Why are we so obsessed with our bodies eh? Some act as though it is what defines them, what gives greater meaning. Others live in complete denial. Me? I am somewhere in between. I enjoy a good night out with the boys drinking whiskey and behaving badly. But not too badly, if you know what I mean. I enjoy being able to function the next day!
One of my best friends likes saying, “I am a middle aged man…” followed by some other pointless stuff which I ignore. Sometimes I wanna slap him and say – dude, you are smart and complicated. Any woman would love your Scorpio ass. But noooooo. So I let him rant.
Last night I completed a book in one sitting….and my mind was all over the place. Everyone knows one of my favorite books happens to be Flame In The Snow by Andre Brink. Those love letters, the intensity and the creativity that thrived between them is inspiring.
As I read They Called you Damdudzo…I wondered…
Are artists really that crazy, eh? Was I ever? Probably. The idea that another could be so enamoured by one’s art, their lives wrapped up in it is very seductive. I never loved anyone I could share or speak to about Music. Or anyone who showed a great interest in what I created for that matter. My gay male friends….yes! Anyhoo. It is a wonderful book. Well worth the read. But I refuse to live with the ghost of another for that long. Regardless of how brilliant they are.