A Mouthfull of Broken Tools

Space. The final frontier.

We all need it. We all can use some. Space can be refreshing and liberating, like a wide meadow full of posies in the crisp mountain air, or it can be dark and lifeless like the expanse of deep space. It can be filled with music and merriment, or silent and deafeningly still. It's what you make of it. I like having very little. I don't need a lot of room to live. I don't need the rambling mansion, the back yard, the nice large den. I'm happiest in my little room, with its four walls keeping out the driftwood of humanity.

I'm in a solitary place, where my mind can roam free. Where I have the time and patience to work on things that I normally would not be there was distraction. This is better than the public library, which still, even though silent, has movement. And I happen to be a movement type of person. I always have been. I love movement, I can study it for hours. I sometimes embarrass myself on the train or standing, waiting for an elevator. The woman playing with her hair, chewing on gum. The man shifting from one foot to the other, in either nervousness or the distributing of his center of gravity back and forth. The child playing with a toy airplane, moving it through the air in a constant 8 on its side formation.

Sometimes these people turn their attention to me and I turn away in shame or embarrass- ment. I had just been standing there staring at them, my mind completely lost in motion. I had the same experience when smoking marijuana. I could actually fall into the movement of my own hands. My entire brain collapsing in on itself. It was amazing.

There is no motion in my room. Everything is frozen. Time stops except for the creeping shadow of the walls of the alley outside my window. The passing of a pinkish/yellow morning to the deep gloom of night that plays for me there. Other than that, there is no motion. Nothing to capture your attention. I used to have a private fixation with my ex. I don't know if the men that read this blog ever notice it, but do you also miss, or find yourself fascinated by, the movement of womankind?

Funny question, huh? I don't find the movement of every woman interesting, just a scant few. I find myself watching them slyly, constantly. The way that they reach up for something, the contours that their bodies make. The flow of their legs, the twisting of their backs, or the crane of their necks. They are, the few of them I mean, fascinating to behold. I know many times a husband notices it in his wife. It's usually just before the sexual urge kicks in strong. Her movements somehow alert him to the inner stirrings of his desire. She bends over to pick something up from the floor, stands on her tip toes to reach something high in the cupboard, and suddenly you are excited, you have to put your hands on her.

In a similar fashion I am enthralled. I can watch the right woman for hours as he moves about. Passion does not spark but an interest burns. I'm certain that if, under the proper circumstances and the correct dosages of the pills I'm on, if these conditions existed, I would feel that true passion that a man feels for a woman. That wild desire to put 'your hands on her'. And there I go again, as if smoking marijuana, falling into the beauty of my own hands, seeing them as covered with dirt and grime, calloused and rough, flexing and un-flexing as they reach out slowly for her spotless and freshly washed body, tender skin, warm to the touch, yielding to the barrenness of my hands, drawing dark stains along where my touch has already landed and passed.

I am filthy to her cleanliness, I am coarse to her softness, I am strong to her vulnerability. I am her opposite, the brutish, clumsy, ogre to her stunning, fluid beauty. Paints a picture of Shrek doesn't it?

Well, that's my mind running away with me in this empty room. I am on my computer watching the passing of the day. By mid afternoon I grow tremendously tired, and crawl into bed, closing my eyes and drifting off to sleep. I don't sleep for long, but instead rise to return to the Internet, knowing full well that this will be another long night of not sleeping.

I will be up tonight working on my screenplay and my blog. I have already done much work on the handbook, too much in fact. I am losing in the creativity department there and am just trudging though it to get to the other side. I have other projects that I'm dying to get started on. I am hoping to do more this year, and to publish more.

I check the magazine web-site again. They are still not up. Now though, it reads to check out the site in March, no longer February. And that there are now 'staff positions' available.

A bad omen. Is the economy so that bad that a free, Internet magazine goes out of business?

Wow.

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