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flotsam
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Monday, March 12, 2007 |
 Clutch bag as oyster opening to show a set of perfectly matched pearls spilling into the sea. Evidence. What happened here? Was it a wonderful night of champagne and romance, culminating in a from here to eternity coupling as the waves ebbed and flowed over naked ecstatic bodies? Was there drunkenness, a terrible fight and a girl running from the beach, unaware of the loss of her bag in her grief? Or was it a deliberate saying goodbye, clothes piled neatly, pearls and earrings removed and safely stowed as she stepped naked into the sea and struck out for freedom from all worldly cares? But the bag misses her, follows on the next tide, mouth open crying - wait! wait for me .... |
| 6:19 AM
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The red shoes
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Tuesday, March 06, 2007 |
 Identity - what does it consist of? am I my red shoes, sling backs, pointy, so delicate that they look like the shoes of a fairy - not at all the kind of red shoes that would dance you to death, cling to your poor constrained feet until they bled and your little heart exploded? No - but still, they are dancing shoes - and you can become exhausted by all the dances that are expected of you - the formal pavanne of grown up life, the retro twist of nostalgia, the hectic jive of conversation, the over-heated proximity of the smooch. I'm longing for a slow waltz, calm, dignified, just intimate enough, nothing sweaty or revealing, just an elegant to-ing and fro-ing with a handsome, co-ordinated chap who doesn't stand on my feet. Yeah but hang on missy - what are those pants doing there? |
| 9:47 AM
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Thursday, March 01, 2007 |
the sky is an astonishing blue the view from the pier so beguiling what is she to do but remove her coat and hat drape them over the old metal rails as if she were hanging up the washing (such a great washing day perfect balance of sun and breeze seeing her mother in the back garden her mouth full of pegs the basket of wet clothes at her feet the rhythm of her bending and lifting and pegging a domestic dance that makes its own music) and take note of the seagulls - how hard can it be to fly? She puts a foot on the bottom rung - it's like climbing a ladder! First one foot, then the other. She is poised on the top of the railing her eyes so full of sea and sky she is already drowning before she hits the surface of the waves. |
| 4:45 AM
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