Danse de la vie (une ligne fine). [or, Sweet, sweet metaphorics.]

[written, Sunday, 26.8.02, 7pm-ish] Mortality, fidelity, dreams, and all things ‘art’.

These are the things I’ve faced in the last week. All that, and more. Packing away the past and staring at the future; calling one from the past for advice; playing cat & mouse with one from recent past – trying not to step on toes whilst dancing to my own tune.

Kept thinking that I was hearing footsteps down the hall as I was dropping off to sleep – guess I just wasn’t sure what song I was dancing to, thanks to questions raised by someone else. It’s not your fault – your dancing is perfect as it is (much like your coffee).

Words. It’s all just words, all words imbued with silent-not-so-silent meaning. Intonation; phrasing; context; history; pauses (or lack thereof). Without all of these, the words seems so cold and oddly disenfranchised (annhilated, perhaps?). But they’re all that and more. Remind me to choose my words carefully. And please, please, can someone teach my mother to do the same?

Brought to silent tears as I heard the words – “He expects to die like his father – young, from a heart attack, from overworking.” And I’m sitting on a bench in the park, a tear rolling slowly down my left cheek, and I don’t know what to say to that. There is nothing I can say to that. (The paradox: considering that my mother was oh-so-concerned about Clay “throwing guilt” at me, she does an amazing job of ‘inducing’ guilt in me. She’s quite subtle sometimes. But only sometimes.)

This feels like a strange time in my life. Like I’m almost here but not. Like I almost know who I am but not. Like I almost know what I want but not. There are somethings I am sure of, however I feel like I’m clinging to these things like a life-raft – or, perhaps, clinging to the engine of a 747 in the ocean. (Duck, I think it’s possible that it might have been me in that dream..)

And speaking of dreams, my, have I been dreaming of late. Odd, complicated dreams that dissapear from memory upon waking (which could possibly be a good thing).

I should be packing. Or cleaning. Or even list-making (so much to do, so little time, I’ve turned into an obsessive list-maker.) But, I’m slightly tired, somewhat in relax-mode (or is that lazy-mode?), and I realize what it is that I’m missing tonight – Motivation. This roller-coaster weekend has left me in a pool of nothingness. Not that I feel that ‘I am nothing’ – just that “I am able to do nothing, and nothing is what I want to do.”

Evidence of my timewasting relaxation (or, Lisa + French dictionary = trouble.)

Rêve précédent:

Vous, la marque d’un chevalier, choix interminable d’offre – perspicacit inattendue. Pour prendre une risque – aux précipitations dans l’infatuation. Et je? Très près pour réagir. Confus. Déboussolé. A déjà déchiffré le dilemme: désir contre les démis débris. En réalité, dilemme? Non pas du tout. Mon amour est vrai. Fidèle. Indices, rêves, gaufre. Seulement un rêve, mon ami.

Adieu.