City of Legends

I am about to head back to DC (normally a big whoop, but I made a promise to keep Candy informed when I took trips, and will dutifully record when I arrive).

On that topic.

Candy is without a doubt in my mind one of the most talented, brilliant and loving people I will ever have the pleasure to accept into my life. Do not interpret any expression of my own frustration over her complexity (she describes herself openly as "difficult") as a criticism of her or an indication that my love for her has flagged a hairsbreadth.

I have studied her poetry (even those pieces not about me), spoken hundreds of hours with her and had the honor of reading her yet-unreleased book Losing People, which I can only hope she would allow me to write a jacket blurb for. I have said before that there will come a time when she is regarded as South Africa’s greatest cultural export, and I stand on that. I have told her things out of me that no other human being has ever heard me express, and she is without a doubt the most important person in my life.

I think her decision to give me equal footing on her marvelous blog, InsideCandy, was wrong-minded, and I told her so, and I have made no attempt to limit or eliminate her right to post and comment upon my blog to her heart’s content.

To use her own expression, stolen from Moonstruck, I love her awful.

Just so you know I can write an entire post without invoking the name of Candy or bewailing my misery whilst she is busy elsewhere…oops!  Too late!

Anyway, I wanted to tell you about a young person from Weld Junior High School in Colorado.  I do not know their name yet, but their librarian is going to find out.

It seems that students were asked to look up a poet and do a report, as well as recite one of their poems, for class.  I saw visits on my activity report from a school, and on a whim, called and offered to donate some of my books to their library.  Well, they are excited!!!  The librarian is tracking down the student in question.

So, I will entertain you with more of this tale tomorrow, when I know more.  For what it is worth, it seems the poem in question was…"The Panther on the Beach".  If it had been "peppadew girl" this might be easier…as I am NOT sending a junior high school full of impressionable young minds THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES.

And, remember, I went a whole post without talking about Candy.  Damn, did it again.  (and she better smile when she reads this, because it is a real stretch bringing the funny right now)

3:45 am…eastern daylight time (9:45 am Johannesburg) An SMS (text) message from Candy speeds its way at the speed of light towards my cell phone (the time is the timestamp on the message, which may be from any of several nodes) The content (sparing you poor people the mushiness we enjoi) is "Had to go to meeting, will not be on at 11, will call later"

4:50 am…eastern daylight time (10:50 am Johannesburg) I am awakened by my alarm, check for messages (none) and stumble downstairs, glass of ice water in hand, to have my morning catchup call with Candy

4:58 am…eastern daylight time (10:58 am Johannesburg) Having checked my email, comments and FaceBook, I bring up Skype, call Johannesburg and get…Candy’s voicemail. Well, pooh. She’s probably in the next room fixing coffee or had something come up. I’ll try later.

5:09 am eastern daylight time (11:09 am Johannesburg) Checked messages again (still nothing) and I dial again…still nothing on either line. Double pooh. I leave a note in case she comes on that I am going to take a shower.

5:27 am eastern daylight time (11:27 am Johannesburg) Checked messages again, dialed again. Main phone make funny noise and dies after two rings. I try again and am greeted with busy signal, as it is still ringing from my first call. Leave good-natured voicemail on cell.

5:30 am eastern daylight time (11:30 am Johannesburg) Remembered I owed Candy a rewrite of my most recent post on her blog. Procrastinate for five minutes by playing with cat.

5:35 am eastern daylight time (11:35 am Johannesburg) Start rewrite of post.

5:47 am eastern daylight time (11:47 am Johannesburg) Finish rewrite. Congratulate self. Check messages. Try Candy’s phones again.

5:50 am eastern daylight time (11:50 am Johannesburg) Check CNN and politico.com, consider going over to Warcraft for a few.

5:59 am eastern daylight time (11:59 am Johannesburg) SMS arrives (see 3:45 am eastern daylight time) I respond, letting her know it took its time getting to me.

6:02 am eastern daylight time (12:02 am Johannesburg) I decide to write piece about the dependence we have on our technology, disguised as narrative of communications timeline.

6:19 am eastern daylight time (12:19 am Johannesburg) I finish entry and publish.

All the works I have been writing of late, for months, all of them, have been directly or indirectly of and about Ms. Candy (redcated), whom I love and adore and am devoted to. Just to make the record clear.

"I wish to announce that a miracle has just been performed. Yesterday I finished editing "As Such…" and I have, just this instant, completed the Foreword." - Candy Tothill

I hijacked this draft message from Candy (she didn’t know I was going to…but I saw it and went…what the hell…), as she is currently suffering under one of those patented "load shedding" events that Eskom likes to inconvenience people with. They regularly shut down power to entire cities, as South Africa has a problem generating enough power for their developing infrastructure.

I have gone over Candy’s edits: Excellent. She was thorough, even brutal. But I loved it. I can get lazy and sloppy, but she was willing to go toe to toe with me.

And the Foreword? I have told her that if she wishes to post it here or to her blog Inside Candy she is more than welcome. It is a beautiful piece of writing by a woman who takes my breath away with her talent.

I am honored by her words and her affections.

Over the next few days a select group of ninja wordsmiths will fan out around the world with eBook editions of the volume, for the express purpose of writing blurbs for the jacket.

Then, at 6 pm, EDT, on Sunday, March 23rd, which is the stroke of midnight into March 24th in Johannesburg, South Africa, I will activate links in several places that will make the eBook edition available as a free download to any and all who want it.

For 24 hours.

Yes, I know there will be those who will be content with the eBook and not hustle to buy the hardcopy, which will be available initially from the City of Legends, but eventually (it takes a few weeks if you don’t want to buy access like the major houses of mediocrity do) the book will be available through Barnes and Noble, Amazon, et alia. But this is something I want to share. Something I need to share. And while money is nice and would solve a few logistical problems in my life, the spiritual rewards of affirming that love is alive to the world are far greater.

Look to the skies for some surprises over the next few days. I’m just getting warmed up.

The kind souls at War of Art wrote a charming bit on the business of blogging and paid particular attention to my love and life, Candy, and her blog "Inside Candy"

War of Art discusses personal blogging

I would suggest you read this…

The other day I and my lady love were talking about everything and nothing when the Candiferous one herself said "I want to ask you a question…" which is usually a bad sign except I have done nothing to be worried about from her, at least I do not think so (she has a temper, or so I am told, but she keeps it well in my presence, or maybe I just don’t annoy or bore her as some do?)

Digression which will get back to the point: Where do you think is the first documentable evidence of my affection for the unbelievably marvelous Candy…was it back in mid-September 2007 when I posted "The Island of the Sweet Siren" on Author’s Den?

Nope.

Maybe a few weeks before that when I released the poem "Above room temperature" in which I accused her of settling for men well below her worth? Nah.

Back to the conversation…

Candy said "A few years ago you dedicated something to me on Author’s Den and I always meant to ask you why…"

So we pulled it up and there on February 18, 2006, was my timestamped first posting of "The Ronin in the Temple of Aphrodite" with the dedication "Thanks to Candy Gourlay for the inspiration (don’t ask how)." Back then she was known to me by her previous married name.

I had to be upfront with her. I was cornered, so I relied on the truth.

I explained how, as a part of my whole personal renaissance I had decided to follow my own advice from my poem "In the memory of lovers" and live by the credo to "take no pretender, again, to my bed". But I also wanted to benchmark my heart. I wanted, if I was to be alone for the rest of my days, to at least stand for a purpose, a standard.

And who better than my friend Candy? Brilliant, insightful, deep, beautiful and talented. I figured if I couldn’t have someone who lived up to Candy’s benchmark of everything, I’d just skip the next few courses. Truth!

But now her memory brought us back to that inscription and I had to confess that I had, for some years, considered her about the most perfect woman I knew, just unattainable.

I guess, if you wait long enough, and hold to your standards, a few miracles are bound to come your way.

Mine did.

(I wrote this hours ago and saved it, by accident, as a draft…won’t Candy be surprised! Now I feel I have to write yet another post…and add some new poetry over on Amomancer…)

Okay…let me clarify.

I have known the most elegant lady for several years, as a nodding and casual acquaintance.

I will be the first to admit that within moments of first encountering her and her work on Authors Den I was somewhat smitten, a state that did not ease with my continued reading of her works (I subscribed to her updates at AD and was always informed when she posted something new). She is brilliant and mercurial, intense and dark and sweet and exotic. A wonderful blend of spices too numerous and rare to appreciate with just words.

But, at the time she was married and even though my own pseudo-marriage was grinding to a bizarre death, I had made an oath to never again, for myself or another, violate the bonds of marriage (ahem…shhhh!).

I hung back, and she drifted away and soon after her divorce (okay, not overnight but I was busy licking my own wounds, thank you very much) she found another and I would not have imposed upon that for anything, I faded into the background, merely occasionally taking note of a new work or a surname change on her part.

Fast forward to this past summer when I find out her latest marriage was dead and having earth dumped over it. I did my best to position myself near the graveyard, trying not to look too opportunistic, and she made note of me. She acknowledged me. Me. (Double-take worthy of a Warner Brothers’ cartoon)

What passed over the next couple of months was a bizarre ballet of free spirits trying to define their role in the world and each others’ spheres. At times she encouraged me to seek other company. At times I would creep back into the shadows to nurse a bruised ego (and when an ego my size gets bruised, according to legend, we’re talking bruises the size of the "Cloverfield" monster’s right testicle). But I was resolute that I should, at least, linger at the periphery, hoping against hope that she might have the grace to bestow her favour upon me. Hell, a smile would be nice.

When we write our biography, it will be a strange and amusing series of chapters as to how we danced around it all. I am amazed we figured it all out, worked it all out, in the face of our own doubts, our wounds, our own human natures and those who would have warned us off or blatantly sabotaged us and our own hypergolic natures. By the way: You wasted your energy.

::fwooooosh::

But the fire burns and I, everyday, find her more charming, brilliant, magical, beautiful, desirable and miraculous than the day before. I want nothing less than to spend the rest of my life trying to make her as happy as she can be without keeling over from a massive attack of joy.

This love is what I have been waiting for, for oh so long, this is what the night has been for, to appreciate the light she brings into every corner of my being. This is the mantle I tried to place on every woman who entered orbit around me but who could not find a commonality to sustain us or a heat great enough to burn us beautiful. This is why I am a poet, to say things that might please her, that might frame all she is to me so that others can see that the fairy tale is nt only possible, it is real.

I love her without requite, without limit and without end.

But don’t worry, I still exist and I shall write and I still hold strong views on many topics, I am just deliriously drunk on Candy’s love and my love for her. I’m going to take a few decades and give her the proper treatment so many failed to.

I invite you all to join me when next month, in honor of the lady’s birthday, I realize my latest book, "As such", which is a collection of poems I wrote during our courtship. There’s some good stuff in there.

And (tapping chest) there’s now some good stuff in there, too.

My relationship with Candy is a fairy-tale romance come true.

I just had to say that, so she (and you, dear reader) know how I feel.

William has been sifting through our correspondence in search of poems for inclusion in his upcoming book ‘As Such‘. By now you’ve probably established that (a) we like each other a lot (understatement of the century); and (b) there is nothing we don’t share with each other (n-o-t-h-i-n-g).

One of the many adorable Williamisms that I’ve had the pleasure of growing accustomed to, is the way he thinks out loud to me… something which strikes me as an extension of his natural ability to communicate, together with the supernatural connection between us (I keep thinking ‘how incredible God’s plan?’.)

Anyway, last week as he re-read our old letters, he re-sent me whole conversations we’d had, to which he annexed footnotes about his present thoughts on them. How adorable?! One of these ‘recycled’ conversations included a poem I’d written 6 years ago, upon first discovering him on Authors Den in 2002. Here it is, in the context of our conversation of 21 November 2007:

I was going through some old writing from 2002 when I found something I wrote shortly after I ‘met’ you on AD:

 

observing
from afar
admiring
at a safe
distance
i fall
at the feet
of the god
sexually
wise
subliminally
innocent
he fingers me
without touch
i am a flame
trembling
feeling alive
wired
and needing
desperately
to smoke
the moment.

It’s dated 28 February 2002. Evidence that you’ve been with me all along.

I found my own words so revealing, so telling. . . because I’ve been known to speculate about love with the best of the skeptics among us. A brief glance through most of the things that I’ve ever written will bear this out. I had been one of the cynics, one of the cautious; my walls had been built a long time ago.

But when I fell in love with a man who I consider to be, quite simply, the other side of me, it was as if I remembered how to love again. Swept off my feet by the sheer power of emotion, when we initially got together, the whole thing took me quite by surprise.

I still cannot completely comprehend the depth of feeling and the synchronicty between us because much of it is wholly inexplicable. Inexplicable and miraculous and passionate and wicked!

Hell, half the time I’m amused at my own romanticism. The other half, I’m so madly in love with the poet that I can think of nothing else. Nothing.

Life is good. William is awesome.

Welcome to the end of the beginning…

officially launching, right here, right now

www.williamfdevault.com

Thanks to the amazing Candy for technical assistance, esthetic nudges and really, really good smooches.

I’ll be tweaking it for some time to come, but it’s a start of a retooling of my web presence.