Cold Moon

the mechanics of going forward / was never about any of us, physics needs its pawns, and it's just your turn"

I Overcast

“My precious memories of the night just gone were in need of a sanctuary, far from the noise of everyday recollection. In the same way that I had only moments earlier, not dared say a word, lest it tear my joy asunder, I now feared that the rough and tumble of my imagination would destroy the harmony I still felt inside me.”

– from Madonna in a Fur Coat trans. Maureen Freely and Alexander Dawe

I’ve been here many times before, I’ve performed this calm, and have felt it in the air: the cold vapour off the tires on the road welcome 6am with a sleepy greeting. The glass-like orb in the sky seems to hang its light permanently, The overcast covers the light of my grace, my capacity to forgive is limited. The stretch of weeks, Octobers & Novembers lived on autopilot, they come with too many lessons I’ve brought upon myself, they come with the keys in the same spot and the same sandwich runs and the same 6am blues deep in the clouds, the same silenced calls, and the same erased messages. Life in connection is easy until you’re burnt out from it (and maybe by now are slightly jaded). I know my neighbour is rushing when our kitchen lights aren’t on at the same time. The same four trains to the city now come 7 minutes earlier. There’s irony in the way someone leaves to avoid hurting you. The way it makes the minutes stretch and bend…

At least I care until I don’t, until it’s back to measuring the days by things I want to experience. By finding the next thing. Another break of light is around the corner. I may have a new lover by tomorrow, I grabbed espresso martinis with a dear friend in her new neighbourhood, and she told me to rest more, and that I deserve more, and that never not feels like being fed a cliche. I’ve been ghosting people a bit less (but not by much), I resist fleeing when I need a hug. That’s my so-called relief, trying not to recall, trying detachment. The night sky on the way home is so, so bright, one couldn’t possibly be alone. The year still has so many hues and personal touches. I just wish it would pause on all the surprises.

……

1.5

Oddities

Nature hates a steady ground,
something that shakes is likely living.
the way a place can
change shadow, colour, shape
to form a name 
was not at all what 
I was expecting

the sky promises thunder 
the way people make 
their commitments – contingent–

and sometimes the sky promises
to collapse,
go dark before five

and the path 
abandoned 
for new ground.
I’ve cherished new beginnings
as if it is my only home

showing all its forms
its bare skin 
doesn’t make it 
all yours

It was only my odd
turn of events
to hold.

II Happenstance

So just when the days have the same calm, blue-gray shape, that is when, of course, I meet someone, all while I prefer to keep the consistency I’ve found within me. Now it’s pearl white outside, it inspired my mani-pedi, and I chat with my tech lady about nothing in particular. I talk about nothing in particular with anyone lately. Whether because of my conscience or my fear, I wear my hibernation mode like an observance period, devout in it. My conscience likes the full disclosure, my fears like to give fair warning, like to give a cop-out. But words never conceal much for long. They aren’t ever enigmas. I am selfish in my growth, I am epistolary against my will. So I knew I was going to be in trouble (maybe the best kind) when I shared some writing early on, barely thought about doing it, because it felt natural. It wasn’t on my OLD profile much, it is just who I show up as. The conversation flowed as naturally as wine…

“I want to make paintings that express how I see people, and some times I may even be successful”

– from Madonna in a Fur Coat trans. Maureen Freely and Alexander Dawe

Of course, the timing is at least a little awkward, hitting me at a time where I’m less than enthused at the idea of being that vulnerable, that raw, again, so soon after cracking open just a bit, just that once. He’s so kind and feels so safe, and yea I’ve said that before, quite recently. Like usual, there’s something in the way, some odd timing, some shoe dangling. Yea, that’s exactly how that bit me in the ass. And in genuine concern, I think, do I even like him or how this feels? Does that even matter? Could those be the same thing even… I am an oyster before it is caught, I’m getting better at spotting the risks from nets. This net may not be like all the others, but I hate to be trapped. The new girl at work had me figured out as soon as she asked me about my love life: “I’ve met girls like youuu”, and this time I can’t even deny it. The type for the dark and unavailable, the ones that don’t push to know me, they let me stay quiet and distant. They let me dodge and avoid. They let me play around as much as they do, their eyes aren’t too hard to avoid. I don’t feel guilty abandoning them. It’s convenient and easy. It helps me write. There’s a year’s worth of explanations for why I am the way I am and why I am this way this year tightly tucked away. Every scenario teases me. But I don’t want to play with hearts just to write something.

“‘You may be right to have no confidence in others. But can’t there be exceptions? Can’t there? Don’t forget, you’re human, too… You’re being selfish, and for nothing!’”

– from Madonna in a Fur Coat trans. Maureen Freely and Alexander Dawe

And today, by chance and cosmic teasing, I saw their last name somewhere random, another sign of my pride unmasked. But I fear I already messed up, I said I wasn’t ready, I was honest and it stung a bit, now the record of that conversation rings in my ears, and only too late am I listening.

---

[

read of the month: Madonna in a Fur Coat, trending for a while in the internet’s book verse, I had to travel a bit far for an available English translation and it was well worth it. Brief, sentimental, intense, beautiful. It’s been a while since I came across a novel I wanted so badly to sit with, read and annotate all day. The Penguin edition contains an intro that talks a bit about the political life of Sabahattin Ali and the subtle critiques of censorship and gender roles in the novel, which is fascinating if you like works by rebellious artists. Highly recommend, 12/10.

“Innocence, sexuality and social resistance combine in a story of two young people who are not just refusing to accept gender and other socially-imposed roles, but who are also finding themselves in each other. Maria decries the dominance that she claims comes with hetereosexual love, yet she longs for it. Raif is trying hard to grow up. There is a great deal of introspection; both monologue and dialogue is much peppered with ellipses rendering it rather breathless […] In lesser hands, this story in a story might be trite, but just as Raif and Maria find themselves through each other, this other narrator only comes to understand his own restlessness through Raif’s story”

]

This is a piece that I started working on in November, then slowly added more scenery and poetry to, with no particular goal in mind but capturing the lingering feeling of longing, loss and hesitation, inspired of by some of my favourite lines from my current read (next up is Sound of Waves by Yukio Mishima). This is he first part of my new section Abridged Scenes,

we’ll talk soon,

with love, Rain.