I had to title today this, because that is how all the signs are labeled in the hostel. It will say SEX SEX SEX in big letters and then underneath something like "clean up after yourself, your mom doesn't live here". Hilarious.
That photo up top is my attempt at a panoramic. But I can never stitch them together right and so they come out a bit....more magical? (if that's possible). Sorry it's so small. I have to learn how to do these computer things on my own these days. Want to see some pictures?
My hands still smell like goat cheese from cleaning that kitchen. But I like Andrew, the other half of the couple. Seems like anything harsh can be said easily in an Aussie accent, and sound like it's coming off nice. Maybe I'll use it. Guess what?!
I recycled the glass without breaking it! Yep, I slyly found a space where there was space, and slipped them all in there. It was a great 4th of July present!
.:.:.
So the craziest thing about being on the mountain is that the entire time you are spent admiring, gasping in the other side, of the valley and how does the mountain you are ON feel like?
.:.:.
I did better things yesterday. I hiked further than I should have. I sat on the bench that I sat on six years ago when I first wrote about this land. I hiked up foggy hills. I ate dinner with the travelers. I listened too.
.:.:.
Also, let me know-since these posts are so long...would it be easier to have a picture for each little spoonful, or a picture a day??
.:.:.
I think this is the thing I've remembered best. I think it stuck to every membrane in my mind: Gimmelwald.
.:.:.
They want me to be sociable. To do things with other people. Don't they realize the Mountain and I are on honeymoon...luna de miel....and they are interrupting?!
.:.:.
music is the furthest retreat and nearest magnet. Woke up with perfect circle's dead bodies song or whatever stuck in my head.
.:.:.
these mountains are the closet things that ever existed.
.:.:.
One of the coolest things I saw yesterday was a couple sitting on a bench. The couple didn't talk, or eat. They just sat dumbfounded in front of the world, which lay before them in mountain form. I hiked past them a bit, and joined them, down the path. They didn't know.
Another sweet thing was an old couple having a picnic with wine somewhere in the meadow. "Great spot for a picnic" I say, pretending to be an Aussie. "Just as long as it doesn't rain!" they say, not pretending to be British. It reminded me of one of the most touching stanzas I've ever heard, by Otis Pig: good things are happening all around, as long as I don't look down (correct me if i'm wrong)
what they didn't know is that even if it did rain, it would still be a great spot for a picnic.
Did I want any of these things? Another by my side to take it in? No. I'm not wanting. A lonely man sat outside my door yesterday and spoke of how much love this place gives him, but he has no one to give it to. I'm not ready to share it. I'm giving it to myself. Perhaps this is the most loving thing. Maybe in seven years, I might bring someone else. or not. Haha. Maybe when the honeymoon is over.
.:.:.
(Maybe everything is fleeting. Like super fleeting. Like the dust underneath the cherry blossom in late spring. Perhaps all we do is in the arms of others.
.:.:.
I have the overriding feeling that I have lived for too long and have experienced too many things. I don't just want to continue to befuddle them, but still I ask "why me?!" "Why do I get to be apart of so many beautiful things?" The man sitting in front of me is fat, there's no real way to get around that, and as he sits (he needs 2 seats), he disperses many tiny air-thingies and they fall into my water like cornflakes. I drink them, while watching them and wonder if I will inherit his fat. I remember stirring ants into my coffee in Costa Rica and drinking them. I judge him, but he may just be the most interesting part of my day. He drinks gin with no tonic and may be the only person smiling on this plane. I do not know his name, or if he knows anything about starry skies, I just know he comes to fairy land with me.
I think my problem over the last couple of years has been under-stimulation; maybe that is why I'm seeking out the most jagged cliffs and roughest lovers to penetrate my concentrate brain and get it to stir. This gets dicey because I end up seeking out whatever is the most stimulating, whether it is the good kind or not. I admit I have been fascinated by cruelty and diseases only the mind can experience. The flight is bumpy and it does scare me. The smartest thing about Caydence is that she screams her head off when the slightest thing is wrong. Caydence Elizabeth, a girl I could already learn from. If anything, this will save her. Lguit Builder says that maybe some people will never have to be alone. He called it a luxury. I didn't understand and lately I have been so cynical of couples; how used to each other they are and obviously brainwashed. I want nothing to do with it and therefore I feel as if I am getting better. I want to get married on my golden year (year 23) and tell whoever is still interested to meet me at the first snow in their best suit. When I arrive, I will greet them politely, and then run for the swiss hills. It's thoughts like these which tell me I am getting better. Which tell me I am getting worse. Like a cornflake.
.:.:.
I should be relaxing into jet lag, but I feel as if I am getting my first real live pony tomorrow, and can't sleep.
.:.:.
Lguit Builder says this book is very good, quite good, can't put it down, you are right. But you see, there are a few things I can't do. One is watch movies about affairs, Two is think about loss, and three is die yet-because I have a mountain to go see. I cannot read your book at my state of recovery. Because, if I do commit suicide, it will be with Ytoa, in the oven while we discuss how we saved each other's lives. And that's not now. And none of this will happen. But, the book is great. .:.:.
How to access these vessels.
The ones that unlock meaning. V.R. Mooshe, professional meaning locksmith. Who also gives meaning all the space in the sky, and allows it to hide, if it wants beacuse it's shadow hasn't come out to play.
.:.:.
The most violent thing I saw today was a spider web by the second waterfall on the way to Murren. This little spider was eating a larger bug. I have no knowledge of what kind. Looked like a small coleoptra. I watched as the spider strangled the bug with it's still waiver legs, hugging it hatefully, and sucking its head in. The bug kept trying to pull itself off the pieces of the web, and so the spider kept breaking them loose, this whole process was very slow-and I had no idea an excuse to rest my heavily beating heart wold turn so glum. It took me way too long to get to Murren. My heart kept running itself into a frenzy, I don't know if it's the altitude, too much sun, the fact that the wasser I just drank was from a trough or just that this place is out of control. Anyways
I think I may know what that bug felt like, and the question was whether or not I should do something about it. It didn't take me too long to decide
no.
Only about as long as it takes to decide that someone should die. My reasoning was that this little big would go off into the world, if I had knocked it off its cool railing, and be forever fearful-that it would forever mistrust things, looking over its shoulder
for a spider on the pry.
I thought it was better off dead.
I didn't have a lot of faith in that bug.
I never thought for a second that it would go on to become a better, stronger
bug
and create smarter offspring.
Not until two hours later, which perhaps was the first time that I tasted the soul of a vegetable, the most seductive carrot.
Equation. Spider and I are full. I no longer like spiders. and for a little bit, my heart and that bug's heart beat at the same pace.
Later on, trying on my British accent, I hoped I wasn't the spider. I was young, and my ears and heart not fully formed.
This thought, caramelized with others, helped pay my ticket out when I was stuck in oversized baggage. But that was in '89.
.:.:.
I am still in the shocked lull that Gimmelwald administers. Petra asks me if I would like coffee, I say no, but hers looks good. I tell her I will tell people to be quiet if they are too loud and she looks like I just told her I am really a man. "You'll 'ave to use your big theatre voice!" she says. (Those of you who know me, know I'm up for the challenge.) When will people realize that people, especially actors, are not ever what they seem. Anyways. I could stay in this lull, but I have a woodpecker in my bellybutton telling me I have to do things: like hike, go, do.
But then I remember, I came here to look at the mountain. So I have to remember
nothing needs to happen
nothing needs to happen
nothing needs to
nothing needs
(i need)
Nothing to happen nothing
ever needs to happen
here.
(This was slightly stolen from Otis Pig's page 13, but if you didn't realize-your face is slightly stolen too, from your parents!
.:.:.
Happier is the girl who misses something than the girl who misses nothing. Somewhere. She is not here. / On my wall are a million letters. From lovers and leavers of this place. They are all over my wooden plank ceiling in dozens of marker types. My new goal is to leave something...fabulous. What's wierd about this place is that you can point your finger (my least favorite word) towards the mountain, and the mountains come and meet you. You truly cannot tell the difference. Whats weird is that when someone compliments the place, I feel like the deepest part of myself is fulfilled, like its my daugther, or latest truth. Then, why am I so nervous? I am. I shake a little.
Because....
the mountain keeps taking my breath away?
I am satisfied?
there is no lock on my door?
Nervous because
I wouldn't mind being shot here?
Because I must write everything down?
Because this bench is smooshed into the ground and still a ruby berry grows between the wood.
Nervous because I stare and stare at the etchings in the rock face and I keep finding more waterfalls?
I think God spent too much time on Gimmelwald and left the rest of the world to cry?
I've already met 2 friends and Petra gave me a hug?
nervous because
I intentionally had a day without a camera
I found a pregnant belly in the mountain?
the mountain is pleased to see me?
because
my pen moves as fast as my heart?
i might fall off this cliff?
death has no meaning
here? (and I don't know where they bury their dead)
because this is
enough good and enough true.
i just realized I am alive?
cities still exist?
Because when I revisited that spider web it was not there and a flower hung in its place.
Because I have fallen-rolled down the yellow and purple wildflowers, lumped over the cows and their bells laughed at by farmers "ze rolly polly" because I have fallen for this place and don't know how to tell it.
Hello to my 2 readers. I should send you both a button. Events of the day:
1. Working in the kitchen
2. Hiking to Murren, easier this time.
3. Buying pens and butter
4. Realizing maybe I should start meeting people
5. Sleeping in the sun
6. Having Andrew teach me how to fire the wood stove powered hot tub.
7. Staring at the mountain. On the fourth day. I noticed glaciers.
.:.:.
There is a gorge thousands of feet down with a metal strip going across it: you can put on helmet and boots and walk it. This is where I want to say my vows
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I always used to get upset when my lovers would dine me (or Dutch us) and instead of looking at me across the table, their eyes would wander. Well, if we were sitting that that here. And your back was to the mountain, my eyes would wander. Seriously wander.
.:.:.
I am warming up to this Aussie couple. They seriously look and act like two wallabies. Maybe that means I act like a scorpion. (I've never seen a wallaby).
Dreams of V.R. Mooshe
I was with Lsocc and I missed him. Everything perilous that happened between us, I dreamt, in the dream, within a dream. I hate dreams like these. Today I will ask if they can be taken away.
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