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A torch A destination

Friday, October 13, 2006

I am so tired. O should not be writing anything right now...

But I want to start some stubs that I’d like to revisit in the future, either consciously or not.

There are many things that I can point out around me when thinking of possible addictions. My cat is one of them. When I leave home, I feel guilty for leaving him behind and sad that I can’t bring him with me. Because if I could, I would have him next to me all the time. I understand how many little girls want one of those little toy dogs that they can drag around in their purse. But I don’t think it’s fair. I wouldn’t want kitty to become an accessory. He has his own addictions. The brown paper bag. If he were to have no food for a day and I set out in the evening a bowl of food and beside it a brown paper bag, he would choose the bag and of this I am certain.

I am also addicted to movies. I spent over an hour in the Beaubien reading and looking for something that rang a bell. That’s my usual method for anything and nothing in particular. So I had two films in my hands already, which I would have switched for something that could ring louder, when I gaze at the Cocteau section and see The Blood Of A Poet. Hummer. I pick up the black and white box and start to read, the first line: Poets... shed not only the red blood of their hearts but the white blood of their soul. Buzz. Well, I looked at the box for what seemed like half an hour then put it back in it’s place and started for the store front. But a few steps later decide that I am too curious about it and return only to find it missing. Because, I guess, it’s the new cool thing to watch Jean Cocteau’s movies. Inconceivable. I walk around aimlessly, trying to understand why anyone would want to watch that specific movie. Is it popular and I’m unaware of its status? Maybe I misplaced it? How could I? I was right there in front of its tag.

Ding dong.

I don’t know why the bell rang at that time, reminding me to go back. I walk back to the row thinking to myself, if it’s there, I take it, if not, too bad. Can you believe it, it had mysteriously returned? You should.

Other physical dependencies I can’t really point out are warmth and lightness of mind. I cannot stand the cold, nor can I stand the heat. I want warmth. That is why winter is so cruel. The comfort of the between is rare. And the light... well peace of mind is something everyone wants for themselves. When I was writing under the pen Primessa, I was often exposed to positive rays of light. I was a witness to many poets leaving their mark in a virtual community as they used it to uplift those who cared to read. It changed me in a very positive way. But as I was practicing my art echo, I found inspiration to be rushing toward me and I was lucky enough to be able to draw from it.

At that time it was beauty feeding off beauty and I realize now that it was easy to step into that light and reflect it, but what of the darkness?

My first conjurations when I am stirred by something intense is to remember what it’s like. If I can’t relate it to any experience or memory (there is a difference) then what am I left with? Assumptions? Judgements? Can I simply witness this and let it be? Can I simply witness life around me and let it be? I’ve talked about it before but now believe it should be part of my creation process to pull light bulbs out of the void.

I have to admit that the latest events in my life have led me to ease into that pain of loss and confusion but when I remember Monday, the day at the ranch, I find a source again. I’ll tell you about that later.

Good night.

posted by Primessa Espiritu
10:43 pm


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