Friday, March 29, 2013
Ah Toy In Her Parlor Overlooking Clay Street
It was a century undefined, a world which was an amusette.
She was emergent at a time when the world was taking note of personality, and her life was a life as a drama of a life of a woman who makes choices and with full awareness of consequences...she requires men who cooperate.
She is creating herself as a reality of art - and all who touch her life she creates.
She wrote in her book of days -
"When you are writing then at that very moment you are also searching, searching for the reader who will hear you. But what is this, if not some species of regret?"
She received the citation in her parlor overlooking Clay Street - it was handed over in silence by a rather sheepish looking rather Irish appearing San Francisco cop. She took the paper up and turned it over in her hands, rolling it about between her palms, brought it to her forehead, eyes closed, studied it through the thickness of her closed lids, and then took it out to read -
"Tapping at her window" was the accusation...she smiled and turned to thank the messenger, who had, as it happened, already made his way out..."
With the phrase "tapping at her window" tapping at her mind, she mused that always, always, at the end of the day, it is got to be taken off to market, to market...no matter what it may be - the living of a metalife? She knew all about it who had ever sought the absence - the blessed nod to one's request to "Count me out!" But it seemed at this moment she had been very much counted in, and she squirmed as if caught in a net. She made a sudden move, as though to escape drowning...
to be continued