Reading: The Home and the World by Rabidranath Tagore – deep, poetically sublime
Listening: Alt country – Wilco’s Complete Singles (of which)
Eating: Salami and hummus, sprinkle of oregano, sea salt, olive oil (organic extra v. – yeah!)
There’s actually been a heap of writing in scrap books and longer pieces but nothing blog-worthy at the moment. Some nice ideas for a play, which is almost fully written. Two men sitting on a shore one 24, the other 60. The young’n asks the older one what he knows. No fish get caught but there emerges a disturbing story leading to a bloody suicide.
Storytelling is enthusing me greatly – the intimacy of fire-like chats and glowing eyes rapt at details and laughing gently at subtleties of human behaviour. It is a pleasure and privilege to tell and listen at the Mezrab and out of this cosy art space are emerging some fine friendships.
One book I’ve been lent by one of these story-types is The Virago Book of Erotic Myths and Legends which has raised some eye-brows on the commuter train to work and may explain the passage below.
I hope you are well and reading freely.
Arjuna and his Octopus
This post is in memory of Paul *sniff*, one of the better known soothsayers of our tribe
We’ve gone on talking long enough and I spread sly fingers down the spine of your back you relax comfortably. It was a nervous breath but to see you relax is sweet heaven matrimony for this watching soul. You have been several shades of a mixed blessing but in this…moment…you are once again surrendering for tired eyes, lips and buttons to fall away, rise up to where they need to be and measure a little more of our dotted history.
Thick blue smoke weaves its way between our bodies
My eyes are taken into yours
You have been shapes all evening
Pushing, denying before finally caving in
An eruption on a bridge in the middle of a park
Illuminated by flood lamps from housing estates
Falling and a stroke
And you are shapes again
But in the perfect dark
Motion edges into and out of hands
Breaths and buttons and cast iron railings
Crashing into dust
I want to escape the haze and remember:
Two globes hanging in the moon over water
Painless and dumbstruck