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April 29, 2011
Some days
some days, long and uninhibited. there is a quiet in my head floating weightless but heavy on me. Days of purgatory, days of expectation overcast by knowing that the more I go the less I find. I have come to acknowledge that solitude suits me, calms me. As sociable as I might feel or be. I enjoy staying away in secluded spaces that can be controlled.
I am moving toward a destination and though I hesitate and look back, though I stand and pause I know that I should move on, just being ahead of the crowd or following them, It's not clear to me yet. I could enjoy a companion but I get bored when they have nothing to offer but the same and the same was the reason I am here, away......
The solution maybe taking a course something without boundaries, I like the air in the universities, I like teachers with uncombed hair , corduroy pants, I like the berth of their enthusiasm, and the sense of wonder present, the expectations.
Driving my son home the other day I noticed how black his beard was, and the delicious contrast it brought to his face against his lips and skin. It is such a blessing to have him , and look at him with adoring eyes while he talks
keeping his old man in the loop . He is my road , my light and sustenance that will keep me going, he is everything
Posted by Idinraha at 03:34 PM | Comments (0)
April 28, 2011
Coming up for air
"I allowed you to make love to me, I did not make love to you" she muttered looking straight out. I pushed the break, made a hasty turn to the right " that does it, you are delusional, you are getting the hell out" I screamed. By then I was right in front of her place. I pushed the break and told her to take her stuff and get the hell out.
She turned to my side with her face red, and her back against the car door. "I did not mean it that way" she said almost begging. "Leave please" I said again. "I don't wanna leave, I need you, I will do whatever you say" then she extended herself toward me put her long arms around me "I am sorry baby" she said as she kissed me.
We were not in Kansas anymore and from that moment everything changed........ I had found a bargain , and the tall girl with long arms and long fingers seemed so little.
"Ours is generational differences", she would say....... I do not think so , ours was differences of characters, for I was compromising mine and for her it was the lack of it................
Posted by Idinraha at 01:47 PM | Comments (0)
April 25, 2011
your story
Though you thought the door was open and walked in, though you did not hear how it locked behind you. There is a ghost in the machine, there is a sober deliberate whitchery. the table is set and you are wellcome as long as you remember I tell the story and you do not make any changes , you do not move anything . You just sit waiting, soon I will come down the stairs half sleep half awake, all enthusiasm and then as we sit together aat the table we decide how the story goes.
It is not written, it is not told, I need your spin on it, your input. yes , yes it does matter, it is not told, it is not written, if it was where the mischief will be, the joy of unexpected and the most I expect from you is to surprise me. use your left hand and concentrate on my left eye, please please be creative , there is a story to be told, they will be waiting, you are here and we are happy to see you. yes it could be anybody else, that would not matter, what was
of you before you entered does not matter. where we go from here matters. your individual vision, what you bring,
your eyes, your smile and the tone of your voice, your scent, the shape of your bossoms, the curve of your back,
the way your hair falls in your face and the way you look at me, please its the differences, it is the joy of a fresh
line a different hue and how your skin feels . It should not remind me of any one, for if it does, the story is corrupted, the ending , the beginning , the images, you see you should be different, and then if you are we get to play and we tell the story............
She could not understand, her middle class sensibilities and all the corruption she was fed by the snake did not help. She thought throughout the dinner,the compromises were made already, the apple half eaten browned and I knew she would find the corruption in the mirror , the scent of the dead flesh as I took the tiara away and she found herself in her torn shriveling skin, she was ugly , I bolted for the door, after all this was my fantasy, she never understood, the tiara was mine and all the enthusiasm of the heaving flesh , the potion , the interest , the camera, the lights, ....... You learn to know your limit sooner or later I thought bolting for the door.......I drove to Connecticut and once There......elation came over me.......that was close very close.........I could almost hear her hiss slithering back........
Posted by Idinraha at 06:12 PM | Comments (2)
April 19, 2011
The betreyal
coming back from the woods where I buried the beating heart, deep in the moist heaving, holding soil. I left it while it still bled in narrow streams falling, moving further within . A lonesome ceremony of acceptance that poets do upon arrival to the deepest corner of the woods In celebration of needs, wants, longings , separations and angst, joy and pleasure all and all. In celebration of a life afforded in currents of winds, burns of fires , the bliss of loving and angst of a pause summarised in death. Though we don't believe in death unless it blooms in transition, journey of birth.
would you have called me, if you did not know my name. If you met me at a gathering, succumbed to shadows and lights , standing, kneeling, sitting or otherwise. Would you have called me if you heard my voice, my words, the sing song of my sentences and how they wonder looking for their purpose. Would you have known me, mid sentence, eyes half close
sitting, standing or otherwise would you have known me, if there was no introduction in civility or otherwise, You might not know .................... however I know...........You would
It seems he is decaying inside and his bones are softening , he is smaller now and his cheeks and forehead stand out against the thin dry cover of his skin. There is no grace in dying, it is such a civil treachery, a betrayal , ruthless but not for its mannered elegant pace. Its a undoing, piece by piece, inch by inch, the dagger dances so seamless and so slow, its a witchery bought and sold, taken and followed. There is no grace in dying , the foundation falling apart stone by stone till pain make death a pleasure. wanted , desired.
And maybe there written on the paper the words begin to live, to open up whispering the secret, and all the numbers and equations at last come to even out and you find the words; Love, Life, Springs, Colors, Flowers, Music and you get to read them loud looking up content in the smile of the teacher and the ring of the bell that reminds you its time to go...........
Posted by Idinraha at 02:40 PM | Comments (2)
April 10, 2011
When women had tails
"You know the problem with the women here" Iasked my pal in the lockerroom. " The ones with six packs, no breast and bulging jaws, with face that have not see a smile in ages" ? I continued . " I could say a few things but I am sure you will have adifferent angel so indulge us" he said with a smirk on his face.
They are hungry, they live in a constant state of hunger, we should feed them for the love of God , we should help them enjoy food and they will be cured. we should tell them how those shredded biceps does nothing for our libido and we like our women to look like a women,..... I mean we miss their curves, does anybody remember BREASTS, Sophia Loren, Raquel Welch, Marylin Monroes, and the GODDESS herself ANITA EKBERG.
Is it too much to expect some femmenine softness a little tenderness. a smile once in a while.... There was a report on the TV that how the roles of Men and Women in the society has changed. Women are becoming more Masculine , impatient,
career and result oriented and how men are moving toward more understanding of their sarrounding, becoming more of a nurturrer and softer in their attitude tpward life. The differences amongst sexes are becoming alarmingly none present.
My recent field work and research for this article has brought me tangling with women who knew exactly what they wanted.
some bring in their own protection and give you a choice of lubricant and present it all with such efficiency that makes one feel like a piece of meet or at best a mere sexual appliance.
to be continued.................................
Posted by Idinraha at 04:12 PM | Comments (4)
April 06, 2011
It is what it is --a symphony in Beige, Taupe and Gray
I am getting interested in Beiges, Taupes, grays. in simple geometric lines. They seem restful and vague, quiet and elegant and more than any other attribution its the simplicity of their presentation that reaches me and takes me. Recently I tend to imagine myself in a room dressed mainly by wheat color walls, a simple sofa efficiently small and bare of any additional burdens of a tall back or a wide seat, not even any pattern on the fabric, just a Light Taupe sofa to sit on. Soft gray short pile carpeting , a tall light fixture and a short table that suites the sofa.
My age has been following me , I try so hard to ignore him but he makes himself present at every chance. Mirror is his playground, sometimes a glass window would even do. It is the lines, the ones that are short and the long ones and the inadequacy of their shape, the slight bends or bulges and how they flirt with gravity , trying to sustain the essence of what they present; age. I never thought it should bother me, however though it is not bothersome , It is surprising. dating young women does not help either. They know not much etiquette and even less accustomed to grace. There are exceptions and men of my age are rather grateful for their existence and patience.
They say a balanced individual should be able to adhere to changes in his life and manage the new situations. The rising sale of self help books and Antidepressants beg to differ. The hard skull in our heads hosts a rather soft combination of
matters and neurons connected to a library of images, voices, memories and ideas , trying to make sense of its surroundings and adjust to the unpredictable nature of the lives we live. We are soft inside, moist , living , breathing and flexible. We learn early on how to bend, how to crawl, move and fit within and through all there is . It is a journey and we travel within its short and long distances , and we are always going somewhere.
She said you rather dress youthful for your age. She had found a bottle of hair color in the cabinet and was suspicious of how original is my hair color. I brought it to her attention that the bottle was never opened; just a mere sign of a weak moment of loneliness amid high expectations of a bruised ego. I also reasoned that it is not the youth I am following in my
clothing but practicality. Jeans with something simple on top, darker colors preferred to visually correct the lines I talked about and loafers for shoes, again so there is no burden of shoe laces. I am joining Cyrus my Guru in accepting, IT IS WHAT IT IS, --like there are any other choices !!
Posted by Idinraha at 01:05 PM | Comments (2)