Saturday, December 25, 2010


She doesn't exist. Save for in the recesses of his mind and in stories told or written. Her impression first appeared in the reflection of Beautiful Water. An idea of something never lost, for it was never found, and never would be in A War To End All Wars. The impossibility of a perfect fit, including the people who would enter his life with her, In-Love-In-Law. Her body's Gravity, holding him more powerfully than Earth's. An initial encounter based upon being needed at the right time, creating a brief - and endearing - moment of culture shock... she tells him he shouldn't ask for candy, but Lollies, Stupid. A comparative and (mostly) honest analysis of how real women have enamored him in A-M-L-C-S. The anguish of a realization that she might be real, he might know who she is, but he's no clue where she exists other than the Window to his imagination. The visualized progression via the lustful warmth of Merlot and the comforting warmth of coffee, Vitis Coffea. Her very Image powerful in its inspiration. A beauty, inside and out, from visage to Décolletage.

She doesn't exist. A tactile sensation created only by imagination. But he takes her hand anyway, And They Dance... as long as the moment can and will allow. There is a fear, perhaps a realization, that nothing of her lingering impression will be left After Paris. An awareness that despite a desire as strong as the Sun, he will only bear reluctant witness to a Star Fall. A quiet mind, engulfing a quiet heart, where the only sound heard is a softly-played Requiem for a Satellite of Zeus. It's a sad song, but one that encourages him to take a hard look in the Mirror.

She doesn't exist. It doesn't matter; her idea is all he needs. He takes solace in the realization that An Absence of Proof is not a proof of absence. She doesn't exist. She's all he wants for Christmas.


  1. To know what one wants for Christmas is a gift in itself.

    Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!!!

    God bless.

  2. I'm not clicking on all that at this time of night. Or any time, really. What is this, a bibliography? Christ...

  3. Wherever you may be on the slippery path between the 'existential' and the self-referential, I wish you a very merry Christmas and happy holidays, Jeff.

  4. She exists, just not quite as you 'see' her. These are astounding pieces. One day, I'll show them to her.

  5. Whaddya mean? I exist! My mirror says so!

  6. haha. some good responses here. the time is coming, maybe you can build her...i'm sure you;ve got some dimensions in mind, too?