After I put up my homage to the spiritual connection of sex and the naked picture of June Newton, Helmut Newton's wife, I lost 2 followers. I thought about that for a minute. I would guess that there are a handful of bloggers that I follow who do not follow me and who would most decidedly unfollow me if they saw some of the posts here.
I blog as a virtual scrapbook of my life and of life around me that fascinates, moves, interests or concerns me. I write what I find interesting to read. This is how I've always been. I follow NieNie, for instance, and adore her, but doubt that she would adore this blog, naked pictures of June Newton, or poems called marriage where the author talks about her husband daydreaming of fucking other women. I would absolutely call myself a contradiction in terms, and I'm quite happy with that. It's the fluidity of who we are that inspires much of my writing and certainly my novels. It is the truth of life as I experience it that I attempt to convey.
This blog is rated R. It is not for children, it is not for the very young or very innocent or those who would like to only think and feel young and innocent. I crave the secrets of the adult world, and I seek to find them in arts and fashion and literature and storytelling and nature. I write what I would like to read, I post pictures of what I would like to see. I adore Woody Allen, Henry Miller, Anais Nin AND L.M. Montgomery. As I said in a below post, ' i will not be caged by my own (blog) '
Sometimes I get so tired of the surface of things. I feel a literal physical weariness when this happens; as a child I would read when this restless disconnect came over me, and as an adult I have my husband thank God, who can discuss the raw materials of life as well as the spiritual matters in the course of a half hour, moving easily from one experience to the next as we live it. Occasionally I am flitting through blogs and I get that feeling, that MORE feeling. I want to feel more deeply into people's lives, their hearts and minds, I want to know more than the color of paint they have been looking at for a week and the celebrity they hate and etc etc...there is something absolutely precious to me about the details of life, the curve of a woman's hanging breast as she reaches outward, the sluice of blood from the female sex as our bodies cycle, the arguing, the fighting, the laughing, the crying, the peaceful stillness, the boredom, the embarrassment, the pleasure, the confusion the love of being human.
And sometimes, when I cannot find when I am looking for, I make it myself.
If any of this comes as a surprise to you, unfollow me with no hard feelings.
Just don't lock the door behind you.
