Cleaning house.. and running across an old notebook writings from the time of dissolution of a long long relationship. The most painful.. days of my life..
writhing under the whip of her indifference, page after page.. hope upon hope expressed, and yet at that point I had never revealed anything about my ummm gender issues.. which at the time I wasn't so clear about. Certainly didn't know any way to talk about them..that wouldn't end in disaster from my perspective. It is like it isn't that important, but everything was about the absence of affection..understanding that the boy part of me is not very affectionate at all, and i would have needed to let the girl out... so that i could feel more? perhaps..at any rate who was this person.. who wrote the following poem about himself.
Scarves and watch caps over bone
eyes overturned like headstones
and bags of rags and wrappings
in subway tunnels moving
through wakes of newspaper.
Grey skows slowly crossing the harbor
Murmuring through the fog
Days cast off and Nights discarded.
through vistas of mist shard upon shard
watch capped and satchel moored I comb
silver key once mine alone
to undo that once done
the rusting lock on her affection.
Loss total and inexplicable. A constant litany in this life.
The general wisdom would be that Belinda is a deluded soul. Constructing a feminine self from the least evidence. Lost in a mirror gazer world. Yet looking back at a younger more conventional self it is difficult not to see a sandcastle maker, and a rising tide. She loves me.. She loves me not.. and if She doesn't love me who will, and if no one loves me, then... well.... boo hoo. But a poor delusional sissy gurl can find comfort in a Goddess, and construct a self.. entirely. Next installment, Sanskrit translations of the classics.. the rock classics that is.
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