Exposure

Admission: I read romance novels and even more damning than that I have read erotic romance novels. My favorites thus far are written by a woman by the name of Robin Schone. They are odd, disturbing and halting books even by my standards. I remember upon first reading The Lover I had to adjust my thoughts in order to grasp the lurching, cryptic narrative and intense, dark and passionate interplay between the hero and heroine.

I think why I like these books so much is that the books are about more than striping of clothing to expose the nude body beneath, but striping of all secrets and defenses until the hero and heroine expose the truth of the character they are to themselves and to each other...they are both so very vulnerable. The books seem more isolated than others in that the world narrows down to one man and one woman and yet they deal with all sorts of damage done by villains or at least three of them do: The Lover; its companion novel, Gabriel's Woman and The Lady's Tutor. These books aren't for the feint of heart or modest-minded. Not only are they carnal (I use this word deliberately rather than any other), they are emotionally raw--the characters need each other in the sense that they would be diminished without the other.

I am reminded of something one of my uncles warned me of when I was around 15 years old about reading romance novels: beware unreal, fantastical expectations. My mind is a strange thing and this avuncular advice coupled with a few other factors lead me to insulated myself from such unreal expectations by believing such things only happened to other people or only in books. I lived with the belief that love was not possible for me and I made choices accordingly. This belief still reverberates and marks my life. To hope for a life like other people, a life in which I am not alone seems presumptuous and foolhardy. In truth reading romance novels is often more torment than comfort, but at least it is fiction. Often real life is crueler to witness. Too often I feel like a beggar watching others feast. Ultimately though aren't I responsible for feeling like this? It is my own fault and only I can change this.

Maybe I am too much of a coward. I think it takes strength and courage to accept and give love. It certainly requires bravery to reveal who you are and let someone else know you. I congratulate anyone who has done just that.

Insomniac Ramblings

I can't sleep. I go through periods of time when my mind is working and I have no off switch (I am lacking the owner’s manual). At these times I am haunted by the past or feel some dread about the future. Sometimes what I am thinking about makes no sense because it is a mélange of indefinable emotions. I have tried writing several different entries tonight (Saturday) and only now have some direction (admittedly rambling) well after 2:00 am on Sunday morning.

Tonight I watched Hot Fuzz (tremendously entertaining British comedy which is close to the magic of Shaun of the Dead although I would have to give the edge to Shaun of the Dead as it is a zombie movie and for whatever reason I truly enjoy zombie flicks) for the first time and followed that with The Matador (rather decent film). Seemingly these two movies don't have too much in common, but I found a congruent theme or perhaps my restless mind only found it because I was gravitating towards such thoughts anyway. The theme I mean is friendship. The protagonists of both films live to work (they may be opposite sides of the law, but that is neither here nor there) and they are rescued quite literally and figuratively by their only friend in the world. In The Matador, the protagonist (an aging hit man played by Pierce Brosnan) and his friend (a salesman played by Greg Kinnear) don't know each other long or all that well before a bond is forged.

I wonder about the moment friendship solidifies and becomes bracing? Why do we feel an immediate kinship and willingness to trust some people and others it may take years to come to realize their importance in our lives? I suppose often it is being receptive to or in need of the connection. Also there is a necessity for reciprocity of need and dependence on each other or at least there is for me.

Conversely, when do friendships deteriorate and fall apart? Can't you remember someone who was so vital to your life 2 years ago only being a whisper of a thought now? Do we change so much? Call me foolish or delusional, but I have always thought I could sense when a friendship of mine was nearly at that point when it crumbles and in the past rather than fight or question my feeling, I have left with no resentment (I hope) on either side. Did I perhaps leave too early? Was too much the coward? Incorrectly read the signals? Or perhaps, dear reader, I analyze too much? Why is it that I have far too many questions and too few answers?

Thankfully documenting all these endless questions has made me tired. Dear reader, I hope I haven't likewise put you to sleep.

Autumn Cleaning

Many times I have no idea what I am going to write about, or I start on one topic that leads to another. I sometimes begin a post only to save it for later. Some ideas need to ferment and I seem to have quite a few of those (i.e. characters which have been with me since high school). Others need to immediately be expressed or I feel like a jack-in-the-box ready to pop from keeping them to myself. I feel most acutely alone when I don't know who to share my thoughts with...I am not sure if everyone is likewise as compartmentalized as me. I think I do it partly as a way to retain some privacy, partly to protect myself emotionally and at least a little because no matter how hard I try I still feel like a burden.

I am not proud to say that I have dropped friendships throughout my life. I walk away before others do. The catalyst for such shoddy behavior is an inability to accept my own failings. I don't seem to be able to deal with my own disappointment in myself without some destruction. I have a list of regrets so long I could easily fill a dozen notebooks. There are smaller regrets like not sending a birthday email and larger regrets like not being there for someone when I should have as I didn't know how and wasn't big enough to admit just that.

As a child when I was angry I would knock over books or other toys and make a big mess. In the act of cleaning up and organizing the mess I found peace and serenity. In this I am reminded of Kali, the Hindu mother-goddess of death, destruction, creation and rebirth. From fire's ash comes some of the most furtile soil. I don't think I am being sacrilegious when I connect Kali with the Jewish holiday by the name of Yom Kippur, which is the Day of Atonement. Actually the days between Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish New Year) and Yom Kippur you are supposed to reflect on what you have done and do what can be done to make amends. It is quite like a spiritual and emotional spring-cleaning or rather autumn cleaning. It is a time to rectify all the wrongs done to others from the previous year (or years if you have been accumulating a bigger mess) and a time to begin anew like the phoenix, hopefully more glorious and wise, from the remnants of the past.

I need to do a lot of cleaning, dear reader.

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When I was searching for images under "autumn leaf", I discovered this blog: the seek speaks (you will have to go to the achive to find the October 26, 2005 blog entry to see the leaf that drew me to this blog). I loved looking around at all the blogger's drawings.

Relating

I am on a minor tare about films. Do I usually saturate my life with films and television? Yes and no. Movies are a consistent element in my life and another realm in which I relate to others and particularly my family. My sister and I have a sort of shorthand language built upon movies, television and books. We tend to have similar tastes although mine stray more into the dark and bizarre and hers into the more Technicolor and Hollywood. For instance I will watch such movies as A Tale of Two Sisters and Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! and she likes Dirty Dancing (one movie I have never really liked) and has love affairs with certain movies which I like to a certain extent, but don't watch as many times i.e. Bride and Prejudice, Love & Basketball, Daydream Believer (aka The Girl Who Came Late). Don't get me wrong, I also watch some movies way too many times or have them in the background as they give me comfort like a sunny-natured, slightly dense chatty friend. For instance, the cheesiness of Starship Troopers inevitably brightens my mood.

Sometimes we frighten each other by how in tune we are in how we think. Our minds often grab hold of the same archetype or cynical twist on an event. With all we do share, we also are dynamically different or perhaps we only prefer to highlight what makes us each unique. Inevitably you are compared and found wanting in some areas and superior in others. She is far more generous with her time, energy, love and resources and I usually with my judgment, patience and understanding. My sister will not suffer fools and in the right mood I will with some temperance. My sister is a fighter and diligent while I am prone to being easily deterred and distracted. I am naturally more creative and she more organized.

How much do we play up to the roles we have scripted for ourselves or been allotted? I wonder how much I define myself in relation to her? How much of who I am is related to being my sister's older sister? Interesting questions, dear reader, to delve into and explore....

At War with the Inner Critic

As much as I love the intricacies of planning: research; buying the elements; making lists and devising ideas my plans usually go awry before completion. In a piece of art this usually is a blessing, in all other areas of life this means many things left undone. My intentions are good, but how far can intentions get you?

One thing I always intend to do, but have only accomplished once is making handmade holiday cards for family and friends. Maybe if I start working on my idea now I will design and create a card people will treasure when they receive it in the mail in December. One of the problems with designing a holiday card is that my family and friends have diverse religious affiliations and I need to be sensitive regarding their beliefs. Do I do like that single successful year and do a nondenominational peace card? Or do I different cards with a similar footprint? I still prefer untraditional colors like pink and lime green or robin's egg blue and red for Christmas and turquoise and brown or aqua blue and sea glass green for Hanukkah. What about the other religions?

I look at old cards and such and see so much room for improvement in all I did and do. Yesterday at my monthly artist trading card (ATC) trade, I mentioned how in my recent packing up of my old studio I reviewed some of my ATC's and found them lacking in my opinion. I was not putting down my work so much as that I feel that in me I can do better...that I haven't reached some hidden potential I can only sense and haven't yet been able to exploit. In other words, I haven't found my artistic voice. All these years I have been fumbling around in the attempt to discover my authentic style and I have yet to find it. What I am making still isn't "right" and it doesn't feel entirely like me.

The same can be said for my creative writing. I constantly strive for the sense I have captured the ellusive truth and perhaps I begin anew too soon. I do know I struggle. In fact I struggle each time I write one of these entries as my inner critic finds more fault than good in what I do. If my inner critic had its way each entry would be a masterpiece and therefore never posted as I would be rewriting and revising the blasted thing everyday of my life to polish it until is gleamed like a jewel. Like a jewel it would be slick, cold and hard with no rough edges to make it interesting and human. When I post an entry it is actually a minor triumph for me of sincerity and honesty over a need for perfection. With any creative venture (actually most everything), I am working against my inner critic and my tendency to procrastinate (which I think is a mechanism to blindside my inner critic--I have not the luxury of time and must only do no matter the results).

So, dear reader, I return to my little battle and attempt to conqueror my inner critic long enough to create imperfect, but heartfelt holiday cards in time for the holidays.

P.S. I think I need to name my inner critic...it is about time we were on a first name basis. Any suggestions?