kagablog

christina bianca harvey and aryan kaganof, cape town, 1999

When Hades decided he loved this girl
he built for her a duplicate of earth,
everything the same, down to the meadow,
but with a bed added.

Everything the same, including sunlight,
because it would be hard on a young girl
to go so quickly from bright light to utter darkness

Gradually, he thought, he’d introduce the night,
first as the shadows of fluttering leaves.
Then moon, then stars. Then no moon, no stars.
Let Persephone get used to it slowly.
In the end, he thought, she’d find it comforting.

A replica of earth
except there was love here.
Doesn’t everyone want love?

He waited many years,
building a world, watching
Persephone in the meadow.
Persephone, a smeller, a taster.
If you have one appetite, he thought,
you have them all.

Doesn’t everyone want to feel in the night
the beloved body, compass, polestar,
to hear the quiet breathing that says
I am alive, that means also
you are alive, because you hear me,
you are here with me. And when one turns,
the other turns—

That’s what he felt, the lord of darkness,
looking at the world he had
constructed for Persephone. It never crossed his mind
that there’d be no more smelling here,
certainly no more eating.

Guilt? Terror? The fear of love?
These things he couldn’t imagine;
no lover ever imagines them.

He dreams, he wonders what to call this place.
First he thinks: The New Hell. Then: The Garden.
In the end, he decides to name it
Persephone’s Girlhood.

A soft light rising above the level meadow,
behind the bed. He takes her in his arms.
He wants to say I love you, nothing can hurt you

but he thinks
this is a lie, so he says in the end
you’re dead, nothing can hurt you
which seems to him
a more promising beginning, more true.

if i didn’t shed my skin
and i didn’t allow the other
to see
or taste
or hold -
only touch
and feel;
and if i felt absolutely nothing -
nothing on my flesh or skin or mouth,
and nothing more by way of feeling,
does that then mean it actually didn’t happen at all?
just an empty vessel passing through
an empty moment of time.
no ripple effect or consequence.
just affirmation of knowing that
whilst i can go through the motion
i am not the motion itself.

your wishbone around my neck
strangles me.
short enough to just keep me holding on
but not long enough to hang me.
like the ligature was applied incorrectly
leaving me to die an excruciatingly
painful death.
what pains me more, though,
is that this is how you demonstrate your love for me,
and i hate myself for believing you.

there is nothing but voluminous silence.
loud and hollow.
hollow and loud.
stark reality
abrupt and cold
wanton desire swept up in a heap
to be dealt with at more convenient time.
wishes caught up in a net
of regret where no one can shake them free.
the virtue of patience calling out
from behind the reverie of fear
asking for itself to be known.
Achilles Heel strapped and bandaged
limping through a labyrinth
searching for a way to find what i’ve been
praying for all along.

i drive home from a night of pretensions.
a man’s aftershave lingers on my skin
but not yours.

i was beautiful and bold tonight

you were not there to see me.

all these missing moments are agony.
like being punished for a non-existent crime
i could never have dreamed of committing.

the equinox full moon burns bright in the clearing sky above.
a beauty too beautiful to behold alone.

his scent still lingers on my skin
a taunting reminder of your absence.

and you,
you will awaken tomorrow afternoon
with the scent of another woman on your skin

you speak to me in tongues
riddles that clear the way
you finger my sensibility
ever so tenderly
sending me on a spiraling
journey of varying degrees
exposing all of my vulnerabilities.
you see though me and have learned
the passages to my heart.
i have crumbled and burned in the face of you –
yet here we go again
preparing to try it once more
knowing all the while that i will not suffice
and only be left to char the ashes of my
already crippled heart.

by destroying me
you found happily ever after.
but even that wasn’t enough.
you resurfaced to
lick your guilt infested wounds
and beg for my forgiveness.
the tormentor facing his victim
behind the security of a digital network.
the damage inflicted on the psyche
tattooed so that the predefined roles
never can change.
you asked.
i delivered.
but you will always remain
the one who beat me to love you.
in your interlude moment where
there was no concept of betrayal
you got what you needed to continue
with your fairytale ending
and i am left confounded by how
differently
moments can affect
different people.
assemble the past with the present..
and hope for a future brighter than
what could have been.

a scene set for two
fireworks and
twinkling
twilight
lights.
fireworks..
arranged as perfectly as it would have been
had it been arranged.
time for tea.
time for some talk of you and me.
no use crying over
milk that couldn’t be spilt.
nothing on the rocks to stop
the flow of two joining as one.
like a dream that couldn’t have been
dreamt better unless..
unless it wasn’t just a dream.

‘Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together, yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart.
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.’

kahlil gibran

a moment -

your presence lingers on my skin.

your fingers stroke at my heart.

my lips still tingle at the memory of yours

pressed up against mine.

i still smell you everywhere..

around me..

inside me..

and i wonder where else could feel like home.

your hand cupping my face

staring into my being

stirring pure joy..

completion.

your intoxicating,

beautiful face..

every moment of truth with you,

make me believe..

in you and me.

a day -

near to you i feel secure.

close to you i know your truth.

in your presence,

within reach of your touch..

your embrace,

i believe in the love between you and me.

away from you

i stumble and fall

as though the absence of you

is an absence of us.

the disconnect is persistent enough

for me to believe it isn’t imaginary.

and if i didn’t miss you so much already,

as it is,

then the voids of time would be easier to endure..

of that i’m sure.

for every thought i think of
and
about you
a find a million questions surfacing,
each fighting their way to the top
none ever winning out over the other.
overwhelming,
this thirst for limitless time
for purity
for truth
for sharing with you.
i feel transfixed in a state of
contradictory desires
as i search for the truth of what i know.
i want to ask you a million
agendaless questions
and i want to hold you for very
long periods of time.
i’d love a map of your head so that i could
trace my way to you,
your-actual-self
and once i’d found you
i would never let you go.
i skip ahead.
i fall behind.
but all i really want is
now
with
you.

This time last year, you were still here.

I don’t ever remember much except for fragments.
Tiny collated pieces that follow no linear time.
But I remember being really little,
Small enough that I fit inside the length of your arm.
I remember lying with you,
My head on your chest, listening attentively to your heart beating and trying to match my inhalations to yours
And my exhalations, too.
I could never quite figure why you were able to last so much longer than me.
I liked listening to your heart beating because I loved knowing that you were alive.
I remember, too, being a little bit bigger, longer now, so I didn’t quite fit the length of your arm, when it suddenly dawned on me that it was of paramount importance for me to die before you.
I remember the amused perplexion on your face, asking me why..
My answer was as simple as a child’s should be, but more than that, too.
I told you it had to be that way because there was no way I could survive in this world without you.
I don’t remember now, what prompted the thought then, but I do remember reiterating it to you over the course of our years together, the reasons changing as I grew, but always staying the same.
And every time you would give me the same answer,
“It’s not Nature’s Law for the child to go before the parent.”
I’d protest that I didn’t care about Nature’s Law but only about what was in my heart.
You’d go on to say that the human spirit was built to take that sort of pain and finds a way to continue on.
My defiance used to see me orchestrating my own version of events,
but hindsight teaches me that you can’t prepare for the unexpected.
You were right..
But then, you kinda
almost
always were.

I remember your Bear Hugs and how they were my favourite place to be.
I remember how making you smile,
making you laugh,
making you proud of me was my greatest joy and comfort.
I remember your wisdom,
your Faith,
your intuition and
your gentle,
silent understanding of me.
I remember, too, how much I was able to infuriate you,
and you me,
and that for the most part it was because we could see so much of ourselves mirrored in the other.
But my infuriating you,
I know now,
had more to do with your desire to not see me cry.
I miss that.
Your telling me not to ruin my pretty eyes with tears.
And I miss your voice, too.

I remember knowing that I’d known you before.
Not how or when,
just the cognizance that you and I had walked and
breathed and
talked together in a life before.

I remember how I loved your hands.
Not only for all that they were able to create,
generate and
heal, but because they looked just like mine,
as though reminding me that I am of you as you are of me.
They still remind me now, when I feel as like I’m missing you more than I should.
But miss you, I do.
I still have your number in my phone like I think I might be able to call you up someday and fill you in on some random thought that passed through my head, or ask you for directions, or warn you of traffic up ahead so you can take an alternative route home..

I remember how you demanded honesty and integrity by being those same things yourself, in every way.
I remember your kindness,
your desire to help anyone who crossed your path that needed assistance even when,
long ago,
it was beyond your means.

I remember YOU.
All that you taught me.
All that you inspired and challenged me to be.
I miss you now, like I missed you then.
I always missed you.
Always wanted more time with you.
More time to share and learn.
I loved and respected your absolute objectivity.
Like how you told the boy who came to ask for my hand that I was the difficult kind and if he thought he’d be able to manage that.
The memory you shared with him was from when I had just learnt to name all of the days of the week.
The grand parents were over and you wanted me to show them what I’d learnt – I think I must have been 4.. ?
I went onto say,
“Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday.”
You asked me to try again and I repeated myself,
exactly as I had the first time.
You reminded me that I’d left out ‘Thursday’.
I said that I knew but didn’t want to say that particular day.
Once more you asked me to recite the days of the week and if I left it out I could go to my room.
“Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday and Good Night!”, I said, and took myself off to bed.
Was it stubbornness or my propensity to cut-my-nose-to-spite-my-face?
Maybe..
But it’s only just dawned on me now, that the day I wouldn’t say then,
all those years ago,
is the very same day you left me here to recognise the
strength of the human spirit.
Coincidence or chance or.. ?

I remember that I didn’t speak until I was 2 years old and that you and Mum were worried that I might be Autistic, doctors reassuring you that I was fine and that I would speak when I was ready to.
I never did have a first word.
My first utterance was,
“Where did my Daddy go?”
Chance or coincidence, that that very same sentence will be the same question I ask myself until the day I breathe my last breath.
More with a ‘why’ than a ‘where’ though.

I miss you.
I miss every aspect of your being, being here with me.
Your wit.. Your charm.. Your respect.. Your exuberance..
Your love of life..
Your love for and of me..
I miss your gentle eyes and how your expressions could speak a thousand words to me..
Calm me..
Reassure me when I was getting too highly-strung or bothered by life going on around me.

You are my hero.
My inspiration..
I can only hope you taught me long enough so that I may be half the person you set out to be and
became to the Nth degree.
And I hope, pray, know that you are still guiding me now,
like you always did.

I’m sorry, too, for all he things we both know I have to be sorry for
and sorry, I am..
Really.. Really, I am..

I miss your hands, Dad.
I miss their ability to repair anything that was brought to you,
from toys, to electricals, to upholstery, to food,
to paint
(however I decided I could paint the inside of a house I will never guess,
but you had it repainted within a 3 day weekend and it had taken me 2 weeks to destroy )
to anything..
Anything at all.
No-thing was ever too hard for you. You never recognised problems, only ever seeing solutions or room for improvement.

I miss your hands, Dad.
And I still remember the last time I held them in mine and how I almost tricked myself into believing my fire might warm the frigid ice.
When I prayed that my tears might turn the cold to living flesh,
giving you anew the gift of life.
I would have,
would still,
exchange mine for yours.
My hands did warms your hands that day,
I held them so long,
crying my goodbyes to you.
I miss you, Dad,
but I love you more,
and I thank God that, even if He took you too soon,
I wouldn’t trade the gift of my 29 years with you
for a lifetime longer with a lesser man.

This time last year you were still here..

Hey Dad,
I want you to know that I am proud of you, too!

And in my darkest moment, fetal and weeping

The moon tells me a secret - my confidant

As full and bright as I am

This light is not my own and

A million light reflections pass over me

- Lyrics taken from my Favourite Band, TOOL - Album: Lateralus - Song: Reflection

holding all the aces
you hedged your bets each way
in a manner that meant you couldn’t lose.
love and greed.
greed and lust.
the fortune teller was right
no matter how opposed to the idea
you might have been at the time.
you chose the path of least resistance
and greed won the day.
you cashed your chips and walked away
a soulless man
with any distant memory of what it
felt like to have and share pure love
overshadowed and compensated by the cold security
that the dollar can buy.
the fortune teller was right
about your life
not mine
~ though i felt things she could not ~
but i don’t think even she could have seen
just how high the stakes were when
an open heart met with a narcissistic one.

reflecting on lost moments
the ones that are
that were
that could have been but never appeared.
we get so caught up in the cycle of life
where we put the ego ahead of the heart
barely pausing to see what we have and hold
that matters beyond the daily grind
until..
well, until its too late
and all the reflection and remorse in the world
can’t bring those lost moments back.
“you don’t know what you’ve got till you lose it -
or its gone.”
why does the silly season conjure up so many quotable clichés?
so the
fragile
little
transient
moments
come and go.
its not till afterward that
(with the gift of hindsight)
we can be aware of their significance.
for some of the blessed, or cursed, few
we can catch a glimmer of a moment passing
that we know we may later regret,
but the egoic consciousness is too strong
to let the hearts warmth melt the ego’s pride.
and then.. - ?
and then we are left to ponder
if we will ever be able to make amends.
maybe in the next life
that can never come too soon
or be kept at bay too long..
i guess the point of all these swarming thoughts is,
as we all know but never seem to manage,
to be present in every way.
to try and remember the people and things
that matter to us most
throwing off the shackles of the
inanely mundane factors of existence
and
to give all that we have
to love and
to our hearts true calling.
then, and most importantly of all,
we could find true gratitude,
true peace,
in, and of,
every moment that we get to share
with others and with ourselves.
Christmas has almost been and gone
(depending on where you are in the world)
and my wish for all is
that we can find the miracle of now.

Stella* @ December 25th 2007

her tears burn down her cheeks.
she feels sorry for everyone;
for those that know,
for those that don’t.
stella’s ABLAZE!
she got disconnected
again.
stella’s going to be ok.
she can dream herself
to sleep
where everyone of those
burning tears has a name
and she learns all
the names off by heart.
this litany of chanted names
she cries to herself
when all of the flames
get too cold to bear.
stella’s on fire:
she’s wearing the devil
in her hair
and carrying his flame
in her eyes.