Anancy Song & Ask me how my weekend went

"Anancy Song" by Geoffrey Philp

Which reminds me that I have yet to read Neil Gaiman's 'Nancy Boys'. And which reminds me that I am a child of the Caribbean and that I have to hold on to that. A lot of people have this misconception that Anansi's adventures are all about deceipt and opportunism when really, Anansi teaches us what we've needed to know since civilization opened its eyes: How to Survive. And how to do so using nothing more than your intellect, and what you have at hand.

I don't know why I'm so maudlin. Technically, i had a pretty great weekend. I read at the closing of Book Week, an event entitled 'Literary Night'. Interestingly enough I was...possibly one of two sane, non-eccentric writers in the room. Though, I hold myself slightly to blame for that perception. I'm almost certain that 'River of Fire' was sitting in the crowd debating whether or not he should read his 'Three things thrive in the darkness: Snakes, Scorpions, and Battymen' poem when, out of the blue, he hears the fellow at the mic describing Sea Hag nipples and wet tongues circling red lips. I think that's the moment he decided 'This seems like a crowd I can whip out the battyman material in front of'!

But all in all it was well received, I think. The crowd had me nervous at first. I got through the first lines of 'The Fortunate End of Jonas Black' and kept thinking 'this is way too corny to be taken seriously.' There were murmurs at the mention of mermaids, tittering as I went through several paragraphs describing their breasts (What else would you describe on a mermaid?), but by the time I got to poor Jona's actual descent into death there was rapt silence.

'I Could Call you Brother' was a bit better received, though I'm not sure people got that first stanza (It was a dog in the first draft. Now its a horse. Point is, though, its an animal, then a man.) And 'Dreaming of Flying' got me a crowd of 'Aww's. So, good for me! I just had to sit through the crazy a bit longer. Not too bad with Jon and Sean there to make me want to guffaw every eight minutes.

Lets see...what else?

Women are generally confusing. That doesn't change. I consider making grand gestures. Then...I consider whether or not it would even be worth it. What if i did sweep her off her feet? She'd still be the girl who drunk dials exes on her birthday. But maybe that's a good thing. Is anybody going to Drunk dial me on their birthday this year?

Ah. That's why I'm maudlin.

July 17th, 2009

[Fighting writer's block]

To my distant lover.

When I said always
What I meant was...always.
And what I meant by that was--

I could take the disarray of stars and fit the universe in my throat.  I could spit out constellations an d have them  line up obediently on paper.  I could make metaphors out of lava fields and sulfur an d cradle the uinatainable in my arms as if it had just been born into something raw an d touchable.

And I could do this all with little more than an empt field, the crushed, bleached an d dried remains of a tree, th e feather of a bird an d something to dip in for ink.

Yes, my God loves me, and he lets m e borrow a little taste of his power during special moments I call 'inspiration'

Today's the Same as Yesterday, Only Today I Know

So I'm single again. Officially. No, I won't be gorging on Ice cream. No, I didn't cry myself to sleep last night. I'm not a woman. And I won't be heading out to promptly bang every woman I can find. I am a man, but I'm not a stereotype.

I am, at present, eating alone. but I've been doing that for a while now. So how do I feel about it? Oddly...free. Relieved. And of course, guilty that I don't feel worse than this. Sadness has always been something I shrugged off. An emotion that doesn't really require immediate action. if any action at all.

But that was before Merri. Back then we'd both be sad for a bit, and I'd toss my lode into the pile of sadness that I generally ignored, and she'd still be sad. And I'd feel guilty for not being sad. Which would make my great pile of sadness impossible to ignore. There was a lot of crying in those days. Mind you, there was also a lot of undirected anger in the days prior to them. Had I not had that time; had she not happened to me; I'd have probably become like one of those that I now try to avoid. (Violent when drunk, Constantly spoiling for a fight, seeking sex filled relationships with women who don't seem to mind being slapped around every once in a while.)

Yesterday, upon reading her reply, I was sad. Quite sad. I was, however, also angry. Angry that this had to be done by email. That I had to be ignored to the point of outrage before she finally just told me. And what impotent outrage. A letter. A short story. A recounting of waking dreams as I calmly went about my day and pretended nothing was wrong. As if I didn't already know what was wrong.

I guess I'm still a bit sad, and a bit angry. but as I said, this has been happening for a while now. The only difference is I don't have to feel guilty about my imaginary accusations and doubts. And I don't have to feel guilty about fantasizing about other people as the memory of her voice, her face, her touch all fade. (That's a lie. How can I forget that face?) I don't have to worry about who's going to see me when I'm out with friends, smiling and looking happier than i ought to. And I especially don't have to feel guilty for thinking, "She calls me more than Merri does." I don't have to feel bad about liking this fact.

But that's still significant, isn't it? She calls? She calls...often for no reason. Perhaps, with this release, I'll be seeing more clearly now.

A final note: I think at the core of my relative un-sadness is the implaccable thought that...we'll be together again. We've circled one another so expertly in the past that I can't imagine we won't be together again in the future. i'm not counting on it, mind you. Not aiming for it. but I do believe it. Just like i know we were broken up before I was actually told, I know we'll be getting back together. I'm just waiting on confirmation.

You always know.

An argument with myself

Upon writing a poem that I'm still not brave enough to let the world know about.

Do I have to insert morality?  Whats the purpose of this exactly?

Its just a fantasy.  Nothing wrong with that.

But what does that say about me?

It says you have a penis and it talks to you.

Is it my penis that's been writing poetry all this while?

Your penis is a dick.  You're just the kind of guy that'll lend a caring ear to just about anyone.  Even if that someone is a dick.

A gate of ivory, A gate of horn

Once, back when Merri was still here, back when we regularly shared the same bed, I had a dream.

In my dream I was in the most perfect place.  A paradise I could hardly recognize.  And it was the perfect day.  I was leaving a tiny room through a plain wooden door and I stepped outside to greet the rising sun ambling skyward, steaming as it rose from the sea.  I dipped my toes in the sand, considered the hues of color in the sky for a moment, and began walking.  I still don't know where I was going, but I was alone.  And I wanted to find...someone.  Anyone to share this day with.  I was walking to her.

I didn't know who she was or what she looked like, but I did know who she wasn't.  She wasn't Merri.  This was an odd brand of guilt.  One flavored by elation, excitement and disappointment.  Not disappointment for my behavior or actions.  But...for being allowed to behave this way.  That doesn't really explain it.  I don't know if I can explain it.  For that matter I don't know if I should.  It was just a dream.

But after i'd stepped out into the perfect day and went out looking for her, I didn't really get very far since...she was already on her way to find me.

On her way to find me.

You might be thinking 'Okay, this is where things get hot and steamy.  He's gonna talk about breasts and penises now.'  Its not.  Sorry to disappoint.  We just sat, once we'd found one another.  Sat and chatted a bit, but I was still buzzing with the idea that she was looking for me!  The elation I was feeling in my dream-heart just talking to her was just as good as infidelity.

Especially considering the fact that every time I turned to look over my shoulder I would see Merri.  Sitting there.  Looking blankly, though not at me.  Never at me.  I'd call her name but she wouldn't respond.  We'd go on chatting, me and she, and every so often I'd look back at Merri to find...she wasn't all that concerned.  So...I thought...what else could we do?  Right here?  In front of Merri?

When I woke up she was on the far side of the bed and for the first time...first of many...our backs were turned.  I should have paid attention to this.  I should have paid attention to a lot of things.  But sometimes...you're so desperate to hold on to the good things, that you let the bad ones slide. 

Anyway, I was wracked with guilt.  I turned and pulled her to me, kissing her firmly awake.  I didn't tell her about the dream.  It was just a dream.

Just a dream.

***

That was ages ago.  Don't even remember the date.  But today...today I had the most wonderful day.  I haven't seen Merri in a year.  I haven't spoken to her in months.  People ask me about her.  I smile and give them old information.  I think about her constantly.

This morning I showered, and got dressed, in the bathroom of the tiny Hotel room Sean and I are sharing for the weekend.  I stepped through the green wooden door and onto the 'lawn' of the hotel, which is all sea sand.  The sun was already up.  The waves were sparkling under it.  A cool wind blew at me from nearly all directions.

I did go looking for her.  I'm loathe to admit it.  I feel so guilty.  In fact, i felt pretty dumb since she wasn't looking for me.  She wasn't even awake yet.

But she did wake up earlier.  And she had been looking for me.  Or at least she seemed to be.  She tends to talk in her sleep.  It might have been real.  It might have been just a dream.

I am not a nice person

So I was at the bank the other day.  I won't say which bank except that it was the bank with that one teller who looks like a fish?  Yes, that one.  And as I stood there I kept thinking 'My Goodness.  She really does look like a fish.  There's no hope for her.  No hope at all.

'Is she still a virgin?  Even if she isn't she probably qualifies for regaining the status.  That's why she's always frowning, I bet.  Like a grouper.  Grouper frown.

'Who could lover her?  Who would fill her to the gills with passion?  Who caresses her operculum at night?  Strokes her pectoral fins?   Makes her flap and gasp with delight?

'Maybe they are soft fish lips.  Lips like lulling waves.  Except--oh god, she has fish teeth too.  Perhaps she makes up for it by being slippery like a fish too.  (Nudge-nudge, Wink-wink, Know what I mean?)  Perhaps she makes up for it with those breasts.  Yes, that's got to be it.  Those massive breast s.  With their flattened nipples.  Their areolas (areoli?  areolae) the size of dinner plates, surrounded by a hedge of thick, curly hairs.'

But it wasn't until the thought of hairs led to the thought of her briar patch bush and the tiny ecosystem  that probably existed there that I audibly made a 'hoark!' sound and had to beg pardon, smiling politely.

True story.

But now, I'm sitting at the bus station staring occasionally glancing at a girl who would look just like the fish girl, if the fish girl lost about forty pounds.  And had more pronounced cheek bones.  And better skin.  Less round eyes.  Longer hair, and more of it.

Y'know, I was gonna go along on some whiny, self examining jag because I thought I was losing some of my fundamental 'nice-guy-ness' by not being in the least bit attracted to the fish girl.  But the truth is, ugly people do exist.  And they're out there.

And they're gonna GETCHYA!