Tuesday, July 30, 2013

The Story of the Flowers

and sometimes the chains of love and the plenty, the old pig and meeting that pig in the river enslaves us..ah! the dream...the death of the father. the weapon of woman. the portrait of man. dear boyscouts, now be pleased to be seated. sphinx, image maker... this is your wedding and only your memories will remain.


Photos Saudek

I am in the midst of unpacking a few treasured books I have managed to carry from LA to the deep South with me. I spent every last penny I had shipping these books. Unemployment pennies may I add. I found my Saudek book...it is a lofty treasure and I knew I couldn't part without it. It was like Sophies choice during that time of leaving for me, that was when I became a warrior of the Gods and my lamp took bright light again. I parted with 2 little lives (one of my cats - 19 year old  was put down as she was ill and the other that  I found a new loving home for) I will try to refrain from the past and keep in the present but this book still brings up so much for me. I'm not sure I can even speak of it now that I've started except to say it, in all of its glorious splendour was worth the weight, tales of love and ruination. I come closer today but then again visions disappear in the west...and then I chase back to recollect all that old tart vanishes over. It's been a very long day into night, no sleep. This book out of darkness arrives from a card-board shipping box that was lost in the depths of the closet I let it rest in for the last 9 months...it takes me by the hand,  leads me home back to this thought:  I don't think I need another violin teacher, as a child, I undderstood nothing of that appauling theatre of love. I never did. Then the fire. The burn. The loving of myself. And now that I know even less than before I know more.  What's it all mean? This. This reunion between my east and my west and then I know.