Letter 49 – B is also for Burlesque, Belly Dancing, Bend It like Beckham, The Benson Hotel, and Two Bad Girls
I’m writing this letter on 7/20/2012 at 12:01 p.m.
Art work by Mia Malone – Jennings (Miamalonejennings.com)
“The One thing we can never get enough of is love. And the one thing we never give enough of is love.” –Henry Miller, Insomnia, Or The Devil at Large
I am typing this letter to you, sitting upon my soft, brush suede brown, living room sofa, alone, at my artist loft. I have just returned from physical therapy. There is a small, beautiful, blue knitted blanket, which use to belong to Mr. B’s mother, casually folded and placed next to me, just in case my feet get cold. It’s placed where Mr. B use to sit as we engaged in conversation, cuddled, or ate dinner together. Because it belonged to Mr. B’s mother, it reminds me of my past lover. I still miss him, but, have acquiesced myself to Mr. B’s decision to cease our relationship. My sofa is very cozy and plush, despite its flaws of having an artist for an owner. There are several speckles of vivid paint, in a wide range of sizes and a mixture of two colors, bluish – green and light purple. The accidental splash of paint stains significantly lowers the décor of my cosmopolitan, upscale, artist loft, which is in the Twin Cities. Large drops of hard and heavy rain sound like native, rhythmic drums as they harmonically collide and melodiously pound upon the large pane of glass, which is my tall and wide, glass patio door, which leads outdoors, to a very large balcony area.
“In Hermann Hesse’s famous book Siddhartha, he has his hero say – “I can think, I can wait, and I can do without.” To me these qualities make a man invincible. Especially, “to wait and to do without.” America knows neither the one nor the other. Perhaps that is why at the early age of 200 years she shows signs of falling apart.” –Henry Miller, Sextet
The day feels calm and sleepy to me. I love that I am on the sixth floor, which is the top level of the complex I sometimes reside in, except when there is a leak in the ceiling. I rent one of the penthouse suites and it is beautiful. Generally, on sunny, lively afternoons, my view is full of the activity of human life in the city, several stories below me. I can hear the sweaty, dirty, construction crew, creating the unique sounds of a metropolitan symphony, with their high powered machinery and their loud, clanging tools. Every single sound falls universally into place, playing a citified din to my ears. It speaks a unique language which somehow calms and comforts me. It gives me the same kind of solace which I feel when I am in NYC, only on a much smaller level. I also think that it is also highly stimulating and awe inspiring, observing a variety of hard working men and women, busy, building the light rail on University Avenue. Continue reading