The next relationship fib

Once again for A.B.

She
stub-
bornly
refuses
to become my next
relationship experiment.

- Leonard "Truly Loves Her" Blumfeld

Personal note: Mind-wrote this while taking a shower, went out to have dinner, returned, and it was still on my mind. So I simply had to write it down and publish it!

This also marks my first return to the fibonacci in quite a while.

What a beautiful late August day - not hot, but warm and sunny. The trees, chestnuts are first, are beginning to shed their leaves, and there's that crisp breath of fall in the air. I could stay with this season for a long time; it's my favorite.

Is this poem autobiographical? you might ask. Well, yes and no. Looking at myself and my failed relationships of the last seven years with some cynicism, this is definitely deserved. But then again - I never had even the slightest bad intention... Perhaps I should not be so harsh on myself.

Do I love her as truly as I profess? By my standards I do, perhaps even by fairly elevated standards. Will it last? That I don't know. But it has for a year and a half.

Weird dream

Had a weird dream last night...
It all started out with me having to wait (for whom or what I do not remember) in a busy pedestrian zone. But lo and behold I had all the facilities with me to set up my laptop and watch a Bollywood movie. So I watched it for a while, moving my pedestrian zone cinema substitute one time when I realized I was in the way. Other than that nobody paid much attention. Until a woman I recognized as a neighbor walked by, started talking to me and proposed moving the installation to her place. Which I did. Sooner rather than later we found ourselves kissing, then moving to her bedroom for more. Oh, I forgot that she also had a baby, possibly three months old, and an older companion, around 60. I originally thought they were sisters. Just as we were in bed, without many stitches on as I seem to recall, her whole family walked in. I felt embarrassed, but she didn't seem to mind all these people milling around us. She and they went to another room. Only one of the relatives remained with me, an older guy, a freckly redhead. He asked me how I felt? I mumbled something about odd, awkward, embarrassed, etc. He said he understood. In the closing scene, I, once again fully dressed, entered the other room, where my lady was in bed with her companion and the baby, surrounded by everyone else. Everybody was at ease and chatting away. The last thought I remember is that I felt uneasy because I still did not understand the relationships among all these people. But they seemed to accept my presence all right – as whatever. Or did they simply not notice me?

– Len "Sexy Dream" Blumfeld

Dinner for eight

Guests invited*

1. Frederick II, Holy Roman Emperor (1194-1250), to ask him what the mysterious Castel del Monte was all about, question him about his irreverent religious beliefs and many other things.
2. Saint Francis of Assisi, who lived at about the same time (1181-1226). I assume he did not appreciate Frederick very much (and vice-versa perhaps), but it might be fun having these two facing each other at the table.
3. Plato (428 BC-347 BC), to ask him what he really knew about Atlantis.
4. Sylvia Plath (1932-1963), just to have her back for a while.
5. Frank O’Hara (1926-1966). He, Sylvia, Plato and I could talk poetry, for example. I would imagine Frank to be the cheerful soul of the evening.
6. Kamala Das (1934-2009), to have somebody outspoken from another continent.
7. Léo Ferré (1916-1993), another one unlikely to bite his tongue.
8. I myself, meek and mild, trying to balance the mixture of egos big and small around the dinner table.

I might do the cooking myself – a 5-course south Indian meal, for example, to have these older folks taste something different. I’d serve the best of drinks – Italian table water, red and white wines from Germany, Italy and France, and Calva as a digestif. Should make for an interesting and amusing evening.

– Len “He Loves His Food” Blumfeld

* upon instigation by Sunday Scribblings (task description: Do you ever play the game where you decide who you would invite to your fantasy dinner party?

The rules are:
- you can invite anyone, living or dead
- you have a table that seats eight, but as you are one, you can invite seven people
- you have to explain why you'd invite them

And for bonus points:
- what would you serve them for dinner?)

You are more than spring

Sweet lilac flowers appear on the tree but once a year;
Your breasts bloom for me every day; you are more than spring.

My desires shone brightly like chestnut shoots;
You brought them out into the sun. We sit under a roof of foliage,
Smiling at each other in the luscious shade.

Longing has scarred me like a tree struck by lightning;
Now your bees are with me, and my eyes overflow from your honey.

Max Dauthendey (1867-1918)

From: The Eternal Wedding. Love Songs (1905)

Copyright © of translation by Johannes Beilharz 2009.

The original German is here.

Posted for Totally Optional Prompts and Color – this poem is full of colors, even though none are mentioned.

Cipation

I’m at a curious stage now, where there’s a lull induced by a two-week vacation. Everything’s on hold, sort of, and, apart from a framework of some planned work and engagements, I do not know what will happen afterwards regarding a certain person. Make that two. Nothing might happen. Things might go on as suspended and stop-and-go as they have been. “Keep on patiently, like you have been,” the Italian tarot lady said, “trust your feeling and do not listen to anyone else.” So I keep it up, more or less, wavering, just like anybody else, between hope and disillusionment. Some sort of cipation. Not quite anti.

– Leonard “Antipicator” Blumfeld

Written for Sunday Scribblings and Anticipate.

Personal weather situation

How's your personal weather today?
I'm a bit under the weather. Quite a bit under the weather, actually.
So what happened to cloud your skies?
There's an uncomfortable draft in my face, but also some stillness that isolates me.
Oh my! Whereabouts are you?
Stuck in the desert of my own mind and feelings as usual.

– Len "Mind Desert" Blumfeld

And they said to each other ...

And they said to each other, "We need
glasses so we can see. Because, as it is
now, we have no vision."
And one of them continued, "We have
been self-indulgent way too
long. This has got to stop."
But where to go in this land
without opticians, and how to slim
down on indulgence?

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2009)

The painting is gouache on paper and dates from 2002

Posted for Inspire Me Thursday and Glasses as well as Sunday Scribblings #171, Indulgence.

Owl

Owl
Gouache and oil crayon
on wrapping paper, 2008
(detail of a larger painting)

Posted for Inspire Me Thursday's Owl.

Human

For A.B. as usual

She had on a smile occasionally
and sang a little bit.
Maybe she's in love with somebody.
But me it would be not.

– Len "Takes Her Home" Blumfeld

Posted for 'human' at Sunday Scribblings.

Written in a somewhat epigonal vein running from Amaru to about Rabindranath Tagore.

Blumfeld interviewed by Psychotic News

PN: Thanks for the opportunity to interview you, Mr. B.
LB: Call me Len, please.
PN: Mr. B., you told us that you have a history of being invisible...
LB: Yes, that happens sometimes.
PN: What happens exactly?
LB: I'm among people and say something, and it's as if I wasn't even there, or in a different time slot.
PN: That sounds quite speculative. What about the other people – do you see them?
LB: Yes, they seem quite normal to me.
PN: And you consider yourself the abnormal one?
LB: Yes.
PN: Like you're not fit to be around the human race?
LB: Yes.
PN: Has it occurred to you that you might be an alien?
LB: Alien, yes, but not an alien.
PN: ...
LB: You were saying?
PN: ...
LB: Yes?
PN: Mr. Blumfeld, where are you? Are you there? Hello?
LB: (can obviously no longer be seen or heard)
PN: This, dear audience, was the interview with Leonard Blumfeld – a man who said he had illusions of invisibility and who indeed has become invisible.

– Len "No See" Blumfeld