Dust


The house is swept from top to toe, cobwebs flicked and dark corners scrubbed. Original colours restored: the bath suite white as it would have been last time it saw a serious cleaning cloth. Grumbling spiders withdraw. Every window is open to the lively wind till the cold gets dark and the riddled fire is lit. The oven smells of bread, the hob of soup and strong coffee. A critical eye would find plenty more to do. Tired eyes, satisfied, rest under eyelids while the espresso brews: dream of chaos and order: a typhoon moving in gridlines. Wakes in a wave of character notes ~
The construct of the isolated self longs to escape. It seeks the Other.
Caffeine, alcohol, love, all kinds of drugs are the things that compress and unfold the self, that flex to break, that break to open, that open to hope to fill that emptiness within. That's how it begins. Fear of this abyss can push a person to anything. This deconstructed self has broken boundaries, has lost control, is boundless, in flux, open to potential. To survive, a reconstruction must be made. The old self is fragile. A more complex form develops, ideally. But caffeine, alcohol, love, all kinds of drugs are the glue of fragile surfaces. Not everyone can deal with dust.



Comments

Suze said…
Lily, I'm crying again. The yearning pit in my chest has such a powerful response to your words. My eyes are swimming and I'm having a difficult time collecting my thoughts.

I haunt bookshops looking for certain words. I find them here are Wishbone Soup.

You are amazing.

Btw, you know I have a cat, now, and her hair, a fine mist, covers everything. I clean up her litter box and vacuum all granules of litter on the carpet like mad and have spent more paper towels this past week wiping down every surface again and again and again. I've been using the vacuum extension thingies and want to buy a stronger, more ruthless machine designed especially to deal with pet hair. She stares at me with those big eyes. I sit down to my computer to write. Bent. Folded. Screwed stupid tight. Story tripping around the universe inside me sucked clean of all chaos.

Then I read this and feel myself come unhinged, a typhoon moving in gridlines scaring me.
18 February 2013 at 15:12
Lisa Southard said…
I am full of glorious fear today!
Cat and Dog both contribute to the vexation and joy of life here. Our vacuum is broken.
I hope you find some good chaos: I know it exists, I mostly live in it :-)
19 February 2013 at 00:14
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