Carnelian
Tis the night before Anastacia's baptism, Mom and Dad are down from Montana. We had a nice dinner together at El Caserio( very European/South American place, great food, quite a find in our little hood ).
Went to bed early -- was tired from a Bruce Lee work week. Woke up like a snap after a dream I was having.
Of course( and this consistently bothers me about myself ), even immediately after I woke from the dream, my mind began paraphrasing the actual events of the dream with my emotional understanding of the situation. I could not go back to sleep.
Instead, I came upstairs to have a cigarette. Now I am writing.
Since I can't remember the exact conversation( which is a shame, since as I said, otherwise all I have is this potentially skewed emotional memory ), I will summarize my feeling of the dream.
I was riding on a bus. Leticia's grandma Nonnie was sitting across the aisle to my left. I always loved that old woman, and so I was feeling( as I always felt with her )somewhat giddy to be in her presence. But she would have none of it. She seemed to tell me my worst fears regarding the love and loss of her grand-daughter -- that same schtick that I fight from time-to-time( sometimes daily )with myself and my sense of irreplaceable loss. Something along the lines of, "Everything is awry, nothing in life will ever have meaning again, my love for Elizabeth is a hoax, and this pounding guilt is deservedly mine."
Of course, she said none of this. These are just the words that my feelings take upon waking and not being able to shake the sensation of the dream.
So I come upstairs and reflect, tiredly, once again, on Leticia. She haunts me with poems of young love. She contrasts the expressions our love took with the older and more experienced rhythm that Liz and I share. And shamefully, I miss Leticia and I miss those times. I feel deprived of something, and I hear Liz breathing heavily, and I feel like a puppet in a stage-play mimickry of something real.
I begin to panic. I get up, hoping a cigarette will tire me. Instead, I feel conflict between my desire to excel physically and this generational habit that attracts blame for what would otherwise be a natural process of human birth, aging, and return to dust.
Tears fill my eyes, the memories turn sour. I snarl to the spirits, "How could I love her?" They return, "The same way you love Liz( except without this burden of contrast, without this burden of contrast! )" I say, "I was sick! I was broken from many childhood mishaps, she NEVER accepted that!" And so I had to do independently, even against her will, what I had to do to heal -- and time has proven, to me and her as well, that I have healed.
I am a man. I swing with the players; if I take a hit deservedly, I thank my adversary as a savior -- otherwise, if my facial expression alone does not return him/her to the pool of delusion from which they came, I send them there. These words are not my own -- they are a force of nature. The precision and power of my blade, in fact, I would not even loudly claim...for were I to desire credit for the blistering power of my righteousness, I would indeed be required to manage the throne of the King.
On one hand I do, and it is this power embodied by my playful and childlike spirit that ms leticia does indeed regret losing, and if these dreams are any indication, seeks to affect.
Therefore, I say unto her with love in my heart: Please let it be, as they say, it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.
I desire the touch of every smooth-bodied minstel I see, in fact, I may very likely muck up the world for my lust of it. Yet, the carinoso affection between two lovers is the only thing that gives me peace. Meanwhile, it is abundantly obvious in the humanesque masks that these tramps and maidens wear that they have no love for me.
So I fantasize, and I align chess pieces like an Olypian to manifest a world where I can have both. For this lust, I am guilty. But it was not for this lust that I compromised my marriage, nor do I think that I will ever betray Liz for it.
I can be free of my past. I set my past free. I beseech young Leticia to do the same, as something about this emotional conversation rings distinctly familiar to the way she was. And yet, in reality, as I have changed, so I am sure she has too, and these projections I make certainly must be more narrated by my memory than by a window of the occult. So I lose nothing to set free something that is already long evaporated into mist.
Nonnie, tsk! tsk! I know you liked me more than this new yahoo, but Jim is your son, and his performance raised a spoiled princess of what would otherwise have been a perfectly educated, naturally-talented, fine-ass-bitch...the likes of which I doubt I could have held onto without the godsend of Letica as she was to me...an angel of mercy.
I go forward with an open heart.
Went to bed early -- was tired from a Bruce Lee work week. Woke up like a snap after a dream I was having.
Of course( and this consistently bothers me about myself ), even immediately after I woke from the dream, my mind began paraphrasing the actual events of the dream with my emotional understanding of the situation. I could not go back to sleep.
Instead, I came upstairs to have a cigarette. Now I am writing.
Since I can't remember the exact conversation( which is a shame, since as I said, otherwise all I have is this potentially skewed emotional memory ), I will summarize my feeling of the dream.
I was riding on a bus. Leticia's grandma Nonnie was sitting across the aisle to my left. I always loved that old woman, and so I was feeling( as I always felt with her )somewhat giddy to be in her presence. But she would have none of it. She seemed to tell me my worst fears regarding the love and loss of her grand-daughter -- that same schtick that I fight from time-to-time( sometimes daily )with myself and my sense of irreplaceable loss. Something along the lines of, "Everything is awry, nothing in life will ever have meaning again, my love for Elizabeth is a hoax, and this pounding guilt is deservedly mine."
Of course, she said none of this. These are just the words that my feelings take upon waking and not being able to shake the sensation of the dream.
So I come upstairs and reflect, tiredly, once again, on Leticia. She haunts me with poems of young love. She contrasts the expressions our love took with the older and more experienced rhythm that Liz and I share. And shamefully, I miss Leticia and I miss those times. I feel deprived of something, and I hear Liz breathing heavily, and I feel like a puppet in a stage-play mimickry of something real.
I begin to panic. I get up, hoping a cigarette will tire me. Instead, I feel conflict between my desire to excel physically and this generational habit that attracts blame for what would otherwise be a natural process of human birth, aging, and return to dust.
Tears fill my eyes, the memories turn sour. I snarl to the spirits, "How could I love her?" They return, "The same way you love Liz( except without this burden of contrast, without this burden of contrast! )" I say, "I was sick! I was broken from many childhood mishaps, she NEVER accepted that!" And so I had to do independently, even against her will, what I had to do to heal -- and time has proven, to me and her as well, that I have healed.
I am a man. I swing with the players; if I take a hit deservedly, I thank my adversary as a savior -- otherwise, if my facial expression alone does not return him/her to the pool of delusion from which they came, I send them there. These words are not my own -- they are a force of nature. The precision and power of my blade, in fact, I would not even loudly claim...for were I to desire credit for the blistering power of my righteousness, I would indeed be required to manage the throne of the King.
On one hand I do, and it is this power embodied by my playful and childlike spirit that ms leticia does indeed regret losing, and if these dreams are any indication, seeks to affect.
Therefore, I say unto her with love in my heart: Please let it be, as they say, it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.
I desire the touch of every smooth-bodied minstel I see, in fact, I may very likely muck up the world for my lust of it. Yet, the carinoso affection between two lovers is the only thing that gives me peace. Meanwhile, it is abundantly obvious in the humanesque masks that these tramps and maidens wear that they have no love for me.
So I fantasize, and I align chess pieces like an Olypian to manifest a world where I can have both. For this lust, I am guilty. But it was not for this lust that I compromised my marriage, nor do I think that I will ever betray Liz for it.
I can be free of my past. I set my past free. I beseech young Leticia to do the same, as something about this emotional conversation rings distinctly familiar to the way she was. And yet, in reality, as I have changed, so I am sure she has too, and these projections I make certainly must be more narrated by my memory than by a window of the occult. So I lose nothing to set free something that is already long evaporated into mist.
Nonnie, tsk! tsk! I know you liked me more than this new yahoo, but Jim is your son, and his performance raised a spoiled princess of what would otherwise have been a perfectly educated, naturally-talented, fine-ass-bitch...the likes of which I doubt I could have held onto without the godsend of Letica as she was to me...an angel of mercy.
I go forward with an open heart.
posted by Just Greg at 6:07 AM
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