Saturday, October 11, 2014

Lunch at the Sculpture Garden

Sometimes guys have codenamed for girls. I had lunch with Sculpture the other day. She is truly wine, sweet, a little acerbic and worth every sip. We are both dreamers and dreams and politics are all we talk about.

That’s why I never connected with her. She shares things around herself, but not her, in an essential manner. Maybe she’s trying to see if I’m worthy.

Every wine has pain in its past. She shares very little of that, which is all of her. Her pain, her adventures and joys. I guess I’m looking in a mirror, I don’t share that stuff either. I all want is to do sip and pain isn’t polite dinner conversation.

Sculpture is a few steps closer to the sun. Her figure is young, so are her ideas. She’s one of the few glasses that sing when I pluck it. I’m not aggressive because I’m unsure of myself, not my intentions, they very clear. Don’t know if she wants my lips all around her. Does she want to spill herself all over me?

Then there is her mind. We could talk about the world that is and the world that wants to be. Its just so much sweat, so much delayed gratification involved. Are we, our generation, equal to the task? Should I build house or a boat with so much blood on the horizon?

Our suns are nights and days, our personal hells and heavens. Our hands still have their scent, every success and every failure some how qualifies everything we do. There are no saviors, just nails and judges. Everyone that has risen up, is hammered down or incarcerated. There are flowers in the concrete... maybe the city is the problem.

I will have Sculpture soon. Hope she’ll enjoy it as much as she does in my day-dreams. Hope her sun will over come all the demons of the underworld, hope he learns that Set has a purpose.