Buzz and Goo

Reading of events surrounding Valentine's Day.

Those with a dearly beloved wanna celebrate and those without wanna bitch gripe and wallow. Or just ignore it all.

But there are pictures of gooey filled chocolate hearts arriving in my mailbox making me wanna devour them. Things so pretty, how dare I eat them or even contemplate such a crime. And then what to do with the box afterwards. Last year I held onto the box I got for awhile. 'Til it collected dust and the relationship fell apart multiple times.

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I am abuzz with thoughts and heart and belly fire today. Can barely type this without mistakes my mind is speeding so rapidly. No caffeine yet, even.

Psyched on this weekend. To begin my masterpiece.

I hope to see some friends while there, including my dear Cynthia, whom I have not seen in so long. I hope to relax in the City the day after the sessions.

I fucking deserve and need it after everything.

Tom came into work today. Hadn't seen him since before Mom died. We corresponded only minimally in the months leading up to it. He looked at me and said he couldn't believe what had happened, that it was so sad. I immmediately hugged him. I looked at him, and he knew I was about to cry, and said "Now don't". In a fatherly tone. But I couldn't help it. I teared up and hugged him again.

Something about seeing a familiar face of someone who knows you so well and knows the pain you feel despite the front everyone else sees...it just made me react. Felt safe.

I felt mildly comforted, but this was the workplace. A few others who were standing around noticed that something in the air had changed. They got quiet. Respectfully quiet. Except for the one girl I work with who has never acknowledged to me that she knows my mom died. She's not said anything to me, like I'm sorry...or done anything even remotely civil in such a situation...

I hate the awkwardness this makes me feel.

I need comforting. Still. Now. Yes. More than ever. For you see, it's slowly sinking in that she's really gone and not sending me any more clothes, cooking Thanksgiving dinners, buying me birthday cakes with my name on them, or loving me in the flesh.

Yeah yeah you say, but she's with you more than ever...well it's not the same so don't lie to me.

Then there's the issue of my heritage. Christ, Allah, Buddha. I'm not even to the age yet where I naturally wanna dig up my roots. I accept that it is now up to me to maintain my heritage and not lose it in the mainstream of America. An infant nation with little history. A spec of sand in time that fancies itself something great - all-knowing and seeing. Pompous.

It's hard because I foolishly have not cultivated any Turkish acquaintances here in Boston. 10 years later. All the Turks I know and trust are in Houston or Türkiye. Two half worlds away in opposing directions.

Still, love inspires me. And art. Reading about Da Vinci from a treasured source. He inspires me. With his beautiful hands...and Italian body. He is like a fine painting himself. And an artiste.

When I was in college, I was in love with the image of Anima Sola - the girl in a nightgown enaptured in flames. It adorns a Leonard Cohen album back cover...I feel my flames (Double Aries) rising up and swirling within.