Rose and Poems

The Writer’s Guild still hold an annual Rose and Poem party I’ve heard. It makes me feel good that I devised something that has kept on for six or so years, it wasn’t my idea of course, I got it from a book. (Shanghai Baby by Wei Hui) I remember the Rose and Poem’s that I held, how I made friends come and write poetry with the Guild. I remember some of the poems too, there were an odd lot, invocations to Mercury and Odes to different people and things.

I’ve been looking through old photographs with Archangel in the run up to French Fry’s wedding. I’ve been talking about her to Lady Byron. The notion of selling out came up.

It’s funny but it made a particular poem stand out in my mind, one about tattoos, and I started on a trip not quite down memory lane.

Memories are important, they make us who we are, they are what will sustain those of us who make it to old age. I used to have a motto ‘Take only experience, leave only memories’, how well I succeeded in living up to that I’ll leave my readers to decide. We remember who we were and what our goals were and our dreams and we make decisions.

French Fry, well I remember her being an ardent feminist, open relationships and not getting pregnant, that I definately remember. She’s getting married next week, but does that mean she’s sold out. It’s still possible to remain a feminist when you’re married with children. It’s still possible to visit faery when you’re out being a wage slave in the place the infamous they try and make us think is the real world. The point is, remembering who you are. It’s who we are that makes us set these goals, that makes us try to do whatever it is we’re trying to do.

Maybe our goals are the tattoos our souls wear, the infinite markings over our soulskin as we try and try and fail and try again. But the soul, that only changes with inconstancy and a lack of understanding of self. If you know who you are, then your frame of mind will not change and you can hold onto the wonder of the world even if they are trying there hardest to make you discuss morgages and marriages and babies.

Changing your goals does not make you a sell out. What does is stopping believeing, is stopping understanding the wonder of this world and believing that all there is is the next wage slip and the next baby and the next… there is no shame in the world of the housewife, only in the world of the sheep.

I suppose this entry could be read as a last gasp of self-justification by myself. Some people seem to think I’ve embraced haus-fraudom. I’m unemployed and I’m writing and one day Cornish Bloke is going to see me grinning like I saw him last week and then maybe for those of you who it isn’t obvious to you’ll see the spider-lights shining free and me climbing them like a rope-ladder making my way to faery and waving like bloody hell from the top.

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