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Late night thoughts
Oct. 22nd, 2003 01:53 am...would have been so much more profound had they not been interrupted by my pc spanging on me. God, I can't wait to throw that thing in the bin.
No Vampire tonight, alas. Postponed til next week. My craving was slaked by other very nice things *purrrr*
Tonight, Nepal is on my mind. The festival of lights, Diwali, is approaching, and it's been such a long time, streets full of petals and puja, butterlamps shining in the windows, everybody on the streets gambling like loonies, all in honour of Lakshmi. Even if you've nothing but coffee granules or matchsticks, you place your stake and dare the game. If you win, the Great Goddess will smile on you this year. If you lose, smile and be gracious...she may bless you anyway. At this time, beasts must be treated as brothers. Dogs, chickens and buffalo are among the lucky recipients of all this attention; I remember one buffalo delicately painted with light pink and silver spots, while a rooster strutted around with flower anklets and matching garland. Bemused dogs ran everywhere stuffing their usually underfed faces.The whole place was full of laughter.
Why am I remembering all this now? Because it's been years since I travelled far enough. In Alicante, when we were skinny dipping, Talks Things Through spoke about his fantasy of a well-stocked boat sailing off into the Mediterranean, stopping first at Marseille and then at - oh, I can't remember where. We planned an itinery and only stopped when approaching the Indian Ocean.
Making love seldom makes me sleep peacefully. Afterglow leaves me replenished and inspired, however tired I am. I always find myself dreaming of far shores and lost cities, of mountains and travelling by night, mysterious roads and murmuring seas. Which barely explains my sudden hankering for Nepal; it's entirely landlocked.
I guess I drift like this cos I really can't make sense of the world around me. I read a catalogue of funky bath products today. One was called 'Waving Not Drowning,' a bastardisation of Sylvia Plath's poem, 'Not Waving But Drowning.' The poem's about suicide, for God's sake. How did soap get involved?
OK, I'm sure Nepal has it's own corresponding weirdness. They paint buffalos after all. Time to silence my head-babble, and sleep.
No Vampire tonight, alas. Postponed til next week. My craving was slaked by other very nice things *purrrr*
Tonight, Nepal is on my mind. The festival of lights, Diwali, is approaching, and it's been such a long time, streets full of petals and puja, butterlamps shining in the windows, everybody on the streets gambling like loonies, all in honour of Lakshmi. Even if you've nothing but coffee granules or matchsticks, you place your stake and dare the game. If you win, the Great Goddess will smile on you this year. If you lose, smile and be gracious...she may bless you anyway. At this time, beasts must be treated as brothers. Dogs, chickens and buffalo are among the lucky recipients of all this attention; I remember one buffalo delicately painted with light pink and silver spots, while a rooster strutted around with flower anklets and matching garland. Bemused dogs ran everywhere stuffing their usually underfed faces.The whole place was full of laughter.
Why am I remembering all this now? Because it's been years since I travelled far enough. In Alicante, when we were skinny dipping, Talks Things Through spoke about his fantasy of a well-stocked boat sailing off into the Mediterranean, stopping first at Marseille and then at - oh, I can't remember where. We planned an itinery and only stopped when approaching the Indian Ocean.
Making love seldom makes me sleep peacefully. Afterglow leaves me replenished and inspired, however tired I am. I always find myself dreaming of far shores and lost cities, of mountains and travelling by night, mysterious roads and murmuring seas. Which barely explains my sudden hankering for Nepal; it's entirely landlocked.
I guess I drift like this cos I really can't make sense of the world around me. I read a catalogue of funky bath products today. One was called 'Waving Not Drowning,' a bastardisation of Sylvia Plath's poem, 'Not Waving But Drowning.' The poem's about suicide, for God's sake. How did soap get involved?
OK, I'm sure Nepal has it's own corresponding weirdness. They paint buffalos after all. Time to silence my head-babble, and sleep.
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