Once again, the world changes....
My hair moves, he's touched me again.
Or something.
I'm posting bios on the wall, he's peering over my shoulder, reading the dummy copy I did for my own:
Cybele Pomeroy, Playwright, Assistant Director
Cybele likes to write, serves as Secundus to CJ's Premius, goes three days at a time without brushing her hair, and rarely wears colors because she can't be bothered to match things for outfits.
I couldn't justify writing more, as I was busy writing dummy copy for all the cast and crew who failed to turn in or send one on their own, hoping that whatever weirdness I threaten to include in the programme will prompt some response.
He reads the bit about not matching outfits, and wonders aloud whether that's why I wear silver, gold, copper and brass all together, instead of segregating my jewelry by metal type.
Flirting with me shamelessly all the while.
Which is contradictory, because I thought only gay men were aware of shit like that.
As I brushed Ginny's hair (this is not a non-sequiter), she said to me, "I so miss being touched. I want that. I NEED it."
Know what you mean, Gin. I do.
07 March, 2004
06 March, 2004
Warm Rain
Once again, the world changes....
Unbuckled, I sit beneath the street lamp, mesmerized by the patterns of raindrop shadows, rolling, racing across the dusty dash.
This rain has a soothing effect on my senses and my psyche. It's warm, nourishing, healing, in a way that biting winter rain is not. The icy drive of needles all around saps my strength, drains my creativity, makes me yearn for sleep and safety.
Today's rain, the same rain (the same rain? every droplet different, like every moment of ocean different, never the same rain, river, ocean, never) that sang me to sleep last night, touches my arms, my face, my hair like a wet mouth throwing kisses of benediction.
******************************
It's rainbow weather, these days. The rain stops by midmorning, sun shining on cartoon clouds by midafternoon. The sky is a huge painting by an Impressionist artist, and I wish my vision were wide enough to encompass it all at once. I think of L., who stares at the sky even when it looks empty to me, and wonder about the wonder of everything.
A storm blows up suddenly, rumbling thunder shaking the house. Wind roars down the hill, rattling through bare branched bushes where tiny birds try to hide from sweep of rain. Drops spatter windows, falling thick and heavy as sun breaks from behind a cloud in the western sky.
Rainbow weather! Where is it? I race outdoors, heedless of dime sized droplets soaking my silk shirt. Ah, there! A perfect arc of clearly defined colors, embracing the lush backdrop of periwinkle sky. I look until the shiver of wind on my wet neck and scalp drives me indoors.
Worth the chill, ah, yes.
Unbuckled, I sit beneath the street lamp, mesmerized by the patterns of raindrop shadows, rolling, racing across the dusty dash.
This rain has a soothing effect on my senses and my psyche. It's warm, nourishing, healing, in a way that biting winter rain is not. The icy drive of needles all around saps my strength, drains my creativity, makes me yearn for sleep and safety.
Today's rain, the same rain (the same rain? every droplet different, like every moment of ocean different, never the same rain, river, ocean, never) that sang me to sleep last night, touches my arms, my face, my hair like a wet mouth throwing kisses of benediction.
******************************
It's rainbow weather, these days. The rain stops by midmorning, sun shining on cartoon clouds by midafternoon. The sky is a huge painting by an Impressionist artist, and I wish my vision were wide enough to encompass it all at once. I think of L., who stares at the sky even when it looks empty to me, and wonder about the wonder of everything.
A storm blows up suddenly, rumbling thunder shaking the house. Wind roars down the hill, rattling through bare branched bushes where tiny birds try to hide from sweep of rain. Drops spatter windows, falling thick and heavy as sun breaks from behind a cloud in the western sky.
Rainbow weather! Where is it? I race outdoors, heedless of dime sized droplets soaking my silk shirt. Ah, there! A perfect arc of clearly defined colors, embracing the lush backdrop of periwinkle sky. I look until the shiver of wind on my wet neck and scalp drives me indoors.
Worth the chill, ah, yes.
05 March, 2004
Once again, the world changes....
It bothers people when you are lucid and ironic.
- A. Camus
Is THAT what my problem has been.....
The moist grey blanket of sky covers every trace of the sun, blending seamlessly with the misty air. A Portland sort of day, I think, though I've never been to Portland. I tip my face up to a sun I can't see, and say the prayer of Jabez with my arms outstretched to catch every morsel of love and light the world has to offer me today. And Lo! a few hours later, sun breaks through cloud cover, rubbing honeyed rays across the surface of my skin.
It bothers people when you are lucid and ironic.
- A. Camus
Is THAT what my problem has been.....
The moist grey blanket of sky covers every trace of the sun, blending seamlessly with the misty air. A Portland sort of day, I think, though I've never been to Portland. I tip my face up to a sun I can't see, and say the prayer of Jabez with my arms outstretched to catch every morsel of love and light the world has to offer me today. And Lo! a few hours later, sun breaks through cloud cover, rubbing honeyed rays across the surface of my skin.
04 March, 2004
Upheaval
Once again, the world changes....
Bam! Pow! Kersplat! It's like living in a Batman comic, or Beirut. The battle continues, I wait for the end, for the dust to settle. And as the walls of Jericho crumble around me, I look for diversion, amusement....
For mindless diversion, popping bubbles is good.
For wicked laughter at the expense of others, I like Cliff's hate pages.
Just because I like it so much (thank you, Martin), this again.
For an unreal relationship, try an imaginary girlfriend.
(I could be getting paid, hmmmm....)
By the way, who ratted me out to Redwhore? She e-mailed me. Nice lady.
Bam! Pow! Kersplat! It's like living in a Batman comic, or Beirut. The battle continues, I wait for the end, for the dust to settle. And as the walls of Jericho crumble around me, I look for diversion, amusement....
For mindless diversion, popping bubbles is good.
For wicked laughter at the expense of others, I like Cliff's hate pages.
Just because I like it so much (thank you, Martin), this again.
For an unreal relationship, try an imaginary girlfriend.
(I could be getting paid, hmmmm....)
By the way, who ratted me out to Redwhore? She e-mailed me. Nice lady.
03 March, 2004
Peeling it Off
Once again, the world changes....
Today is the official start of Naked Season.
Let me begin with: I hate clothes.
I mean, I love clothes, clothes that are flattering, sexy, pretty...and especially that have very little in the way of actual fabric.
Wintertime in this region does not support Nearly Naked.
But it was November before I donned a pair of socks, and today, on the third day of March, I hereby renounce socks as a daily article of clothing. Except for extenuating circumstances, I am sock-free for the summer. I peel them off, and paint my toes the color of Spring.
I looked at my fading bikini lines the other day, hoping, hoping that I would be able to get new ones before the old ones are gone completely. If the weather holds, I will. Yesterday, I woke to find that sometime between midnight and morning, the heavens had opened to wash away the smutty scent of city dirt.
A dear friend with wise blue eyes has of late been describing me as "melancholy." I disagreed, but the joy I feel at the return of warm weather makes me reconsider. In comparison to the way I feel today, I've been downright depressive. It's disconcerting to have someone see me more clearly than I do, though perhaps not unusual.
Today is the official start of Naked Season.
Let me begin with: I hate clothes.
I mean, I love clothes, clothes that are flattering, sexy, pretty...and especially that have very little in the way of actual fabric.
Wintertime in this region does not support Nearly Naked.
But it was November before I donned a pair of socks, and today, on the third day of March, I hereby renounce socks as a daily article of clothing. Except for extenuating circumstances, I am sock-free for the summer. I peel them off, and paint my toes the color of Spring.
I looked at my fading bikini lines the other day, hoping, hoping that I would be able to get new ones before the old ones are gone completely. If the weather holds, I will. Yesterday, I woke to find that sometime between midnight and morning, the heavens had opened to wash away the smutty scent of city dirt.
A dear friend with wise blue eyes has of late been describing me as "melancholy." I disagreed, but the joy I feel at the return of warm weather makes me reconsider. In comparison to the way I feel today, I've been downright depressive. It's disconcerting to have someone see me more clearly than I do, though perhaps not unusual.
02 March, 2004
Excuse me?
Once again, the world changes....
"NO, I'm not coming in. You're practically naked in there, with your little bits of silk and satin."
FLASHBACK>>>>>>
"Am I interrupting? I can go."
FLASHBACK >>>>>
"Come cuddle with me. I'll brush your hair."
FLASHBACK >>>>
Not a generation gap, but a gorge of massive proportions. Pat and I on one side, the youngsters on the other.
Us:
"No, the next time I want to hear that song is NEVER."
Them:
"You guys are crazy! Stairway To Heaven ROCKS!"
FLASHBACK >>>>>
I eye Dan speculatively. "Am I being propositioned?"
"I think so. And not badly, until the "desparate times, desparate measures" part. That kinda spoiled it."
FLASHBACK >>>>>
"Cybbie, I think we should be lovers."
"Okay. Who with?"
"Each other! Silly."
FLASHBACK >>>>>
"I think of my body as a mango. Ripe, lush, juicy. And nobody expects or wants a skinny mango."
"Yeah. They're supposed to be curvy."
"And what fruit are you?"
"I'm a strawberry."
Oh, yes. Dipped in cream.
Still, she slept in the guest bed. This time.
"NO, I'm not coming in. You're practically naked in there, with your little bits of silk and satin."
FLASHBACK>>>>>>
"Am I interrupting? I can go."
FLASHBACK >>>>>
"Come cuddle with me. I'll brush your hair."
FLASHBACK >>>>
Not a generation gap, but a gorge of massive proportions. Pat and I on one side, the youngsters on the other.
Us:
"No, the next time I want to hear that song is NEVER."
Them:
"You guys are crazy! Stairway To Heaven ROCKS!"
FLASHBACK >>>>>
I eye Dan speculatively. "Am I being propositioned?"
"I think so. And not badly, until the "desparate times, desparate measures" part. That kinda spoiled it."
FLASHBACK >>>>>
"Cybbie, I think we should be lovers."
"Okay. Who with?"
"Each other! Silly."
FLASHBACK >>>>>
"I think of my body as a mango. Ripe, lush, juicy. And nobody expects or wants a skinny mango."
"Yeah. They're supposed to be curvy."
"And what fruit are you?"
"I'm a strawberry."
Oh, yes. Dipped in cream.
Still, she slept in the guest bed. This time.
01 March, 2004
Once again, the world changes....
"Are you kidding? Nobody who knows you would be the least bit surprised to know you were up at 3 AM working on a poem."
Touching? yes. Tears to my eyes touching. Heartbreaking? also yes.
Because maybe a few other people wouldn't be surprised to find me up at three am writing, but he is the ONLY one who truly understands WHY, gets it on that deep gut level, where I feel it.
I love sunshine as he loves rain, so I was pleased to stand outside yesterday.
The sun rubbed warm lips across the back of my neck, slid hot hands over my shoulder blades, down my waist, over my backside, touching the backs of my knees, humming promises of a yummy summer.
Soon. Soon. Please.
"Are you kidding? Nobody who knows you would be the least bit surprised to know you were up at 3 AM working on a poem."
Touching? yes. Tears to my eyes touching. Heartbreaking? also yes.
Because maybe a few other people wouldn't be surprised to find me up at three am writing, but he is the ONLY one who truly understands WHY, gets it on that deep gut level, where I feel it.
I love sunshine as he loves rain, so I was pleased to stand outside yesterday.
The sun rubbed warm lips across the back of my neck, slid hot hands over my shoulder blades, down my waist, over my backside, touching the backs of my knees, humming promises of a yummy summer.
Soon. Soon. Please.