l live so dangerously...my emotions are always there at the surface, waiting to be either accepted or dismissed...makes for a rollercoast ride, I can tell you. But l can't change...just me. Sometimes I feel like a warrior who just doesn't know enough or can't stop herself from going back into the battle...her collection of scars and death defying wounds mounting...ever hear of phantom limbs? I have many but life is such a fucking rush that l just have to live it...even at my own peril...
My mom used to say l made her tired just watching me...now she sees that in my son and youngest daughter, too. Perpetual motion.
I just got a post from a person regarding my writing, my style and wow....so honest...brutally so...but she touched on a few things that I suppose I knew were there but wasn't sure anyone else did.
"But very few times I felt so puzzled with readings as I am with your writings, in general. Oh, don't worry, you're in very good company. I have the same feelings reading, among very few others, Anne Rice and my favorite US author, John Steinbeck. I feel you're comfortable with words and writing them. You have a fluid style, mixing unusual words with currently spoken expressions. Like if you were writing with your body completelly relaxed, legs spread under the desk, leaning back on the chair, and this peaceful sight was hiding a bright sharp mind in feverish activity. these apparent paradox is brought to the results of your activity, to your writings, IMO. When I read you, I sense some kind of sadness, even darkness - and maybe that's why you seem to understand the character Xena so well. Your writings are filled with joy, fun, hope, relief, but I sense danger between the lines. Have you ever observed a domestic cat resting? They're languid, hedonist, enjoy themselves, the very image of relaxation. but if you dare to disturb them, they're up in a flash, and you can actually see the tiger, the wild animal behind their eyes, 'the power, the passion, the danger'. And I feel it when I read you. That's a very uneasy feeling, but also keeps my mind working to learn how to deal with it. Besides, I feel a mind in 'blue', I feel longing - in a word, melancholy. But also strenght - an oriental kind of strenght. Have you met Lao Ma, too? By the way, comic relief. I like it very much. But still have the feeling that the cat is playing with the readers as with food. Like, oh, I'm being so serious, maybe people will get to know me, or dislike it because it's getting darker and darker, more and more serious, deep, lovingly -hmmm, let's relax the grip a bit. No problem with it, and you do it very well. It's just, dunno, it gives me an insecurity feeling, like if I don't know where am I putting my feet on. (I feel I'll get kicked again, but I have to ask, it's not my fault, my mouth owns herself: what are you hiding from?)"
I sit here naked to the world
My mask, my armour at my feet
My sword has been removed from me
Ever present but out of reach
My body bleeds where you have been
Your words, your touch, a heavy price
I've fought to keep the beast at bay
That you dissect and then entice
The pain exquisite, give me more
Give me more of what I need
And let me bask in your cruel tongue
Lashing against my wanton greed
You see inside my darkened heart
Compelling me to see the truth
That falls upon me from within
The raging beast has been set loose
It prowls in hunger, with tooth and claw
Holds me tight within its embrace
Exposing fear and lust and pain
I shout with rage, my chains erased
Ease my pain and soothe my fears
Cleanse me, my twisted soul released
Conquer my darkness with your love
And claim my soul, my rage appeased
July 15, 1999