Thursday, May 25, 2017

Rings of Saturn

I logged off my work computer with no intention of logging in again until Tuesday. With all the personal drama winding to a close and only lingering feelings of either inadequacy of loathsomeness, it's time to move on and look forward to the upcoming weekend.

"What are your plans for the day?" The Electrician asked.

"I'm going to the airport to pick up Hellion, and from there the plan is fucking."

"Those were pretty much what I expected the plans to be."

Somewhere, currently in the air, is a young man I adore to the end of the world and back. I can't wait to see him. Somewhere, in the upcoming weekend, is an adventure that is not quite spaced out but that I suspected will be a lot of fun. International Mister Leather is almost always a good story generator.

From Alpha male doggy Doms to jock straps and cock rings, the entire thing is a good time. I want to get implements of destruction and pleasure and wander around rooms that smell of leather and rubber. I want to laugh with friends, and dress casually in corsets, and go to leather balls, and dance, and laugh and just...

Take a moment and breathe.

Nick Cave, as usual, has recorded a song to describe my life at the moment. He always seems to have the music ready for me, although sometimes it takes me a moment to realize, or a moment to catch up. The Boatman's call was not an album I had ever liked before last year, but last year it became very much what I needed to get by.

The Skeleton Tree is beautiful and brilliant and for most of the last few months I thought Jesus Alone was the song I needed; part of  the life I was working through. Then, yesterday, I was caught by the words and in my sadness, and in my happiness, and in my grief, I realized that the song had changed again.

       Her eyes that look at me through a rainy hair
       Two round holes where the air buckles and rushes in
       Her body, moon blue, was a jellyfish
       And I'm breathing deep and I'm there and I'm also not there
       And spurting ink over the sheets but she remains, completely unexplained
       Or maybe I'm just too tongue-tied to drink it up and swallow back the pain
       I thought slavery had been abolished
       How come it's gone and reared its ugly head again? 
     
       And this is the moment, this is exactly what she is born to be
       And this is what she does and this is what she is
       And this is the moment, this is exactly what she is born to be
       This is what she is and this is what she does

And I thought to myself, yes, that explains. On the cusp of changes again, on the edges of love and loss, on the edges of amusement and debauchery, on the edges of a stopover and a flight, on the edge of my art and my muses. All of it out there, and inside me, and me...Still figuring it out. Still loving, and losing, and breathing and fighting and dying.

The weekend should be fun. There will be adventures, love, smiles, wine, tears, friends, dancing, amusements. All smiles. And exactly who I am. Exactly where I have always been. Right there on the edge. On the edges. "Are you still here?"



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