Find Madeleine (link is here)

I don't know who David Santos is so deleted the phone number left in my comments relating to the search for Madeleine. Then I heard that the family has launched a site to gather funds and information. The numbers matched, so thought I'd put the link here.

I'd have preferred to put this in the sidebar but couldn't fathom how to do it nicely.

bad-eyes never win ...

There's something sensuous about the constant flow of rain and the way new green bows and curtseys in a breeze that holds the seed of storm, heavy in the fading light. Hypnotic.

Later, when I woke up slumped in sofa-land, mascara had migrated into both eyeballs and the result was less fascinating. A ridiculous film was playing out on t.v. A gorgeous yellow Cadillac had just wrapped itself around destruction; room enough for grief in my opinion. Meanwhile heroine and hero screamed at each other before exchanging blows; assassins, still reeling from their last defeat, closed in. My mascara turned to spears and headed brain-wards.

In the blur of noise and devastation, the fist fight unleashed such raging passion that they simply had to make out. Then and there. Ahhh, the joy of spontaneity, the crux of life and death.

The baddies, transfixed by heroine's energetic beauty, were unable to perform. Obviously. I’d have to sack them for that alone. But even in my agony, as I scrubbed at swollen, streaming red-eyes, fought for life in sofa-land’s real drama, I worried. What if the helicopter hadn’t got enough diesel?

Maybe hero and heroine should keep on making love until the tank ran empty. The copter would crash, narrowly missing the train but sucking the baddies out into eternity. Heroine and hero could slide from the wreckage on a river of steamy sweat, steal another car without even unlocking from each others' arms and …

never even notice that mascara was the death of me …

must be time for CSI.

nothings #12

I think the only thoughts that can or should be changed are one's own. I do not, cannot, should not have that power over others. Nor can/should I adopt their thoughts as my own. About myself.

That's just how it is with free will and confusion. I think ...

*image: Kara

under the bridge

just a bit "down" of late

*image: J.W.Waterhouse

on a MUCH lighter note ...

hanging out/thoughts to the wind

Betrayal. We think we know what it means, but I'm not so sure. In practice, it's ugly-code for surrendering to fear, rage and then revenge. It's a greedy, collective verbal-noun that validates appalling behaviour.

Because it's ok to hurt whoever hurts you.
They asked for it by starting it, right?
It’s their fault. They made you do it.
That's how it is in the real world. *snort*

Every lie contains a truth denied. I think that's kind of major. Even at first glance that's a threat to anyone who wants to stay unchallenged. Everyone who says, "This is how it is, because I say so and you're mine. I have the right." People don't exact revenge because they've been betrayed. They do it when they lose, when ego cannot face rejection and they're using anything they can to attack - usually the hand that fed them.

When I lunged for freedom, went a little crazy with it too, B seized betrayal's outrage and permission. I could have ditched his dreams and expectations differently, but that wouldn’t have changed how he felt. "I'm going to make you lose more than you ever thought possible." It was the only promise that he ever really tried to keep. And if betrayal's about breaking promises, his score was already off the scale. So, he had it coming, right? But that's just bitchy-me talk, not what I adhere to as good practice (on account of P1)

This all sounds like I did a hideously bad thing, but I didn’t.
I did the best thing.
I fell in love with someone else. My son.
His new eyes opened mine and I didn't like what I saw.


There's never a right time to say, "I don't love you, I want out."

Mostly we keep quiet, hope the mood will pass, pray fog will smother any understanding that we're lost.

I assumed I'd just keep coping, like I always had, sadly accepting without question that when things tasted sour it was all my fault. B had always said as much. But he knew well how my family had prepared me for self-condemnation. It was a lie but its guts contained a world of half-digested truth. His willingness to exploit my dismal upbringing revealed the truth of co-dependency. And it was intolerable.

When Pavlov's lab broke down, it took moments for the dogs to find their proper selves. It only took a glimpse of truth (ok, 9 months of bliss, 16 hours of birthing and an OBE*) to un-train me. Maybe I was faulty in my relationship with B - but that's an adjective, not a final definition.

Right and wrong are meaningless when they're enforced by disempowerment. The kickback, when it comes, is bound to be extreme. With hindsight, I'd change how and when I left B, but I wouldn't change that I did.

Ahhh, the complexities of choice in action – is that what it's all about? Doing our heads in over the "what ifs" gets a bad press. For all the reasons not to ponder them into a void of inactivity, they're mostly what we have every time we breathe.

*bleh* - don't mind me. I'm just thinking in the wind …

*out of body experience

*image: Chris Harris