:

The mother,
wore handcuffs like bracelets
elegant and casual.

I will note, that mother is not me…I’ve been other mothers but not that cuffed one].

When they took her back in cuffs

when

when

What does it mean, here are some other words, words I’ve used to fight those listed above: AIDS related Dementia, HIV in the brain, psychosis, mania, sexual aggression

but nothing fits…nothing is as it seems and the facade keeps being pulled away. I do not know if my friend is dying. I only know that this friend is a danger…I only know this friend had many emergency treatments. I only know this friend will not take medication this friend went farther in his/her exploration of a certain form of energy manipulation, if you believe in such like, than most other folks. That this friend came to [I cannot be more specific] damaged, and I mean damaged [aren’t we all…but to differing extents, really…]and was saved and lost again. I sensed this damage and this place of darkness, the pit resting just behind my friend, somewhat obscured but really not if I’d been so willing. But I wanted lessons and not the sense that something dangerous was running it’s tongue along my arm. I’d already played on the edges of these sorts of things and realized them for the empty packages of destruction that they were…

it is a secret fire in which flame and smoke are in conflict

Damn it–you know it really is banal, isn’t it.

the vehicle of that light and that shadow.

I only know I’ve given up, pulled back, moved on, refused to spend my emotional energy

dark rage

I only know it is that waiting, that numbness, something is moving down that dusty road

the sterile madness

towards me…but for you, who cares? And for my friend…

in men’s hearts

Forgive me
.

Quotes are from Anatole Le Braz (The Celtic Legend of the Beyond), Dickinson, Stevie Smith, Foucault (Madness and Civilization), Calkins, Washington State Department of Health, Foucault

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