07.12.07 - 12:38 am

he bows. his bend is deep and dignified even as his cape of velvet black feathers rises to expose pale flanks. springy wires topping his head tap the ground, one, two, one, two. the showmans stage is a patch of earth that hes cleared of forest debris before scattering beakfuls of roots, like petals in a brides path. his audience: a row of skeptical females fidgeting on an overhanging limb. their attention is fleeting, so he launches into his routine, toeing forward on skinny legs like a ballerina en pointe. he pauses for dramatic effect, then moves into the jungle boogie. his neck sinks and his head bobs, head wires bouncing on the offbeat. he hops and shakes, wings flapping or tucked in, chin whiskers fluttering. his performance has the desired effect. the nearest female quivers in invitation, and with a nasal blast the dancer jumps her. feathered commotion blocks the view, and its unclear whether the romp was successful. but no matter: another show will begin soon.

its fascinating to me how i can view her as just another girl. someone ive seen passing by. someone i used to know way back when. there is a distinct separation of any emotional connection. like looking at an arbitrary bicycle tied to a rack. just nothing there. i discovered in the car the other night that i infact have become separated. its done. shes finally out of there and gone. a year and a half? is that how long it really took? well, some six months shy of the two years id given myself. regardless. inspite of this sudden understanding of my emotional disengagement, there happens to still linger a moment of discomfort. reading. seeing. its like reading about some celebrity couple, something so insatiably familiar but so not involved in anything relevant to my own life. but instead of being able to casually turn the page without the slightest consideration, theres a brief moment of pain in my torso. a strange, intimate sensation of....jealousy? no. longing? no. an indescribable awareness of something lost and in use by someone else. why should i feel like this? where does it come from and why does it linger? no amount of rationalization has provided an answer. it just remains a curious twinge of discomfort, and then dissipates. its almost amusing after it passes. what the hell was that? sort of moment. its all that remains. im satisfied with this residual knot, its better than whats been before.

it gets really annoying trying to work through that in writing. annoying to reread. to think about.

at some point tomorrow, ill write about the updates. the move. the neighbors. the girls. the plot twists and devices used in human interaction.

hold.