It is strange how you get lost in the darkness and then find some light that expands and all of a sudden a full landscape of random personal magic comes into focus, and you are like, “What the fuck? How did I not know all of this already?”
I am Aquarius, and thus a moody, broody creative type who is sensitive to the scars of the world. Not like in an artphaggotry way writing poetry in a coffee shop, but just when random downtrodden dudes pass me, they talk because our eyes are like, “Yeah, I know,” at each other, and I listen and talk back and we relate. It is my position to play. But being sensitive to all that shit can get you stuck in the darkness at times, deep to where you don’t really see yourself coming back out of it.
Enter my ol’ lady, who is a Gemini, and thus two people, complementary to each other, not crazy dueling personalities like modern psychiatric medicine would have you believe. (Mental illness doesn’t exist. I mean it does, but a lot of mental issues are more control issues by society at large or those around you rather than actual “illnesses”. Civilization’s greatest visions and visionaries come from what would be considered mental illness, so to numb that down with drugs is to stifle our future. Which I guess makes sense.) I could not imagine anyone else toleration me or my madnesses other than my ol’ lady, and I am thankful for her far more often than not.
Lately it seems the world is swirled up with relationship chaos, those around us in strange personal patterns, and us as well, to the point we were annoyed with each other and thinking things that didn’t make sense to either of us but were in our heads nonetheless. (I am not entirely convinced there is not some sort of EMF thing going on to drum this up before Christmas while the economy is still so meager, to cause people to look for satisfaction for that innate dissatisfied feeling in the material world. But I guess that’s “crazy talk”.)
We made it through that though, as always. And my biggest gift for her for the purchasing frenzy holiday was a set of prints from an artist named Rima Staines, who does art that’s an odd combination of old world style but with a sort of street art modern flair, except it’s very rural and ancient. It’s awesome shit. It barely got here on time due to various governmental shipping agencies, and I bought some dollar store frames and a scrapbook paper book on the discontinued bin, and cut out some homemade mats for the prints, put it together, and gave it to the ol’ lady, who was stoked. One is across from my eyes right now, of an old man smoking a pipe and an old woman ladling soup out, and they are together, and even though it’s just a print of an illustration some British lady did, it is me and my wife. Or it was us. Or will be. All of it really.
Anyways, all this happens, and we settle down after the holidays, and I am not stuck in the deep darkness so impossibly right now, and am poking around that Rima Staines’ art chick’s photo blog, and her last update from a month ago is of Odin with his two ravens, Huginn (“thought) and Muninn (“mind” or “memory”), on his shoulders. They fly out and see the entire world and bring back info for Odinn, and he’s always worried they died while they are gone, but they come back.
And holy fuck, that’s pretty much me in a nutshell, getting so lost but always coming back, deeply lost in my own thoughts and memories, to where introverted seems overly social. And why was that on her mind? We chatted by email a good bit, so perhaps I put ravens in her brain. But why was I so inclined to make a herbal gruit beer like the crazy fucking Scandinavians last spring? That blood is inside of me, but a bunch of other bloods are too.
It is strange though how parts of our genetics will start to scream itself out, or make itself known in odd manners. I am not one to believe in fake gods who tinker and hammer with our lives; but there’s a lot of things that go on that point you in directions, probably with no ultimate ending in mind, but just because you are supposed to go do it in a different direction or way on your life’s meander. What is that force though?
Shit man, don’t nobody know. If they tell you do, they got stuck on a definition somewhere along the way, and are full of shit. I don’t know nothing, but at least I know it.
STEAL “That Ain’t My Wife”
NEXT UP: What you know ‘bout scratchin’ my back!
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