Because No one is watching...

Work Stoppage on Construction Site foils World Domination Master Plan.  Details at 11...

I had to my the construction of the Memory Palace (More of a Summer Home, really) on hold because of the events of the past few days and a couple of nervous revelations I have come to.

 

My Friend is gone forever...

    It's amazing how sometimes you can see a person everyday, hear their voice, joke with them, maybe share a meal, and then, when they're gone you truly understand how integral to your life they were.  My best friend is gone and I'm at a loss as to what to do.  Colors seem less bright, food tastes more ash-like every time I eat.  I can't sleep for the weeping that comes in the darkness....

    Okay so maybe that was a bit over the top.  My friend isn't dead...he just went to Japan to teach them pesky slant-eyes what-for.  Uh, those are HIS words, not mine.  I will miss him terribly but I, like him, will adjust and grow.  When he comes back, everyone and everything will be different.  Hopefully for the better.  But he will always have a place to crash and mooch on my food (Damn you gotta take ALL the cereal, dog??).  Like the Red Roof inn, We'll leave the light on for ya.

    So we had a going away party for him on Monday night.  My baby made some Lasagna (which was excellent, despite her grumbles to the contrary) and we had cake and ice cream for dessert.  Nothing fancy, just a couple of close friends eating and sharing stories and basically enjoying one another's company.  I figured, of all the things that My friend can get in Japan, a home cooked meal with friends and family (We consider him part of the family and he's my kids God-Father) will be the hardest to come by in a foreign land.   Besides, they put strange stuff in their food.  Right now he's probably flying over the pacific on his way to Tokyo.  Maybe he's passed out from all the excitement, snoring on the plan to the dismay of nearby passengers.  Maybe he's laying the mack down on some sweet lil thang heading to Tokyo for her internship.  Maybe he's vomiting in the bathroom while the poor saps within earshot try to keep their stomachs from twinging.  I don't know.  I just pray he gets there safe and sound.

   

    I like to do it Bloggy Style

    My baby has a blog.  As I may or may not have admitted earlier, the whole reason why I have a blog in the first place is in reaction to hers.  Not that I thought anybody would really be interested in my life or anything.  More of a 'Me too Me too' gut reaction.  But as I've tried to write these little notes to the great beyond of the internet I've learned a few things about myself, her and our relationship.  About me, I've learned that I'm not nearly as creative as I like to give myself credit for being.  Oh, sure, I'll think up something strange and obscure and string it together in a novel fashion.  Then I'll spew it out of my mouth like so much garbage, stinking up your mind with my nasty, polluted images.  But that is Creation.  That's imagination.  There is a subtle difference.  Everybody has an imagination.  Some people keep a tight rein on theirs and grow up bitter and cold.  Others give their imagination full reign and go crazy.  The talent of creativity lies in bringing this imagination to a physical form of some kind.  A novel or poem perhaps.  Maybe a painting.  Point is.  I've got all the stories in the world stored up in my brain but I'm starting to tearfully realize the limits of my Creativity as I try to bring them out into the light.  It's a hard thing to swallow and I'm trying my best but sometimes, like anybody, I get discouraged.  What I learned about her is despite my deep fears to the contrary, she still has the writing, poetic spirit that I loved so much when we first met.  While I may have lost mine, hers still burns strong, despite the goings on of our lives and Camille pulling her one way and life pulling her another and me pulling her a third.  She still flows words sweetly down her arms to collect in her hands and feed you with, gently, patiently.  I know why she left the Poetic scene and I can't blame her.  The reasons why she left kept me from even getting too interested...partially.  But she still yearns to write poetry.  The words still burn in her blood, aching to spill themselves, Seppuku-like on the page.  For that I am Proud and grateful, envious and a little sad.  What I learned about or relationship was that we make it work.  Everyday we do our best to make it work.  But she deserves better than just a working relationship that gets you from milestone to milestone without getting you wet or leaving you broke-down on a corner somewhere.  The ride itself should be enjoyable.  As enjoyable as the anticipation of the next destination.  I am realizing in my slow, stupid, male way (which may or may not be construed as synonymous with slow and stupid) that my support of her poetry and he self expression isn't nearly as deep as I've pretended it to be.  I cant recall the last time I went to a poetry venue when she was not featured.  Or the last time that she actively sought me out to listen to something new that she has written.  There is a part of her that she doesn't really share with me anymore.  She shares these things in her blog though, so I get to know this part of my future wife as everyone one else gets to know her.  One post at a time.  I really can't blame anybody but myself, though I wish desperately for things to be different and am trying to make them so.  She needs my active support, not just my passive encouragement, and, up until now, I haven't really been giving it.  Reap and sow...reap and sow.  Hopefully I will be able to make a change and get to the place where I am not the last to know the songs her heart sings while she writes.  But I don't deserve to be the first yet either.

 

Peace

Benticore