aporia heights: Beauty, Morals and Voluptuousness in the England of Oscar Wilde

I dream about old houses, places where no one has lived for years. In my dreams, I visit the places alone, or with shadowy night creatures I know are part of me even as I dream. The houses speak to me of the lives they have witnessed, but that is not what enthralls me. They were the canvas of time and space that held and framed and kept the life that went on inside of them with the knowledge of a pregnant being.

Last night, I walked through the rooms of a great old Victorian, observing the layout, planning its restoration. I long to dress and furnish these rooms. I caress the banisters as I walk up the stairs. I try to remember every detail, but what is left to me in waking is not detail, but the feeling of a presence.

How can I take you there?

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Beauty, Morals and Voluptuousness in the England of Oscar Wilde