Greeting fair readers! Summer is around the corner–that corner on the lower right-hand side of your calendar, the one you are about to take between your fingers, lift, tear or turn.
Come summer, odalisques feel far less alien in the world as everyone wears scant clothing and lounges about drinking beverages, staring absent-mindedly and intently (at irregular intervals) into a brazen sky. When the sun is dazzling bright and temperatures escalate, even the most persistent gloom is a refreshing shadow.
This summer, I have some scrapbooking plans. One reader has anonymously asked how I got into my obsidian obelisk. I will try to answer this question by Fall. Other topics planned include MOVIE NIGHTS, a stunning exposé of my SWIMSUIT, and a peek inside my REFRIGERATOR.
The owl approves of these plans, as they include several popular tags: FILM, FASHION, and FOOD, all of which begin with the letter F.
Are there questions you have for an odalisque, or, more specifically, The Odalisque?
Please leave a comment or email me if there are pressing issues you’d like me to wring through my word press. My email address is below, and below that below, you will find the comment area.
Thank you for looking. Thank you.
PS: Chatter chatter starlings chatter. Odalisque Odalisque are you going to the sea shore? Am I going to the seashore? Am I? Or does my expectation fly o’er the hills?
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.
People who have lived in towers:
Vita Sackville-West (wannabe poet)
Rapunzel (ensorcered prisoner)
the joker and the thief (watchmen)
Please tell me more. Particularly if they liked living in their tower.
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