upon review

Well, I have finally waded through the posts in this blog to date. I can honestly say that in the attempt to write often I have sacrificed write well. Most of this year's blogs are about relationships to the people in my life for better or worse. Looks like the for worse wins out. I don't see a lot of geek. I see no art and I see very little in the writing that is worth a read. Too hard on myself? Not at all. My focus has been diffuse to say the least.
2009 has been the year of exploring relationships on many levels. And I have to say I don't like to whiny reduction within these posts. I look at these entries and wonder a. what the hell was I thinking? and b. how the hell is anyone going to stand to read through these entries and remain a loyal reader? Not that I have many of them. Just ACG, JJ, the unnamed and a sleeper. I haven't had my camera out because I haven't been further than the laundry room at work. I haven't written about what I have been reading because other than Castle's "Heat Wave' I've read very little this year. As creativity goes things have been pretty stagnant. the fault of that is my own. And there is no real reason for it other than I let a bunch of boys distract me.
That is what I hated about the non geeks in my class. They were always being diverted from what they were supposed to be doing by guys/girls they shouldn't have been doing. And to some extent it happens now. And I have become one of those distracted girls, perilously close to losing my geek cred all because I've had my thoughts commandeered by my body.
Where are the posts about the cool things that I am learning about Gypsies? Or what about the cool things that were happening in eastern Europe while my ancestors were becoming honored ladies and gentlemen of the Lauenstein courts? I mean crap, my seemingly disconnected present day interests can be reduced to a common denominator of the mid1400-mid1500 time frame. Where are the posts about that? Everything from the jewelery I've made and the parts I am using to my music tastes can be traced to that time, revolving around a specific set of people. I find it fascinating. But have I blogged it? No. Why? one word: boys.
I have become the idiot I mocked my sister for being. I mean really, from an intellectual point of view who the fuck needs the headache? I have a lot of things to keep my mind occupied. I have a lot of things that are steaming on the cook stove of my imagination that will produce wonderful artwork once it is reduced to a manageable concept. Why do I have this crazy need to stir up a pot of trouble made of ingredients with which I am unfamiliar?
Is that Sting's doing?
I've been as I said, anticipating this album for years. And in this season of my own personal Zakor, I start to insulate myself against the Hounds of Winter that I know will howl outside my snow encrusted, frosty window panes under cold, moonless skies. Sting knows how I feel about winter. From the lines in track 9: Now Winter comes slowly, pale, meager and old, trembling with age then quivering with cold" through the Hounds of Winter to track 15 "you Only Cross my Mind in Winter" it is the biting icy teeth of loneliness that makes me feel this way. As much as I think that I can not go through another harsh Northwestern Michigan Winter huddled against those elements, I think I can not endure another season shivering under my blankets alone while I see so many others snuggled warm against a mate, be they permanent or temporary. Cold I can handle. Alone I can handle. But the combination is so much stronger than I feel myself to be that even Sting's sympathetic understanding does little to encourage me. The older I get the more this is an issue.
But then there is an element that is a barely formed solid lurking at the edge of my awareness. Something that once was, is no more and was so briefly in my life for a time I am not sure I truly knew what it was. It whispers. It sings softly under the the breezes that flirt across the moors. Faint in its existence like the Fae folk, it is hard to perceive. Yet, there is this space within me that recognizes the potential of its being, seems like something that I once knew but can not place since its time has passed so long ago through the days of my life. Without it, my art work seems so flat and in places lifeless. Is it a legend? A fairy tale? An ancient secret taken to their graves by ancient gods? It seems as tangible as the Ark of the Covenant...