Tidying up.

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?

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The storm breaks

May 16, 2011 § 1 Comment

Today has seen the collapse of our house. I have tried to visit Indie in hospital but the big cast for correcting the muscles in my legs makes it difficult to travel, I wish I could sit there with him today, listening only to the sounds of lives spared and not spared. The fierce industry of hospitals, their many denziens scarred by the process of living.

I became drunk last night and have had the terrible row with Penny, in the kitchen, there was much shouting as I told her we all are knowing that her boyfriend is not nice to her, is maybe even hitting her. She threw things. Jette hear us arguing and comes downstairs, and is horrible and tells Penny the truth that I am hating her man because I am in love with her. I stammer, and wool is suddnely thick in my mouth and I cannot deny the thing. It is as though a cloud above my head has split in two, and rain is now pouring upon me in a shower of little needles. A creeping horror steals into me, raising the hairs on my skin, a cold shadow falls across my heart even though my face burns with anger and misery.

The air that has gone still, full of tension, like a heatwave. Penny’s face has closed up like a prison door, and I feel my heart being locked out of her forever by something as solid and impersonal as iron. She turns on Jette like a little lioness, and shouts things that have long been kept silent in her; Jette is a jealous bitch who has no happiness, who is a ghost of a person, who has no emotions or lasting love because she cannot handle them, she is immature and stupid and selfish, she has no real thoughts or art of her own and so must scorn the work of others even though she could never in a hundred lifetimes hope to create its equal. Jette recoils as though lashed by a whip; her face is so proud, but it falls horribly like a landslide, and everyone runs out of the room in tears but me.

So, there is silence, there is water on the floor, and china shards. The people next door were having a barbeque but have gone curiously silent to listen to us ruin ourselves; slowly, their voices begin to carry again through the window, and I pick up the broken things and wipe the floor, as though I am robotic. Penny’s room, next to the kitchen, is quiet. Jette is blasting out loud music from upstairs, and I left the house and walked slow and painfully down the road to the little cafe that keeps my paintings on the walls, to still the furious beating in my chest and drink some more.

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