soothing sounds from the source. There was just a downpour, which has settled down now to a steady, heavy rain. Every open window has become a sound machine of hush and splatter.
At first, like a face transformed by insult into a pressured scowl beneath a furrowed brow, the sky comes low and dark. Birds cease their chatter. The squirrels all retreat to hiding. Even the air waits... When it comes, the sheer volume of raindrops shrouds the houses and near landscape like a coarse and writhing fog, its varying density moving in columns and sheets in a sullen dance across these streets and yards, disregarding our divisions here below. The downspouts choke on the deluge, vomitting it to a point just beyond the pieces of slate placed there to receive the flow.
Gradually, it all subsides a little. The downspouts choke a little less. The scowl lifts and the sky brightens a bit. Soon, the rain is done and all that's lush and green rejoicingly sways and flutters in a vigorous wind.
God, it's good.
ahem. I have been discovered. And I am speechless.
See, writing this journal has always been a gift. Mostly, it's been a gift to me, from... I don't know, ...you? It has given me a focus (often an obsession) and provided a discipline for my spiritual practice: writing. Letters sufficed once, but I gave them up. I thought it was because those particular recipients fell out of grace with me and no one took their place, but that's not true. I gave up writing heartfelt letters to identifiable individuals when I began to examine intimacy, and my overwhelming terror of it.
Enter, you. You are everyman (and woman); you are the Internet. Most times in the past you have been noMan (visitors to my journal were statistically non-existant compared to visits by me, until I learned to filter me out.) As either extreme—be you noMan, or the whole world—you are the perfect confidant. I came out to you concerning HIV after 'knowing' you for only two months. : 30 : Once 'out', I didn't want to stop, and then all the secrets fell away. First, the friends who didn't know, then everybody at work (my choice). It's amazing how badly some people don't want to know. Often they are the ones who want to fuck. (damn!)
But, thankfully, you are not a potential lover. Or are you? Eric @ PlanetConcrete.com met his boyfriend through his webcam. Matt is hot. He contacted Eric after seeing him online and said, "Can we meet?" or something along those lines, and the rest is plain to see. But such imaginings are excursions into fantasy for me, diversions from this real work: the writing down of days. Journal.
writing this journal has also been a gift from me, to... oh, I don't know, maybe you? My philosophy has been that nothing here is copyrighted. Anyone can take anything they want, for any reason. Be my guest. It may seem cavalier to you, or frivolous perhaps, to release all claims of ownership for my creativity here. And you could be right, it might be some sort of self-diminishment on my part, masquerading as magnanimity. But this I know for sure: work is a four letter word, and creativity is much more than that. This is not my living, this is my lovemaking.
Jay's compliment is astonishing to me. Not that I disagree, that would be ungracious. And not that I agree, that would be unbecoming. Just that I have never seen such flattering evidence of my journal that I could not somehow diminish or dismiss. There it is, plain as day and undeniable in that little <iframe> up there.
What can you say when an expert (have you seen his site?) unexpectedly acknowledges your heart's endeavor which, for its own sake, has always been precious to you anyway?
thanks.
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