May 19, 2011 § Leave a comment
Indie is out of the hospital and back with us – I do hate to see the pain he has wrought in his soul like twisted metal, but he looks a little better now and is going to alcohol counselling from now on, I am hopeful that this is the start of a new life for him; although I have asked him if he is going to be attending auditions again; and he waved me away like an insect, perhaps it is too raw to think about picking up the thread of his dreams again; but is this not the best way to quench a thirst? To dive into the river?
Jette has still not unbent enough to apologise for her part in the row, and is like a little whirlwind in the house to avoid everyone, slamming doors like a poltergeist. But I have seen Penny, and although things were most awkward, heartbreakingly stiff and formal, I had to cast my pride away and say sorry for being most drunk and stupid. She says I must not worry about a thing, but I sense the distance like a wall of ice between us.
My lover for her is like a candle spluttering, half extinguished by winds. Sometimes I do not think it is merely I who is the ghost in skin, who cannot give of themselves to love because I am living in another and more fantastical world, but many people who are like me; who wish to find love in their heads, in their ideas, and cannot hold the reality of flesh in their arms. Idealising people into who we wish them to be, and not who they are.
I am casting it out with painting, how creativity is the vanquisher of sorrows! They are more experimental than my usual work, and play with bolder colours and abstract lines, there is no focus to them, however, and I feel this is an expression of the lack of focus in me also. Perhaps I am keeping my paintings like a diary instead!
One of the other reasons I named myself Cairo is the meaning of it, that is Victorious. I will be, I am victorious in life. I am winning all the little battles that rage in my heart, my mind, although sometimes the armies are thick and heaving, and it is hard to see who is best. But I, in my little room, with my diaries and canvasses and the so tiny songbirds outside who sing soothingly to me in the darkest places, I am the victor. I must be – else, what meaning can there be in such a cramped and insecure half- life?