A reader has asked if buying an obelisk is expensive, or if I just rent.
Obelisks are like Brigadoon; they appear at the moment needed, but otherwise are unattainable. That’s why I am reluctant to leave–if I do I’m not sure I could get back. I really have to be convinced that it is worth the risk.
Some people would feel stuck in this situation but I like it fine. I’ve stopped expecting anyone, besides the birds. So now, I guess, I could really be surprised!
Which is evasion: staying or going somewhere else?
- Some people stay where they are to evade what they could be.
- Others keep moving to evade who they are.
- Does it matter where I am?
Here’s a sentence I read recently:
Thoughts like these are the price one pays for living in an obelisk by the sea shore. Their consideration is the cost of rent.
I’m curious if any of you live in similar structures. Perhaps in other shapes or materials?
A chunk of the obelisk fell out when I was painting, and it sits on my desk. Do you know what obsidian feels like? It is dark, glassy, a mirror cast in blackness, not in light. The obelisk is very grounding. It channels atmospheric and astronomical energies into the earth out of the sky. Kind of like a lightening rod during a storm, but it works on more subtle energies, as well.
The tree that can sometimes be seen growing out my window, flourishes upon that same earth and air.
Soon it will be the equinox! We are going to conduct an experiment on that day. I’ll post the results next week.
Sorry I’ve been so absent these last few weeks. I was tending to the tree.
You can ask me anything anytime as a comment or at
As you know, I celebrate astronomical facts.
Today my side of the earth leans close to the sun.
Tomorrow, it begins to tilt away.
Here is a celebratory [j]gif[t] for you.
[If you don't see this image animated, click to open it!]
Happy New Year! I now operate on obelisk time, and today is January 31…one year ago I moved into my towering astronomical clock. To scald out the old and wring in the new, the birds and I took a bath. Here the birds are in their bathing caps, I in my flaming sword:
You will note that crow showed up as a parrot. I have no explanation for this; crow delights in incongruities. I trust that parrot-hood is only a temporary condition intended to confound everybody. Once we’ve grown accustomed to this guise, it’ll vanish, like the shadow of the circling bird when clouds occlude the light.
When I started this scrapbook I did not know that my measured and even conversations with the birds would become silly, intense, with fashion shows, flaming pillow notes, cupid costumes, and a very bad day for the black swan. I had no idea, when I started, what I looked like, or that an accurate depiction of my life required a queerly elaborate picture language. I discover my voice speaking to you.
Here are my ten favorite pages from the 72 I made this year (click to view):
- Beauty in ruin…a conversation with the hawk
- The FASHIONABLE BIRDS
- The stag & the unicorn
- Portraits of the odalisque as a young girl
- Learning to wait
- My swim-suit
- A WOMAN THERE WAS starring Theda Bara
- My first letter from imprisoned odalisque, Henriette
- Publicity photos from my movie
- MY MOVIE!!!!!
Which ones did you favor?
The owl says that WordPress says that if you want people to read you, you go read them and then comment with charm, enthusiasm, and sympathy so that they will be flattered enough to click on your profile to see who you are. Then, you will develop, like Jesus and the Grateful Dead, followers.
As an odalisque of course I want to be gazed upon. But the odalisque’s appeal is her sequestration. She is couched in exquisite seclusion. She is come-to, arrived-at. She does not prowl or solicit. She reclines in recumbent expectancy, like a saint awaiting the ecstasy of her god.
My scrapbook is something you–stumbled upon?
Cyberflaneur, how have you found me? I am at a distance from the world. I have nothing to offer but the sensuousness of my presence. There is no gain in me because I have distanced myself from all that is gainful. Will you come without motives of your own ascendancy? Without sycophancy? Will you come, then come again, delighting, quite simply, in me?
Why do I secret my scrapbook in a social sphere?
I have sequestered myself in this essentially inaccessible obelisk to unearth in my impossible-to-relieve state of expectancy, what it is I wait for. What is it I want as I gaze out windows that are not doors that men can open and close and journey towards?
The owl’s lids slowly shutter owl’s eyes.
When I wake up hours later, I see two yellow lanterns shine from a boat far out at sea.
Owl is still on the window-sill. Eyes open. Watching me.
I am the odalisque who lives in an obelisk. I converse with birds.