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May
16
2010

shadow theater

The rain is tat-tat-tatting on my 150 year old windows.

Lighting flashes, accompanied by ear-splitting thunder so near-simultaneous that my brain can’t tell there’s a lag. Car alarms go off, ringing through a morning rendered primordially silent by lack of human activity. The power flickers, flickers, then dies.

I watch my pets hide. I feel like hiding in my apartment, too. It would be a great day for creation, for painting the Hunt on the cave wall by fire-light, for ritualizing: burning some herbs, dancing in the dark, sacrificing, chanting in a low moan,

for making love until the candles burn out, then for fucking in the gray light from the windows.

(Sometimes I feel like all I can see is our shadows, cast larger-than-life on the wall; who we are and who we try to be are always so disparate. Feeding on the myth that we exist, we are trying to ignore the reality that we really do.)

I think about you, your burning solar radiance struggling in (my) cold blackness. Wandering stars.

Unfortunately we always have to leave the house on days like today.

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