Wednesday, February 29, 2012

April 29

Say you're on your deathbed and looking back at your life - what do you hope you'll see?

I've been thinking a lot from this perspective lately because I've been in a very very thick fog and needed to find a trajectory. The trajectory seems clear when I look at it in reverse like that, though the trajectory I see makes me want to curl up like a little mole and bury deep into the dirt. But I can't avoid it. The trajectory requires bravery. I must follow it or I might look back and not like the things I see - think - I wish I had done that. A life far different. 

I think that's terrifying. Don't you? More terrifying than not doing it. It's much easier to stop and stay and not do the things right now. But when you look back, man you'll be angry at yourself won't you? Disappointed. I don't want to be disappointed with myself on my deathbed. I want to be like - shit - that was fucking great. I really led the life I wanted. I want the trajectories to be good thick, strong lines sealed at their ends with achievements. Curly ones, stories. Weird offshooty ones. But good ones, strong ones, ones that I can see as good and solid and separate. Ones that make me go - sick - I did that. I suppose just to know that I'd made the most of all my opportunities, not wasted them on days passing, just days, days thinking - maybe I could have done something more...

The path from last year to this year has been far from clear. Looking from the grave has definitely helped. It's been my guide. When I look at it like that it becomes so obvious, so clear. And I realise things like - I probably won't look back and think 'I wish I'd spent more time on Facebook' or 'I would have liked to have seen more episodes of Modern Family.' Most evening television will in fact seem like a waste of time - Treme and Curb Your Enthusiasm and The Trip and shows like that are of course not included - those fall absolutely within the defines of the path to an extraordinary existence. But things like blog writing, 'catching up', not doing things you want in order to be nice, eating crap food - things like that definitely lose their power - not that they're bad - you just realise you have to keep them in check. You don't have much time. You want to look back and be able to see your life, watch those great big trajectories painting all sorts of skyscrapers.

And so, April 29. April 29 is the start of a path to somewhere - we're moving back to Paris. What is it about April 29? It's the day Mr Rabbit sat in his apartment in Northcote and wrote this beautiful song. We hadn't met yet. Now the song reminds me of so many things - Susy spinning from the roof in Berlin with an old man's face on, Shakespeare and Co, Austin and New York and LA and nights at The Toff in Town. Mr Rabbit mixing it with the curtains drawn at Les Récollets. April 29 is so many things. Mainly Paris. Now we're going back. It's been a torturous decision to make. Life's not just about me flitting around fancy free any more. I'm not solo to just fall on my own rear. But when I looked back from the end of my life it couldn't have been clearer. I can't spend my life wondering what if. I just can't. I can't ever look back and think - those were the days. The days should always get better, bigger, stronger, more defined. I have felt very lost - happy - but lost - and Paris was the last place I wasn't lost. Come to think of it I'm never lost there. I don't know why. We're not.

But that doesn't mean I don't wake every single morning aching all over for here. For big beautiful solid warm reasons that run so deep I can't even manage to write their names.  





Sunday, February 26, 2012

Kiki Walks

It's Sunday and the heat has made me feel all slumpy and directionless. Also we just watched The Ides of March. People can be so precise and determined. I feel so flaccid. I wonder what it would be like to have just one good, focused direction - know what you want - go and get it. 

Kiki knows about that. She has focus. Today, for example, she took her first steps - well, that is, according to me because she actually took them yesterday but I didn't see it so I chose to imagine it hadn't happened yet. Is that wrong? Anyway it happened today for real even if it happened before in other stratospheres. There was a lot of clapping. 

Kiki knows where she's going. 

I'll watch her tomorrow - take some lessons from her.

Thursday, February 23, 2012

New, Old

I am forever astounded by the newness of Kiki.

The sprouting of brand new shining golden hairs from her head.

Her discovery of steps.

The delight in her eyes at the start of a new day.

I feel so very old all of a sudden.

Tired.

I'm jealous of her newness sometimes.

I can't imagine what it would be like to be seeing everything for the first time, to feel all the little new things.

And yet it doesn't seem long ago.

How insane to think you'll be young forever. I think I actually did. It scares me to look down now and see the skin on my hands turning dry. I slather them with all sorts of butters in tubes.

But it's inevitable.

I can't go back. I'm glad I get to look at Kiki from this place, there are ages I'm glad I won't live again. Fourteen for example.

But it would be nice to be such a sweet new lump of luscious flesh, still to discover all that being young.

Perhaps I'm just in love. And my love for her is so vast that I wish I had more time - a whole new lifetime of time would be nice - I would like to love her from the age of a newborn until an old old woman.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Bad Breath Dream

We were in Paris, at a dinner party, at a big table like the Cook the Thief his Wife and her Lover.

J was there. She was with L. They were laughing together a lot. J was the lady of the party. Everyone was loving her. 

I was talking to her. She was hiding something.

What is it? I asked.

Nothing, she said.

Tell me.

I can't, it's really bad, she said. I knew she'd tell me. She always does.

Go on.

Ok, I'll tell you.

Thanks.

And then she was at the head of the dinner table and there were thirty people seated (cool people wearing fashion) and she read from the book she had just had published.

And she read a whole lot of words then And the car smelt like The Existential Bunny Rabbit's breath.

And she used my real name. My immediate reaction was to be flattered she had chosen me to mention in her book. But then I realised what she'd said. I had bad breath?

I asked her later, Do I have bad breath?

And she nodded. She looked away. I took it in. I was grateful she'd told me.

What does it smell like, I asked.

Fish, she said.

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Death Row Snot Block

We talked about firing squads and how interesting it was that in fact we didn't think such a thing would exist in a day like today. Because we remembered that firing squads were all about helping the men firing feel less responsible for causing death - ie - with one of them having a blank and the fact they did it in a group.

We realised we live in a nasty era because someone would do the job. One single, nasty cunt. We don't worry about the psychological impact on the assassin these days - plenty of people wouldn't mind pulling a trigger. Isn't that awful we realised.

And then we talked about death row dinners of course, not only because of the firing squad conversation but the exceptional roast chicken Mr Rabbit had prepared.

He described his as starting with four to six betel leaf seafood roll thingies from Limeleaves or whatever it's called in Melbourne. That was after I reminded him he must choose an entree. Then a steak with the gratin from La Marine on the canal. Not two gratins? I asked. No, he said, impatient. I'm not greedy. Not even on death row? No. He gave me a Shut Up look and drew breath in that way that he does when I'm pressuring him to change his very set un-greedy, gentle, refined way. So I didn't comment more. But he was silent. Oh my god, I said, not dessert? Ok, he sighed. A fine dark chocolate mousse with a scoop of vanilla icecream. ONE SCOOP? He sighed again.

That's when I realised I was a death row glutton. I always thought I'd have my favourite thing but actually, the first thing I thought of was the vanilla slice I'd ogled that afternoon in the bakery, or snot block as it's affectionately called here because of its viscous consistency. I realised - I would really like a snot block for my death row meal.

Snot block?

Snot block.

Yuk.

I know, I said. I think I'd start with something rancid I never eat like say, McNuggets. And a Big Mac. Then I'd have two packs of fish and chips with heaps of tartare. Then I'd have about eight snot blocks.

And then I realised - it's a good way to go because then if you were going to face the firing squad or electric chair or lethal injeck you would have such a pain in the tummy you wouldn't care so much. You'd just want to be put out of your misery.

Saturday, February 11, 2012

10:10 on the 10th

Thanks Blah - you're right - Kiki is way not Lloyd any more - more like Rapunzel since my last post.

It's shameful.

But rather than write all the boring reasons why I haven't written and all the boring contemplations over time use and wastage, I shall write a short thing about something else.

Yesterday was 10:10 on the 10th - our 9th celebration of it. Of course it's not a celebration, it's a remembering of the moment mum was forever still. Next year will the 10th year of 10:10 on the 10th - and this morning I was wondering - imagine if all the 10s lined up and became so powerful that mum would just be back again. Poof! God that would be good. I wonder what I would say to her. I'd probably just hug her and go on with life, with her in it. Even if I could just see her that would be great. I miss her voice and the feel of her, but if I had to choose I'd probably just like to see her face again, her lovely lovely face and body. And just see her smile.

I always try to do something at 10:10 on the 10th - usually light a candle and say something into the candle with Mr Rabbit. Last night there were so many words to say that I said absolutely nothing for a very long time. Also anything I thought of saying sounded so small and ridiculous. Mainly petulant things like It's Not Fair. It's Not Fair is utterly ridiculous and pointless and stupid. Or She Would Have Loved Kiki - all that. It's bigger than that. The words sound so cheap.

I did end up saying a few things. I pretended she was in the light and I spoke to her a bit. I bit my lip hard to stop the pointless selfish tears. Then I blew out the candle and we sat there for a second and then went back to our computers.