I Touched Another Horse

Today’s post shan’t consist of creative (non)fiction. Instead, I would like to take this moment to recount my second encounter with an equine creature.  I touched a horse two years ago.
Today, at Avalon in Alpharetta, I touched another horse.

First came the fountain.
AV_2

Second, just your usual Saturday being stuck in a looking glass:
AV_3

And then, horse:
AV_5

When horse met girl, he let her touch his nose. Twenty-one years-old, his name was Romeo:
AV_8

He was a beautiful horse.  I never thought that when I left my abode this morning that I would see, let alone touch, another horse.  We had a moment and it has made my year thus far.

Adjacent Topic: Campfire Tales 19

Blundering in from the eighteenth hole and nurtured by real actions and reactions.

The girl in the argyle socks found the man with the rifle leaning against the balcony that overlooked the south garden.  She approached him as quietly as she could, still hesitant to consider that her uncle could be right.  She breathed deeply the scent notes that drifted towards her from where the man with the rifle was standing.  Honeysuckle, the unmistakable sweetness of honeysuckle.  It couldn’t be the smell of decay.

He started to turn around, she closed the distance between them.

“You’re not wearing your clothes,” the girl in the argyle socks commented.

“When I woke up, these were on the bed,” the man with the rifle gestured downwards at the dark bluish-grey shirt and the black slacks.  He wasn’t wearing shoes.

The girl in the argyle socks, who was indeed back in argyle socks, gathered up her brown hair and pinned it back.  The man with the rifle felt as if he was looking at her for the first time.  Was this really the same creature I saw on that road?  An untamed gleam still simmered in her eyes, and he was sure she could whirl into frenzied feasting if given the chance or the motivation, but here in this world, surrounded by her ecosystem-kin, she radiated a sort of power (for lack of a better word).  In his own world, an entity that exuded such a quality had to be subdued — no questions asked.  This principle was beaten into him during “messenger” training and missions until it was automatic: what mesmerizes you at sunrise can come back and kill you by sundown. As the man with the rifle continued to behold the girl in the argyle socks, he refused to believe that she would ever hurt him, purposefully or otherwise.

“Is anything the matter?” the girl asked.  “Your face has gone a bit funny.  Do, do you smell anything really sweet?”

The man with the rifle slowly shook his head and turned back to look at the ground below.

The girl in the argyle socks clapped her hands together and rather softly said, “I must tell you something.”

The man lifted his head to face her and calculated the odds of her confessing that she brought him to her world with no intention of letting him leave…dead or alive.  “What is it?”

The girl searched the man’s face for signs of life, of death, of denial, of delusion.  She took a step closer, put her hands around his upper arms, gently tugged him down and then kissed him.  Imperceptibly at first and then with increasing momentum.  Half aware of his movements, the man with the rifle wrapped his arms around her waist.  Simultaneously surprised and not surprised at his own eagerness for what would inevitably transpire between them.

Still Pond

My grandmother used to say that learning was life-long, not just a matter of “schooling” by a system of data-obsessed monotony mongers.  Revelations are life-long as well.  Never cease to be amazed or surprised by the the breadth of your behaviors, thoughts, or perspectives.  Recognize the bleak, the deplorable, the perverse, the graceful, the forgetful, the befuddled, the ravenous, the satiated, the frailty, the perseverance, the transitional, and the radiant that drifts through your bone marrow.

Being whatever or whoever one endeavors to be pertains to more than an occupation, a mindset, or a sociological, geopolitical outcropping.  The time that I have left as a human being in this century will not be crafted by trends or the quiet.  I’ve never given a horse’s patoot about what is popular or what is socially acceptable, but I’ve been quiet and polite. Plus jamais.

I reject futility.  The mirage is the monster, the monster is the mirage.  Multifaceted creatures do not speak in singular voices.  Neither will I.  If we ever have the chance to meet, and you tell me your name is Jeremy and you’re an architect (because you’ve always wanted to be one but your high school sweetheart sacked that dream before it ever got a chance to get out of the pocket), but you’re really a visiting econ and finance professor, it’s all right.

Play the role of an architect, imagine environmentally loving and aesthetically innovative mixed-use developments.  I’m not going to be taken aback because you’re a creative narrator.  On the other hand, if you neglect to mention that you have almond allergies and I urge you to try a piece of pastry (filled with finely chopped almonds) and you die on me, I can’t be held responsible, and I will say to your dying body, “You should’ve told me you had food allergies.”*  I would feel badly about it, particularly if you had human, canine, feline, or floral dependents.  Whether or not you want me to find out you’re really an econ and finance professor is a whole other contemplation.  Either put the disclosure statements on the table up front so I get the back-story of your architect persona, or if the back-story is irrelevant to the desires, hopes, and wishes of the architect, just say so.

Today’s post was partially inspired by Jars of Clay.

It’s a little bit, a little bit late to try for something better.
It’s a little bit, it’s a little bit late to try to cut the anchor.
So if you wanna know, I’ll go there with you.
I’ll go there.

It’s when I think to reach across those battle lines,
still love in the hard times.
Sometimes I just want to feel your hand in mine,
still love in the hard times.

It’s a little bit, just a little bit tired to fight for something better.
And the worst of it, the worst of it is I think of you more than ever.
So if you wanna go, I’ll go there with you.
I’ll go there.

It’s when I think to reach across those battle lines,
still love in the hard timess.
Sometimes I just want to feel your hand in mine,
still love in the hard times.

* Would one be held legally responsible for feeding someone a food product that contains an ingredient in which the eater did not disclose was a deathly allergen?

Off Topic: Today’s Verse 85

There’s a salve for that absurdity,
she sputters while sharpening Mongolian daggers,
Yes,
dense,
fragrant,
a time capsule of opium wars and triad dens.

There’s a hole for that irrationality,
she grunts while reshaping carpetbaggers,
Yes,
dense,
patient,
a potpourri of foolish consistencies.

There’s a pyre for that authority,
she pounds while punishing bootleggers,
Yes,
dense,
vacant,
a rotisserie of tendons baking under warranty.

— yiqi 27 april 2015 10:13 am

Quartering Futility

1.  The Tool Shed

You:  Sit down.
I:       No.  I’ve been sitting all day.
You:  Suit yourself, but you might not be short enough to fit.
I:       I wanted to talk to you, I didn’t say anything about coming inside.
You:  Okay.  Talk.
I:       Couldn’t you at least give me a reason?  I’m seriously starting to question my sanity here.
You:  I could give you a very good reason, although, I don’t think my predecessor would approve.
I:       I’m pretty sure you’ve done things your predecessor would kill you for if she knew.
You:  Shall we talk about what’s really on your mind?
I:       I didn’t think things would get so…
You:  Green and undeniable?
I:       You know what, I shouldn’t have come.  You clearly know just as much as I do.
You:  Don’t be such a Douglas Sirk film about it.  I’ll answer your questions if you would indulge me and please sit down.
I:       I will lean against that stool over there.
You:  Talk.
I:       You could’ve told me about Spain…when you found out about it and not a week before you have to go.
You:   Would you rather I told you while sitting on the coast of the Iberian Peninsula and writing about footprints in the sand? Hahaha.
I:       You put me in a really bad place, you know that?  How am I going to find a replacement for you in less than a week?
You:  It was going to be a surprise, but I guess I’ll have to ruin it now.  I hired a consultant to come Monday morning to assist with the day-to-day until you can find a replacement.
I:       You could’ve just told me.  Why didn’t you tell me?
You:  I thought that if I had told you any sooner that you would want to come too.
I:       You know me better than that.
You:  And now I will have to call and cancel the sword-eater and the balloons.

2.  The Foyer

He:  What is it now?  It’s the third time you’ve been here in less than four months.  Are you not happy?
She:  Couldn’t you at least give me a reason?  I’m seriously starting to question my sanity here.
He:  You are coming to me, not the other way around.
She:  It doesn’t matter what door I open that I’ve never opened before, what I wear, what I eat, what I read, I always end up here with you.  I’m not doing it on purpose.  All roads lead back to you.  What have you done?
He:  All roads are supposed to lead to the Queen of Hearts, hmmm, are you sure you haven’t exhausted every avenue?
She:  If I had exhausted every avenue, do you think I would be standing here?
He:  No, you wouldn’t.  What if someone else opens the door? Hm? Maybe you’ll end up in their drawing board instead of your own?
She:  Already tried it.  Didn’t work.
He:  Well, what would you like me to say?  You keep coming back to me because we belong together?
She:  No!  That’s exactly — that is so far from — I have tried to get as far away from you and this damned room.  And, I think you know why I can’t leave and are choosing to keep that bit of information from me.  You don’t want me to be happy.  You let me go where I want and do what I want until you know that this time I’ll finally get away from you, but instead, I end up here.  And I have to start all over again.
He:  We’re not in a room exactly, though, are we?  The foyer is more of a funnel, a platform.  It is the starting point to other rooms.  You never go into the basement and the attic is out of the question unless someone else wants to find something in there.  The kitchen and you make no sense at all, so that room is not an option.  The bathroom doesn’t count because everybody has to go.
She: And I suppose you want to say that I won’t go into the bedroom because I don’t want people to get too close to me, right? Because I’m not as sweet as I look or as obliging as I seem and when they realize it, they’ll barricade their minds faster than a conspiracy theorist?
He:  Ugh! I am hurt.  Hurt.  You know me better than that.
She:  Evidently I don’t, because if I did, I wouldn’t have to look at you anymore or hear your voice again.  Or be in this place
He:  Hoh.  I am about to break one of my most strenuously enforced rules, but since I’m not so sure I want to see your face or have this conversation again, let me lay it out on you.  You will never break this interior design cycle unless you admit to yourself that you want at least some of the things that you belittle.  Until you confront your commonplace-ness, your sheep mentality, and accept those qualities, you will always end up right here.  And yes, you will have to start over again and again again.
She:  That’s not —
He:  Oh, but that is the truth.  And you say in your sleep that you want the chance to find out if you can leave safety behind and familiar sounds and smells behind, but are you really ready?  Do you really want to know how much lower you can fall before you can soar up to those heights you keep fantasizing about?  It’s not going to be pretty.  It’s not going to be fun.  You will have to endure a lot more than popping up here for an eternity.  You will have to let yourself rely upon someone else and someone else to rely upon you for more than you can imagine.  Are you prepared to be more frightened than you’ve ever been before?
She:  I hate this part.
He: Aha! See.  My point exactly.  If you really never want to see my face again or this foyer again.  You better start loving it.

~!~

Mirror, mirror under my skull.
Would you shut your bitter mouth?