Daniel Christopher June to the Students of Life:
Greetings!
This week has been better for me: my special-needs daughter has been more manageable, work more sufferable, life as a whole of a purer tonality. October brings the birthdays of my younger two.
I've been editing Madeye – my first novel, written in 2006 – at an even pace; most of my creative energy lately addresses this editing, with a few Allays, as those I've included, to balance me out. It will be a while before I have the stockpiled dynamite to begin a new project. The Allays took a lot out of me. I hope to write a myth cycle, finish the Emilegends, and one day write an epic with Ama as the backdrop. I know this is an age of tweets, not epics, but I am eager to find an ambition large enough to excite me.
Take care, Caretakers!
* 819 *
I read you as a prognosticator reads a goat's intestines or an augurer reads a bird's dance. I need no approval to know I have succeeded. Some of you bless me with a frown: that I offended you proves my achievement. Nor is it word-for-word and sign-for-sign, but I must read you subtly, for you do see things I do not, you see things you do not know you see, and I can see them finally in the way you look away, or sigh, or make a jest. You give yourself away, each and every time. It's not so much that I have to do a thing, I merely must prove to myself I could.
* 820 *
Pride is power. Cease to fret over nettles, drop distractions, or relationships that bleed your ego, and root yourself in your source.
* 821 *
In any romantic relationship, the invisible power dynamic is formative, the overarching emotional economy conformative. No grand romantic gesture will save a sinking marriage, but the emotional tones of caring, protecting, nurturing, and below that the material substrate, the doing of caring, the actual providing, the literal protecting, make the difference. Words aren't worth the paper they are printed on, unless the ink is blood and the paper skin. What matters is protection, nurturance, mutual support, a safe space to let your vulnerabilities show. The substances of libido and money are like oxygen and nutrients in the blood: they are for the system, not the system for them: food for the stomach, and the stomach for life.
The invisible power dynamic inspires romance, that burn with its twenty-year afterburn; emotions enclothe naked power. For woman no less than for man, sex and power comingle: each dominates in their own way.
* 822 *
From each according to his ambition; to each according to his contribution – with a minimum standard of living for the disabled and the dependents – children, and elderly; and a maximum standard of living for the affluent, for wealth is a limited good.
* 823 *
The wound is stronger for the hurt. Sacrifice is investment. Need is fatal – what we need will come to be. The exchange of substances, the give and take of meanings, makes for a solid relationship, the way each organ gives and takes within the organism. Habit is hard, a complexity of habits harder still. A man exudes a routine like a snail exudes a shell: we find uses, and we find official and occult meanings for all those around us. Were eros lacking, something will be eroticized to compensate. Lust is a reflex. And if we cursed lust by equating it with adultery, nevertheless, we will on some level, nevertheless, lust, were it as innocent as to bless the babes. Mysticism is a purified internalized eros. Where the outlet / inlet lacks, roles must be assigned. Were I the last man in the world, and you the last woman, we must stand for all the world to each other. In a way, it is already so for every couple, where the husband represents all men, the woman all women. We may call sex selfish, but it is the basis of selflessness, since we put ourselves at the mercy of the other. Selfishness and self-interest may be opposites, after all, since to sacrifice others for the self is to diminish the self. We need that reciprocation, that give and take, nor can we own a thing till we earn it.
* 824 *
I've for so long enjoyed my memories of our tomorrow that I wonder need some day ever come? Will your lips kiss as soft as I imagined, will you wake so gracefully as I dream? You return to me again and again, a foretaste of our fate.
You scratch your name in the oak of my heart. Let us never own much more than each other. Who can command while juggling? I am at last an expert about myself, and of you as well. That much I will script faithfully: O Golden Sun, O Silvery Moon – you are as true as the wide blue sky, and as cloistered and hidden as the stars cloaked in cloud.
* 825 *
Were I sick or dying, I would notice all these lovely little things, invisible around us: the flashing splash of milk drops upon the surface of coffee, the pour of the white into the depths of the darkness only to return in nebulous fractic clouds; the curious manner of the tree outside the window, blown in the wind so the trees shimmer in the sun, from dark and bended, to green and straight, like glitter over a painting. Yet my secret is known, that I am bereft, for your diagnosis has been laid with a gavel: we must operate. I know it's a mere roadbump, but intimates a certain truth: you will one day betray me for death, return to the earth, with your ash in the Ganges, your name on the ledger. Will you await me in the heaven I've shouldered over this daily drudge? I've spun as an eternity, and we are knit at the pith, but you are such an impetuous beast, so eager to map edges, surpass them in laughter. Stay put, oh spontaneous one. You quirky quark, stay put! When Zeus split us, I've been aching return. Let Aristophanes laugh, but we fit, you and I, like Cinderalla's slipper, like skin to flesh. Daily life is luxury, a richness of detail thicker than shag. Like the sick and the dying, I see a new sun.
-- R ᴤ88s Я --
Perfection Is Easy
www.perfectidius.com
AMA LAUGHS!
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