Hello girls,

still ,

the deep freeze,

here in,

la Belle Province,

ah,

Winter,

go home,

send us,

Spring,

please,

………..

soon.

****

I know,

you are all,

aware,

of,

the,

upheavals,

in my life.

Seems like that’s,

been,

the thing,

this last year,

the theme,

even.

Much positive has been,

wrenched out,

of,

the changes,

the doubt,

the hurt,

the upheavals.

Growth,

gratitude,

focus on what,

I want,

who I am,

and,

who I want,

to be.

Everyone’s life,

is a,

work in progress,

and,

mine has been,

in the remodeling,

even,

rebuilding,

stage,

for the last year.

I am a,

construction,

work site.

Excavation is,

on going,

as are,

the dreams,

of,

southern exposure,

gourmet kitchens,

and,

dens of,

exposed beams,

and,

brick.

Deciding,

what kind,

of a structure,

I ultimately,

become,

live and work,

in,

is,

lots of work,

and,

thought,

and,

fun,

and,

joy,

change is,

invigorating,

and,

scary.

It is,

remodeling,

and,

building,

but,

it is also,

preservation,

of the past,

of what has brought,

you,

to,

the place,

you,

are.

The good,

the bad,

the ugly,

it is all yours,

you own it all.

Some things,

you might want,

to part with,

strange mental artifacts,

anachronisms,

that no longer,

fit the structure,

the body,

of your life,

and,

some you keep,

by,

whim,

or,

nostalgia,

for your own reasons,

in homage,

perhaps,

to what has brought,

you ,

to this,

point-

today.

Throughout,

my life,

I have been,

accompanied,

by,

something other,

than family and friends,

and,

no,

I don’t mean,

God,

or religion,

not that there is anything wrong with that:-)

no,

my ‘sacred’ things,

are,

words,

pictures,

stories.

Books,

movies,

songs,

they have enlivened,

my journey,

they have given me,

courage,

they have tempered,

my pain,

or screamed it,

loudly,

they have made me,

dance,

and think.

Some art,

has spoken to me,

to,

my mind,

to,

my heart,

to,

my loins,

and some,

has spoken,

of me,

as if the song or book,

had whispered,

to me,

right in my ear.

As if,

these words,

were meant for me,

and,

me alone.

Glenn Gould,

playing and humming,

the Goldberg variations,

of Bach,

John Coltrane,

blowing his sax,

Lush Life,

Hemingway telling,

me,

how much Jake Barnes,

wants to kiss,

Brett,

and how,

he can’t,

for he will surely,

lose himself,

and,

Bruce Springsteen,

singing,

of riding,

down the,

Thunder Road,

They not only speak,

to me,

they speak ,

of me.

The difference between,

the,

competent,

the,

well crafted,

and,

the,

masterpiece,

is the ability to shake,

you to your very core,

with joy,

bliss,

even,

horror,

or disgust,

to leave you forever—

altered.

The power of art,

to me,

is,

to shed,

light on,

something,

about yourself,

or the world,

or the human condition,

that you both,

knew,

and never really,

suspected.

Later girls,

BB

 

 

 

Hello, you all.

I hope you are,

well.

That is one,

thing,

often,

on my mind,

as I sit in front of,

my keyboard,

in one of my writing,

outfits,

I admit it’s usually, my t-shirt, boxer briefs, old L.L Bean flannel robe, triumvirate-the power players of my creative wardrobe

:-p

that my ‘girls’ are doing,

well.

I’ve been simmering,

and,

and even,

seething,

with thoughts,

ideas,

emotions,

all week.

Yesterday,

emerging into,

the cold clear air,

after a week,

of sneezy and sinus pain,

house arrest.

I felt the Spring,

distantly,

still,

but, I felt,

it,

in the colour of the sky,

in the bright quality,

of the sun.

I felt good,

in spite of the cold and my cold,

and,

I was overtaken with a,

craving,

well,

more than one,

but,

a food craving,

perhaps it was the,

smell,

coming from the corner,

dumpy,

restaurant,

perhaps it was,

a need for the particular,

comfort,

that comes,

from dough, grease, cabbage and mystery meat,

but,

I freely admit,

sometimes,

nothing,

cures what ails you,

and,

quite sets you,

free,

like,

EGG ROLLS,

ahh, egg rolls,

when it’s cold and sunny,

$3.20 buys you heat, grease and joy,

not to be done,

too often,

this shit will kill you,

but,

hey,

once in a while.

So before I got on,

the metro,

on my trek to Target’s,

to,

acquire new t-shirts,

I had my egg rolls,

dipped lightly,

in sickly sweet,

plum sauce,

right there,

a little off.

the sidewalk,

on this plastic ,

monstrosity,

near the entrance,

to the subway.

For the life of me, in twenty five years, I’ve never figured out what they are, BB is slow sometimes.

These two ladies,

waiting for the bus,

whispered to each other.

I smiled at them,

and,

thought,

they knew,

not,

what they were,

missing,

and,

decided to,

immortalize the moment,

I call this one,

egg rolls al fresco

and,

yes, that is snow,

in the background,

not to mention,

my beanie clad,

shadow.

A moment of joy,

practically,

bliss.

Soon BBQ’s and long walks,

by the river,

small pleasures,

and,

sources of inspiration,

Spring,

in all it’s glory,

and,

hallelujah,

rebirth.

The year of the Phoenix,

my friends,

the year of the Phoenix,

Later girls,

BB

 

 

 

 

 

Well,

it’s here,

Valentine’s Day.

You know,

for years,

I had no sweetheart,

on Valentine’s or otherwise,

I was a lone,

bookish butch,

but,

I had my dreams,

of silly,

romantic,

Valentine’s dinners,

and,

yes,

hearts and flowers,

sometimes,

I forget that life aspirations,

shouldn’t be,

a romance novel,

no matter how diverse or inclusive,

said novel may be.

Life is like,

the most,

complex of novels,

full of turns and twists,

and,

long descriptive Victorian passages,

of boredom and or tedium,

I’m lucky I am rarely bored, people and life are an endless source of interest to me, their peculiarities, their motivations, it’s curveballs and delightful surprises-it’s a wannabe writer thing, I think

Life and love,

can be like,

Thomas Hardy,

or,

Hemingway,

full of love and good intentions,

not really about,

happy endings.

lots of love,

(if you are lucky)

some misunderstandings,

some bad luck,

some missed,

opportunities.

Life and love,

as we say in the era of social media,

is complicated,

but,

it always was,

see the aforementioned Hardy and Hemingway

Still,

the world of today,

the 21 st century,

is a great era to live in,

no matter what anyone tells you,

about the good ole days.

Think, a lot of us would be dead, of stuff nobody dies of anymore

Fact is,

we can connect with people,

all over the planet,

instantly,

deeply,

we can also spend hours procrastinating in front of face book, but, couldn’t we always, well, not face book, but….

this may be one of the greatest advances,

not face book,

so much,

as connecting,

with like minded people,

sometimes very far away,

sometimes close by,

but,

with whom.

we may never have connected,

otherwise.

The global village,

means,

you can meet,

your special someone,

anywhere,

not just settle,

for,

whoever is around your small town,

I don’t live in a small town or have ever settled, but, that isn’t the point:-)

The point is,

sometimes,

that special someone,

lives far,

and,

being together,

day to day,

isn’t possible,

sometimes it is also,

about more,

than,

distance.

Sometimes,

it’s about,

understanding,

that even though,

we all love,

a good romance novel,

or romantic comedy,

that has us reaching for the kleenex box,

love and being loved,

is so much better,

than that,

even the hard parts,

and,

that,

not only should we not shy away,

from the hard parts,

but,

the good parts are so much,

better,

because of the hard parts.

We shouldn’t wish for happy endings,

endings,

and,

constant beginning,

agains,

aren’t about love,

they are about,

short attention spans,

and,

laziness.

Because,

when you have found,

someone,

who makes,

you flutter,

with excitement,

who infuriates,

you,

who’s smell,

is like home,

who calls you,

on your bullshit,

and,

supports,

your silly dreams,

who makes,

your blood pump,

in all ways,

who gets you,

and,

that the thought,

of being without,

even,

in the hard or tedious,

times,

is-

unimaginable.

That is love.

So, yes,

spoil her,

with something,

special,

or,

kitschy,

or expensive,

but,

mostly,

let her know,

that,

the thought,

of her safety,

fulfillment,

happiness,

of her,

and,

her smile,

her head,

on your chest,

your shoulder,

and,

of trying to be the person,

she sees-

is what,

you.

Live for,

and,

is the greatest privilege,

you have ever known,

will ever know.

 

Happy Valentine’s,

may you all be as,

lucky as me,

and,

may you all appreciate,

the complicated,

too.

A big serious and love filled hug.

Later girls,

BB

 

This one is from last year

About words and poetry,

from my favourite poet

 

 

For me, e.e. says it best

I am not a poet,

nor a connoisseur of poetry,

but,

a few poets,

speak to me,

a few write words,

I would like to write,

there is Mary Oliver,

there is Robert Frost,

but,

above everyone else,

for me,

there is,

e.e. cummings.

Three cummings’s poems,

above all others,

describe, detail,

the thump thumping of a heart in love,

the magical rapture of sensuous loving,

and,

the all encompassing-ness,

that love for a woman,

means,

to me.

I’m no poet,

I’m just a butch,

in love,

on Valentine’s day,

I will let e.e speak for BB,

and hope,

dear readers,

that he speaks to you,

or,

for you,

a little.

His best:

in my humble opinion,

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in  my heart)i am never without it(anywhere  i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done  by only me is your doing,my darling)       i fear  not fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want  no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)  and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant  and whatever a sun will always sing is you  
here is the deepest secret nobody knows  (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud  and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows  higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)  
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart  
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart) 

His most sensuous:

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite a new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which I will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh…And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you quite so new

and one I have recently discovered
 
since feeling is
first
e.e. cummings

since feeling is first
who pays 
any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss 
you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood 
approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all 
flowers. Don’t cry
—the best gesture of my brain is less than
your 
eyelids’ flutter which says

we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning 
back in my arms
for life’s not a paragraph

And death i think is no 
parenthesis

Beautiful, no?

Cummings is a brilliant sensitive poet,

also a brilliantly creative,

‘punctuator’,

his on purpose,

mine out of lack of skill,

and,

yet,

I feel kinship,

in more ways than one

Happy Valentine’s,

to all of you,

my girls.

Later girls,

BB

I have been writing this blog,

for almost,

four years,

I have written,

in that time,

642 posts,

3 were dedicated to Valentine’s day.

I write one every year,

and,

I thought,

since some of you,

might not have been,

reading bookish butch,

a few years ago,

as a prelude to,

Valentine’s Day,

I would republish,

one today,

one tomorrow,

and,

a new one on Saturday.

Hope you like them

From 2012

 

Valentine’s Day, not for the faint of heart

It’s Valentine’s Day,

a day,

for believers,

for romantics,

who believe,

in the power,

of love,

of romance,

of wooing,

of courtship,

of wearing,

our hearts,

on our sleeves.

It’s about believing,

enough,

to rise above,

the ersatz sentiment,

promoted by,

mercantile preoccupations.

Naive?

Perhaps.

A little naivete,

a little innocence,

never hurt anybody,

quite the opposite,

cynicism hurts,

innocence doesn’t,

belief and hope,

are  what get,

you out of bed,

in the morning,

and,

if you don’t believe,

in love,

the real of it,

the possibility of it,

the dream of it,

the pure and the carnal of it,

what do you believe in?

there is nothing,

more important,

than love.

Valentine’s is about,

romantic love.

The love,

that sets you afire,

the love so intense,

the love so raw,

the love so comfortable,

the love so heady,

the love so warm and fuzzy,

that most of the time,

you are swaying,

from it’s intensity,

it’s force,

it’s beauty,

the love that changes,

but,

never tires,

the love,

you believed in,

but,

wondered if,

it really,

existed,

romanticism, does not preclude, skepticism:-)

The love that,

once had,

cannot,

be lived without,

that’s what,

Valentine’s,

means.

It is for the true believer,

not for the faint of heart.

I believe,

and it is my fervent,

wish,

that you all,

do,

as well.

Happy Valentine’s, girls.

May all your love dreams come true,

mine have,

Later girls,

BB