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Suckling On Love

February 15, 2014

Love consists in this, that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other.
— Rainer Marie Rilke

Love is the extremely difficult realization that something other than oneself is real.
— Iris Murdoch

Love is the fart
Of every heart;
It pains a man when ’tis kept close;
And others doth offend, when ’tis set loose.
— Sir John Suckling

This ends the first half of this chronicle. It has really been just a preliminary investigation. So far we have only been probing the real, feeling it up, gently teasing and tasting. It will only be in the second half that we begin pushing, pushing hard. I will continue with some of the themes already established. I will keep you updated on the nude photo front. Cats and cats might return with unexpected lessons. The infinite will always be in play. But whole new areas of exploration, whole new dimensions of understanding, will be opening up before us. In temporal terms our journey may be half done, but in cosmic mind-blowing shit terms we have barely just begun. 

— epigraphs & conclusion from “Restivo Watch Day 11: The End of the Beginning” (2/15/11)

Tonight there is a show at the Teahouse, Grand Banks will open for Chris Forsyth & The Solar Motel Orchestra. It should be good. I just hope it is not as emotionally devastating as the Smiffs show. Part of the reason to see live music is to get a good look into the abyss and come to grips with misery in a passably safe space, but you want these kinds of experiences to be dispersed in time, and not concentrated within short intervals.

Reading this closing paragraph to the first half of Restivo Watch makes me wonder how well its promises will be fulfilled, what happens next, as if I hadn’t already read what follows, or at least written it; as if the second half weren’t just as much of the past as the first. But this is what you find when you probe the past, when you try to get close to it, on your hands and knees, tracing the path time took with your finger. You lose the perspective you thought you had, your claim to superiority, the aloof gazer upon dead certainties. Everything goes in flux again, you find again a journey into the unknown, an adventure. And who knows what cosmic mind-blowing shit is out there?

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