By User:roboppy – EN WP http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Macarons-lagrandeepicerie.JPG, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3142295
My battle, most primal battle, all my goddamn
life has been, I see now in fairly fearsome
hindsight, and yet with favour and flavour and
even kindness too,
never to be the predictable being I knew.
And I knew, just knew, I was predictable as they
come: that life would move on for me just
as it moves on for everyone; and I refused to
give up on or share the love of a mother
who abandoned me for birth of next-along
brother, or maybe this was illness,
or maybe confusion of culture and
things that intervened in my life.
And so I remember, quite clearly,
at the age of sixteen, demanding to
myself never to find a happiness out there,
because I was a survivor, and survivors
remember victims, and people they
went and left way behind them.
And then I was predictable; I went and got
married, and the physical love I yearned for
to assuage my pain
of existential curiosity and existential
wane, waxed violently out of orbit so
I never was able to love the woman I loved
in the way that I actually needed.
And then something came along – you came long! –
and that’s when I realised I was made for love;
I was made for predictability;
I did just want to be another bird or bee.
Because the love of your skin, your heart and
your touch repaired a pain of lifetimes
spent resilient and cocooned, like marooned
macaron, all coloured and round and searching
for a mouth that only wanted to eat me my
whole, my very sweetness, my very own soul.
And if the kind of art I’ve begun to practise
is the kind of art that number-crunched by
you and your machines is just about as
predictable as anything anyone ever
drew with pen and ink, in fairly kinky
sectors of fairly kinky lives, unbolted and
uncovered like few people have ever known,
then I am now happy with being predictable:
for I have known a love which releases
and frees: and I have known a life of grand
satisfactions: and I know a wife who
loves both me and my children in the only
giving way she is properly able: and I come to
realise when change must be made – and the
change can be kind if that is what we choose,
and the kind I desire is the one that I do choose –
that whilst terrible return to terrible days
is no longer permissible for me or my
loved ones, my expressing myself openly about
the reality I have is already making me
a hopeful soul of love.
And where it is within my grasp to make others
hopeful, including my dearest wife and
wonderful children, I will do all I can to
sustain such a life:
I think this is good, and I think this is right.
And moving on is not only my right: it is the
right of everyone who is sovereign to choose their
destiny; and where terrible pain has been caused
in the past, the only possible connection can
last out of love. And love doesn’t mean connections
can still be made firm; to be firm, one needs the
hurt to wander away so that
any path taken is free of emotional rift:
or at least is in the presence of the gift of
I look to the future; experience the present;
and, ultimately, remember the past so very fondly.
To see these photos and read these words again –
photos of people and places all over my senses,
and places I lived
with family and friends,
places and moments I myself
have forgotten, places I really
would much rather manage to
remember and recall, in the clarity of sunlight
not the dark of fearful fall.
So I bear no grudge nor unkindness at all.
And maybe, if it is right, I can remind myself now
of all the good,
of all the faith,
I ever did trawl from my curious personal dark
blue sea of curious personal understanding.