Vonnegut

My house only has one story. It can get quite crowded.

My birth was impolite for two reasons. Firstly, I was seventeen days late. Secondly, I shat on my mother. These two initial incidents set the course for much of my life that followed. Perhaps not as specifically as the original events themselves but as themes they are undeniable.

Bungalow baby on its belly, close to the ground, staying still as the earth turns.

Just because I do not remember my lack of punctuality or soiling my mother, nor any possible intention behind these actions – or inactions – does not mean I am blameless. Oh no, I was the cause. I was the cause, I am the effect.

Every part of the earth is moving, all the time. No one looks carefully enough to see. I am short-sighted.

Wiser people than I have distilled the key to human kindness as being capable of seeing the divinity inherent in every person, not just seeing it but accepting, respecting, reflecting that glorious core. I do not see the divinity in people, though I often try. I see the loneliness in people. More than that. I accept it, I respect it, I reflect it. Solitude fills me with emptiness, such a full feeling that leaves me satisfied in my dissatisfaction.

Was that the door? Please wipe your feet. I was expecting you earlier – but who am I to judge?

Schrödinger

In pulling you closer, am I pushing you away?

From deep contentment rises this burning thirst.

Paradox is the logic of the universe.

Daddy

We were paying for every experience, similar but not identical to those we had from where we came from. No matter how many hours you fly, you are still suspended in the same sky. The sun rose faster where we had landed but took longer to set. How the nights seemed eternal I do not know. Heat was solid there. I felt it pressing against the inside of my skin, boiling my bladder & stirring up sweat. Throw a few coins into the light, blind those with their own boats & plastic tubes attached to elastic bands. I found myself face down in the syrupy sea, dissected lengthways as I spluttered along coral turrets, stalking bright shoals. Mimicking their movements felt easier than walking. They did not notice me for some time. I did not feel altogether human. Discovered, uncovered, I drifted.

Hundreds of tiny incisions caught your attention. Beads of my blood dissolving into this mighty water, each miniscule globule dispersing further & further into the sovereign soluble. I am travelling around the world but I am here having my hand held by you. Pulling me across the shallow bed as the fish sleep. Suddenly a drop, sturdier than any liquid. The beach disappears, the earth; all there is before us is the dark expanding blue black. The silver shard of my stepbrother, your stepson, snakes into the depths not merely meters but galaxies ahead of us. The only part of me of which I am aware is through you, my hand, held by you in yours, there is nothing else of me, nothing, but that related to you, I follow as you lead, I am your shadow. I hope I do not weigh you down. The sun is so high here, perhaps I am short. Maybe we should stay.

Daddy, daddy, my hero – how do I live up to you?

Daphne

“…a heavy numbness seized her limbs, thin bark closed over her breast, her hair turned into leaves, her arms into branches, her feet so swift a moment ago stuck fast in slow-growing roots, her face was lost in the canopy. Only her shining beauty was left.” — Metamorphoses, Ovid.

Everyone says you were running away. That is what it appears to be to those who do not understand you, those who stand sternly in their laboratories, their libraries, clutching their dissecting tools, racking their plotted minds. But I understand you. He blinded you whilst he warmed you. He hunted you before you knew you were prey. That is what you thrived on. That is what gave you the strength to run. You were not running away from him. You were running to who you wanted to be. Under the pressure of your feet, worlds of worms turned their heads into their tails, their tails into their heads. Irrevocably inspired, you felt your power to change as his footsteps drew closer. Standing still but growing all the time for those who care to look. Your fruit garnished the heads of kings. They were aware of your selfish sacrifice, your bountiful beatitude. The misunderstood martyr. Forever nurtured by his light, you reach further to touch him.

Rooted, released, rejoice.

Hello world!

You are witnessing my blog birth. Tremble in sight of the gory glory. I am having mental contractions. Perhaps they are having me. Explains this feeling of being driven, by what I think are my own passions & desires, by forces within me & by forces without me. People ask why I walk everywhere, why I shift awkwardly in restaurants, why I sit sour faced in every taxi. Note: I am asking myself the same questions. Answers not available but reasons abound.

I am desperate not to depend. Be the beautiful superfluous thing you are. I want to want you, not need you. Oxygen is banal but precious all at once. The most successful victories are the ones you do not notice.

Words are never quite enough – but perfection is not my aim. I would be lying to you. Though, to me, you are everything, in all possible worlds, you could equally be nothing, nowhere. I do not want to take you for granted, like gravity. I want to find myself flying above the earth, released from its permanent path, adrift in a seasonless universe. Then I want you to pull me back & I will say, “Was I gone for long?”

Itchy digits nervously twitch; like raindrops, like children’s footsteps. I am desperate not to depend. I am depending on not being desperate. I am not there, not now. This fearful pleasure of attachment. I want to be included but detached. Shunned & attached – I cannot think of anything worse. Twenty six & forty two. There is much more to be written, in ink & in blood. When one flows in me, so does the other.

I do not want to say, “Hello world!” I want the world to say, “Hello you!”