Medley

Haven't felt like posting here too much lately. Lots of shit going down in my universe; it's a regular cosmic storm and I'm waiting for the planets to align themselves again. A few fleeting impressions:

The weather has been unaccountably pleasant recently. Someone attributed it to less drivers on the road due to the recent fuel price hike. Oh B., love your optimism darling, but it will take more than a few lousy Ringgit to prise Malaysians away from their vehicles of mass destruction (I know because I'm one of them). So I have been waking up to balmy, windy mornings and watching pretty evenings dissolve into night. It's lovely, but I've always found that good weather mocks my less than happy disposition.

'If you know about life, you hang on tight and don't let go'. Can't remember where I read that, but it's stuck somehow.

The wonderful Edward Winkleman has posted about confronting that squirm-in-your-pants awkward can't-remember-your-name situation. It is so nice to and reassuring to know that even seasoned, suave gallerists are human too! The sweetest part is that his partner Bambino jumps in to save him when he notices that Ed is in trouble! Yes, having a partner like that puts social faux pas into perspective - what's a little embarrassment when you know someone's always got your back.

'And he knew he would love her until the very last syllable of recorded time'. '...the very last syllable of recorded time' - in the whole of Patrick O'Brian's 16 volume opus I think that phrase stands out as a true gem. What does 'forever' mean to you?

I have a theory. Here it is: that people who come from broken families have very intense and skewed views on love and life. In my experience, I can tell pretty much instantly if someone is like me. They're often likeable, proud, willing to please, secretive and stubborn. Sometimes things like trust and loyalty feel like a matter of life and death to me, and there are subtle divisions and demarcations of honour and love that seem to be of such inflated importance as to seem pathological. As the years go by, you realize your parents are only human - flawed beings who did the best they could from what they had. From there, you have to decide to move on, or perpetuate destructive cycles which go back only Buddha knows how long. Sometimes you swing so wildly in the opposite direction - you want to try so very hard to overcome some perceived flaw or wrong, to convince yourself you are not, will not, will never be like them. If you are beautiful, if you are intelligent, successful, charming and friendly and loyal and nice then perhaps you can make it better. But no, only love can make whole the various hurts that the absence of love has caused. Unfortunately people who are unhappy never believe they deserve anything they haven't worked hard for.

So go give any control freaks you know a hug today. It's only a defense mechanism, they often can't help it.

That's why I love my work so much, too much. Because it loves me back exactly the same amount. It is mathematical, reliable 'until the very last syllable of recorded time'. So much of my ego is invested in it, that when I can't work I feel like I am dying.

I remember something D. said to me once: 'It's not your fault'. Devastated, there was only one other conclusion for me: 'Then it must be yours'.

Ah, hmmm. Anyways.