April 5th, 2007

monkey pirate

The Gypsy Tides

I spend a lot of time in Venice shaking my fist at gypsies.

I don't know whether they're literal gypsies, but they certainly seem to be. Come Winter, caravans of huge RV's with whole kumpania's worth of furniture and odds-and-ends strapped to the exteriors under blue tarps rolled in. They had wires running from the passenger compartment to the driver's window, they were painted in garish themes. Some had wooden doors and screen doors, like your Grandma's back porch, on the back of the RV. Others were painted to look like stonework. All of them had roiling clouds of ganga emerging from them, and thoroughly disreputable looking characters hovering around the caravans. These are not the romantic sort of disreputable folks, by the way - none of the beautifullly beatdown Bukowskis or Keruoacs; not even amiable rogues or happy wanderers. No, these were some pretty spooky lookin' drifters. Still, no harm done ... except that the most precious resource in Venice is parking, and these damn gypsies would park in the best spots (the ones that don't make you move at certain hours of the day) and leave their RV's there for months on end, taking up several spots in a row, each.

But Spring has sprung, and many of them have rolled out to other pastures, though none are greener. But just as one gypsy tide rolls out, another rolls in. This time though, they have arrived individually. And rather than being in RV's, this lot are in individual vehicles, like VW buses (a popular model) and other smaller rolling domiciles. There's just as much, if not more, rick-rack strapped to the rooves, but at least these ones only take up one spot at a time. Just in time for the summer crush and impossible parking situation!

I spend a lot of time in Venice shaking my fist at gypsies.
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kiko_girl

Two Dreams of Love

I dreamt about you, last night, darling. Twice, in fact. I miss you. I wonder if you even think of me?

In the first I saw you at long last. Seeing you again, I felt such a sincere yearning, but I tried to be as friendly and casual as I possibly could. How often have I been told I'm too intense? I wouldn't want to scare you - but it must not have worked very well. Something electric must have been in the air around me, like one of Tesla's emitters, lighting bulbs without a cord. You smiled shyly. When you do that, my knees go week, you know? And then, just a second when no one was looking, you backed into me, leaned your weight against me, and reached up and touched my cheek behind you. You stepped away and glanced back - your smile not shy, but inviting. But then you were all business.

Waking, I knew that whatever I made of that moment would be true, should it come to pass. That if I were cynical, and thought you were playing a part to pique my interest and use me, it would be true. But if instead I believed your smile to be an invitation, whatever the odds, however impractical - that I could pick you up and soar away with you like two gulls on the wing. Waking, now, I remember what it's like to be in love - if only vaguely, and through a mirror darkly. Impractical, overwhelming, falling and soaring all at once. It's micro-gravity in your thorassic cavity, it's a moebius loop of fear-thrill-affection-desire-excitement-adoration-contentment. It's as grand as mountains and as quotidian as the daily bread. I remember.

In the second dream, I followed you, after that invitation. But it wasn't as easy as all that - because of course you are so desirable, and so much of what might or might not make me worthwhile as a mate is not visible on the outside - there was competition. We sat down to dinner at the hotel (in our dream) where we'd crossed miles to meet. There were groups of my friends and yours. At first we agreed to sit separately and catch up with our respective groups - but you sat next to a handsome man with a ready smile and a gymnast's physique. His gaze at you was impossible to miss, so I got up and sat with your friends, and smiled and did my best to relate. Waking, I know that to love you would be impractical, impossible - even less possible than a dream! That I would have to compete for you in ways with which I am neither familiar or comfortable. That I would have to again and again not just look my best, but BE my best. And isn't it funny that above, without thinking I wrote parenthetically "In our dream"? Impossible, of course - but lovely to think.

Waking, I remember what it's like to be in love. And I think it would be worth it.
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