pondlife's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Before The Bullfight -lyrics by David Sylvian Looking out through rain-spattered windows as the remains of tropical storm Ida passes over Charleston. I'm on my own this evening in a house that suddenly seems vast and lonely. The steady rain outside, and David Sylvian's Gone To Earth are the only sounds. What nostalgia this music holds for me, engraved with so many memories. It was some of the first music he played when I came to live with Robert in NYC. The soundtrack to my seduction. I remember coming home rain soaked and shivering from one of the those sudden storms so typical of summer nights and being wrapped in thick towels he'd warmed in the drier. Enfolded in his arms we watched the storm pass over the city. I hear your voice way down inside, a whispering sea of towering trees, but no reply I didn't speak a single word the first week of my arrival. But we managed to communicate, he with careful movements and a watchful eye, and I with either hard or soft responses. Finally the day came when the desire to allow him a bit closer became greater than the effort it took to keep him outside the borders of my world. So I pushed past the barricades and wire and said simply, "Thank you." And with those two words, he says, I took possession of his heart. But if I could live safe and sound in God given fields or mountains of steel, then here I’d stay ‘til you’re gone I would sit for hours looking through his record collection. Actual vinyl discs with covers, and sometimes lyrics and pictures. God help me, I wanted them like a little boy wants a Bounty chocolate bar. One in particular was quite special, a rare collector's edition of Simple Minds' New Gold Dream. It was amber coloured with shimmering, milky swirls. There were so many treasures to pour over, and not just record collections, a dressing room with row after row of suits. Armani, Canali, Varvatos. Perfectly pressed shirts, neat rows of shoes. It wasn't that I'd never seen nice wardrobes, this wasn't my grandfather's dressing room, this was New York. And everything Robert said or did mesmerised. Guilty of stealing every thought I own, I will take my turn to fight the bullfight So many years ago. So much has happened. I never figured on any of this; that much you should know. Whatever else happens, and whatever I am yet to be guilty of, I can't say that I planned it. Alongside the monumental mistakes I've made, there is the quiet realisation that I can be truly terrible company. And most wicked of all, couldn't quite give a damn. Every word’s sunk in deep, like the blades of a knife through my heart. But my strength will return to fight the bullfight 11:27 p.m. - 2009-11-10 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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