simple frustrations

life feels as if i am on a razors edge, as if i were to crash, to fall, but i have yet to hit the ground. Dont get me wrong - most is good, things are well, but in this crazy world of high flying acts, i seem have lost my safety net. I know the routine, i know myself (enough, at least for this night) but without that net in vision i must acknowledge how precarious my life is. Of course, dear readers, this carnival has more than one attraction...

On the high wire is mr Luke & mr Justin who must now each do their own routines alone. On a tense rope they preform their tricks solo, there could be no other way. Each can only see the other, losing sight of themselves in the process of looking. Walking in oposite directions their bodies obscure their desired destinations. Each walks forward, but to the other they walk in reverse. We do not know if the audience will break out in laughter or tears. beneath them stands a clown with a miniture umbrella. there he waits for the fall. he loves them both. i cannot imagine that what the outcome will be. he just hopes that neither fall, that he need not cry.

In the house of mirrors, (the side attraction that we all love) i make my way. Lost in a sea of reflections. Each reflection is me, yet not me. There are many mirrors, many differing aspects, many differing faces. Then i realise that the reflections are of me but also the people whom i know. This is not so strange. Deleuze & Guattari once commented that our psyche & our social overlay one another. A social repression is a psychic one. A psychic extension is a social one. The 'I' is always already a 'we'. Little parts of me - familiarities & passions - are little parts of them. Yet the people i see these days are less those whom i share history with & dearly love, but rather its the new people & the 'not so causal' encounters i experience. I fully realise that all it takes for me to consolidate my old friends is to walk down the road. But perhaps i like mr bobby with his friendly talks over cigarettes, perhaps i like mr sam with his effortless fun and happiness. Time is limited. Must i loose sight of one to see the other? Perhaps i am making a fuss over nothing, in a moments time i will turn a corner to lead me out, but perhaps i may not.

In her tent the gypsy reads the palms of passers by. She sees a figure. She cant seem to make out his image, his esence, yet she knows he is not a menacing figure. Rather he is a tense figure of survival & dreams. She explains that he is a kind of totem - some animal god - some kind of deep expression. 'the lone wolf is one who has yet to devour...' and so the wolf remains hungry, & the prey remains living. She offers some advice 'the wolf is a pack animal, if it walks alone it is not seaking to hunt but is searching... some great obsession, once glimpsed, forever desired. the wolf is strong but between hunger & desire, the reality principle & the pleasure principle, it must know when to walk alone & when to walk together.' And those cryptic words is all she can offer the passer by who seeks a clue to their future.

Caught up in a range of simple frustrations, little problems with little solutions, that i have yet to solve... that we all at times hope to solve