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Monthly Archives: April 2012

Captsavage's Blog

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sank chill on my brow
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o’er me
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:
Long, long shall I rue thee
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.

When we two are parted
Lord…

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Rage

It began as pins and needles, a trembling in her torso and a cold unease that spread like iced water from her groin to the back of her neck.

“You chose to be here,” he said, reaching out to touch her upper arm in the dark, surging water. Phosphorus trailed along the hairs of his forearm, trickling back into shadow.

‘I’ve given everything for you, my whole life, it’s nothing now, and you..’

She didn’t finish her sentence, couldn’t put the enormity of her emotions, her hatred and pain, into mere words.  Or perhaps she could have, into her words, but not his, not this human language that she still grappled with as if it were a pair of unfamiliar crutches, awkward and inadequate.

He stood there, chest deep, silent.  She breathed, felt herself grow with each intake, her body expanding with rage, with hopelessness, her fingers laced into the wide dark sea, her heart a whirlpool, her mouth a cave big enough to swallow this man and all who sailed in him.  Her eyes widened, the pupils flared, bottomless in the night.   She drew her lips back from her teeth, the sharp unforgiving jaws of a tiger shark, fast, powerful, deadly.

She reached out and put her two hands softly on his strong, once-dear neck. How soft it was. She could feel his pulse, a weak signal in the vastness.  Now she was warm, hot, heat raced to the end of her fingertips, to the long fingernails which rested lightly around his carotid.  In her mind the nails became claws, rock-hard, stone-cruel, coral-sharp.

You’re drawing blood.

Did he say that or did she? Her mind and her body were full with blood, bursting with it.  Even the sea seemed tinged with red, though the sun had set hours ago.  She put a hand to her mouth, tasted the salt thickness of it.  She saw him as he would be, soon,  ripped end to end, entrails slipping out into the current, swirling, dark blood warm against her body.  She would wrap herself in them, lashing them around and around, till he was hollow and she clothed triumphantly in his torn, wet organs.  She would suck out those green eyes, round and soft like oysters, feel his screams slide down her throat and swallow them with eager, fierce gladness.  She would take him by the hair and hold his face against her breasts, struggling and choking, till the water ended him.  She would..

She held him close.  His body rose to the surface, there was air in him yet, but no life.  She cried out, a thin, whistling sound no human could make, threw her arms around him and let the waves carry them together towards the empty, moonlit sand.

This is me exploring what it might be like to be really angry. I have difficulties with anger. I feel it sometimes, but I never really know what to do with it, or how to deal with it. I don’t like being angry. I can’t ‘do’ anger but sometimes I want to let loose a vast rage which would tear the world apart, or at least sweep away the person in my immediate vicinity, like a shed in a flash flood.  Luckily, only in fiction!

Seriously! Am I God?

Where does responsibility begin and end?

I’m thinking of a couple of friends of mine.

Friend A. Sleeps around. Women fall for him and he tells them he’s not into long term relationships.  But one in particular lingers on in hope. In between other lovers, Friend A still sees this woman, because he might get ‘lonely’.  Friend A’s dating life is littered with disappointed and bitter ex lovers.  Is that Friend A’s fault? As he says, ‘I was honest – and they CHOSE to be with me.  They’re big girls. They can look after themselves.’

Friend B. Her husband is a man without brains, looks, integrity or any distinguishable charm. But this man is completely dependent on her, although he likes to imagine that he’s not.  According to Friend B, her partner would be lost without her.  Friend B’s life is effectively signed over to this man, because she made a promise. Looking at the situation, I can see that although Friend B hasn’t done too well out of the arrangement, she’s certainly made a big and POSITIVE difference to a lot of people’s lives, by making this choice.

And now, to the case of Friend C. Friend C used to enter relationships on the assumption that, if she didn’t make any promises, she had no real responsibility for the feelings of others – beyond common politeness. If they developed ‘feelings’, that was up to them.  Then Friend C had an epiphany.  She got badly hurt by Friend A, and decided that ‘I didn’t make any promises’ just wasn’t good enough. Friend C then hooked up with a very beautiful man, and after some months found that she just couldn’t ‘love’ him (or, at this point, anyone).  So she set him free (and luckily, he wasn’t ‘in love’ either).  Sometimes when she remembers what a very beautiful and dear man he is, she regrets it, but then, she reminds herself, I have to be very CAREFUL.

So what are the limits of responsibility? I can’t control every ripple my actions might have, I can’t help being a source of hurt to someone, no matter how hard I try.  Sometimes, somebody will like me more than I like them. Sometimes, I have to desert a friend to save my own life.

This is MY LIFE and I don’t get another one, so I’m not going to give up the whole damn thing so that someone ELSE can be happy!  I’m not God and I can’t control human suffering, though in a small way maybe I can influence it.  Come to think of it, looks like God can’t control it either…

Planet of the Anals

No this isn’t about anal sex. Sorry.

I’m always going on about ‘anal’ people – I mean people who are WAY more tidy and orderly than me.  To wit:

  • a long-ex boyfriend who ironed his y-fronts and never went anywhere without a small case stacked with the full range of masculine fragrances. (And if you’re wondering about the pic, I just COULDN’T go past this ad for undie stuffers).

  • an acquaintance who hung all his knives and forks and stuff up on little hangers. God, it’s hard enough to summon up the energy to take the damn things out of the dishwasher!

  • a dear friend who refuses to date anybody from his ‘work’ – an organisation which in total employs THOUSANDS of people. And on that subject, here’s a site for people who are seriously anal about their dating – http://www.dailydiapers.com/
  • a woman I used to know at work who refused to drink tap water because ‘fish have peed in it’.

Anyway today it occurred to me, what the hell IS anal anyway? I mean, what does organising your jelly beans by colour have to do with producing ‘chocolate icecream’ as one blogger’s mum called it.

Well here it is:

During the anal stage, Freud believed that the primary focus of the libido was on controlling bladder and bowel movements. The major conflict at this stage is toilet training–the child has to learn to control his or her bodily needs. Developing this control leads to a sense of accomplishment and independence.

According to Freud, success at this stage is dependent upon the way in which parents approach toilet training. Parents who utilize praise and rewards for using the toilet at the appropriate time encourage positive outcomes and help children feel capable and productive.  However, not all parents provide the support and encouragement that children need during this stage. Some parents’ instead punish, ridicule or shame a child for accidents. If parents take an approach that is too lenient, Freud suggested that an anal-expulsive personality could develop in which the individual has a messy, wasteful or destructive personality. If parents are too strict or begin toilet training too early, Freud believed that an anal-retentive personality develops in which the individual is stringent, orderly, rigid and obsessive.’

Ok so there are NOT ONE but two types of Anal.

And I’m probably one of them.

In memory of one white cockatoo

__________________________________________________________________

Of all the places you could be –

By the cold, stony river with its burnt-out banks,

Or a lonely hillside cursed by purple Paterson –

You’re here, on my verandah, alone.

Your hundred cousins chewing bark

Down by the dam.

It was just you and me. 

I thought you carried a red fruit

Till I saw it was your beak,

Half torn-off, your grey tongue hanging loose,

Your white chest feathers rusty with blood.

I gave you seed in a bowl,

You tried to scoop it sideways with your broken jaw,

Swallow it whole.

I watched you, watched over you, watched for you.

On the third day you weren’t there.

Down on the cool green grass of the golf course you sat, waiting for sunset,

Your hundred cousins already roosting

In the myrtle tree.

The Dilemma of Hairless Hank

This is not a blog about my internet dating adventures. I don’t HAVE internet dating adventures. I blog. It’s one or the other.

HOWEVER I do have a dilemma I’d like someone out there to help me with.

A tall goodlooking stranger on a dating site sends me a Kiss.

I reply with the site-scripted version of “Sure, whatever”.

He replies with an email. He sounds like a reasonably nice guy, nothing amazing in the brains department, but he can spell.

I look down at the bottom of the email and see his name is Hank. And he lives in X.  And he works at Y. And I think, hmmm.  This sounds an awful lot like a friend of my best mate who’s a mad keen proselytising Christian and is waging a war to the death on body hair.  The guy who invited my (male) mate round for a beer and then offered to show him his nipple rings and scrotum waxing equipment.

So I ask my friend, and guess what, it’s the SAME guy.  So what do I do now?  Bearing in mind that because of the Karmic Challenge, I gotta be NICE!

Do I say ‘I’m sorry for the inconvenience and expense but I can already tell you’re not the one.  Best wishes for the future.”

OR

“You ever heard the story of Rapunzel? Well, I’m just like her, only when my prince says ‘Let down your hair’, I just take my underpants off.”

OR

“I’m a militant atheist, I hope you’re down with that. Richard Dawkins is my hero! Yesterday I put the Bible down the toilet, by the way – cost me a fortune in plumber’s fees but it was worth it just to see that bunny BOIL!”