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In eating a soy chip I can’t help but make comparisons. It is unfair to the soy chip and unfair to the potato which it tries to emulate. It’s like dating Brittany Spears Twin sister. She might be beautiful in all her own ways, and as equally beautiful as her twin, yet despite all of this One can’t help but notice all the places she falls short.
Will I ever be able to eat soy chips and accept them for what they are? I doubt it. I will forever be kissing the impostor while dreaming of the soft languid embrace of the original.
It was a dream that she had given him that morning. He had scribbled it down, inspected it, measured it, looked for the genius and then shoved it into his pocket with all the others. It was simple and uninspired. He pulled it out now and read it again. Had he missed something?
“Distractions are silky skinned pole dancing whores, who with a wink and a smile, coyly pull us away from the monogamous feet of Potential. They work in an unremarkable place called Procrastination which serves a bitter ale called regret, a drink that drains ambition and desire but inexplicably keeps you coming back for more.”
Irrelevant, worthless drivel.
Daniel winced and gaged as he forced himself to swallowed the thick putrid bile that slid from the dirty glass, down his throat. He watched a scantily clad woman dip, bend over, and then return to her pole with no particular commitment or promise. He forced a smiled, hesitated, folded the dream, reached up and slid it into the waistband of her g-string.
He wondered if Potential would notice that he was a few dreams short. He doubted it. If she would just crack open the pursestrings once in a while he could really be somebody, but she doled out genius with rarified accounting, and he was sure she saved the best dreams for herself. As if she cold do anything with them. She needed me.
Daniel reached down for his glass, looked into the mouth of the beast, closed his eyes tight, brought the drink to his lips, and forced himself to imbibe.
Potential leaned back and smiled as Robert adorned her feet with kisses and attentions befitting her gifts. She knew where Daniel was, and knew that it would be quite a while before he could pull himself away from his demons and work his way home. It was sad she thought, he had unique ability and talent. but he mistakenly thought that their relationship was exclusive.
Potential closed her eyes as Robert worshiped her. Robert understood how it worked, She was not, and never has been monogamous. She folded a dream, ran her fingers through his hair and, like a whisper, slipped the idea into his ear. She watched as his blue eyes brightened.
It was the same dream that Daniel had just given to the dancer. It was no small irony that all dreams began and ended with Potential. With what Daniel had spent on distractions, Robert would build a lasting legacy.
She shifted and relaxed into Robert’s soft focused adoration. She thought; No, You can’t cheat potential, because ultimately I am an opportunist at heart.
A beginning to a story which has no ending. One of many.
***
When I was a 12, I had a girlfriend who lived right next door to our row home. The houses where very close together, to the point where I often wondered why the builders didn’t just link them together as townhouses or apartments. Luck had created an enduring lack of creativity in the architect to mirror each row home’s layout from left to right, alternating down the street, leaving my window exactly opposite hers. With barely enough room for three trashcans below in the ally, our rooms where near extensions of the other, isolated by a 25 foot drop to the ground. If we leaned out our windows, reached and stretched our fingers towards each other, the tips would brush together with barely a fingerprint to separate us.
As I think back on this memory it was the separation that made the effort so exhilarating, so wonderfully full in my memory. To touch but not touch. To lean forward and extend yourself beyond mere physicality so that auras of spirit stretch foreword, and arcs of electricity jump from the limits of constrained boundaries, bridging the gaps of bridled restrictions, and replacing them with the latent conduits of potential.
It was as dangerous as it was pure, and as deeply sensual as any experience I came to know as an adult. It was desire un-fogged by any expectation of more, because it was all we had to give and therefor it was everything.
As an adult I have sat by many windows that separate the sexes and have extended a hand to the girl on the other side. Some close the window, some look back with quizzical expressions, some invite themselves over to your house and skip the window all together, while select others cautiously extend there own. While the sun has set on summers long forgotten and fear now often outweighs the risks we were so willing to embrace while we were young, I will often whisper to myself as I reach forward in hope and anticipation.
“Are you willing to share a lifetime in a moment?”
The ad in the IWL newsletter makes reference to Blogs or Blogging. I wrote this little article last month and is in my August archive of posts. To make it simple however, I have included a direct link on the immediate left of this post; its called to blog or not to blog.
And just for kicks and giggles … I will include a link to another one of my blogs (I have many — one for each mood) called ConspirEssays. This blog you are reading is FREE to set up and managed by Google. The ConspirEssays blog is also FREE to set up and managed by WordPress.
Feel free to ask questions if you have them.
A little boy on the way to the market to buy a loaf of bread hears two people gossiping about the miller’s wife. He listens as he passes and as he walks they climb onto his back and continue to talk. He continues to pass people on the road and in turn collects them, each climbing on his back, swapping gossip, stepping on faces, pulling hair and pointing to the others as the ball of humanity gets bigger and bigger and more complex until he finally yells “enough!” and dumps them in a pile at the city gate. He enter town buys his bread and walks back out again … this time whistling and covering his ears as he passes the quizzical pile of towns folk.
NOTE: got to be mostly illustrative, from multiple angles with lots of little details and stories within the jumbled up blob of people.
