Ready for A Happy New Year!

Hello and thank you, old friend for coming and visiting

Frau Kolb and The Talkinggrid, again.  We return to each other, like lovers seeking stray kisses across a mountainous duvet.

“Darling!” I squeal.  Arms link.  Hugs melt away tension, raise spirits.  We hug.

“Most sincere and honored being!!! How delighted I am to see you!!!”

Take my hand, let us sit, eat.  Feast!  Drink and be open with me, unlock the doors of your soul.  I am waiting, receptive yet patient and full of an uncanny ease that comes from persevering, past exception and desire, leaving Death waiting and returning to the world of dish washing and stir climbing.  Home life is central now.

We haven’t spoken in months!  Where does the time go?  “I went to to the bank where The River Styx flows.  I was on the ferry amid the putrid stench of rotten expectation and desire.  Where were you?”

My mirror image, you might say:

I’ve returned.  I am here to entertain you, to remind you to laugh at my mistakes if your own are not juicy enough.  I am here to nurse you, feed you off the teat of my intellect, regardless if you judge my skills to be fine or not.  I am your friend.  I host you and care about your children even if you haven’t had any yet.  I care.

I am moved by your eloquence.

We haven’t gotten cosy, talked about the intimate details of our lives, investigated the lineage that defines us as parallel figures in history, in ages.  We haven’t deconstructed how magical it is that our orbits ever touched and that we both know the magical feeling of touching each other’s souls.  We haven’t undressed and danced in the moonlight of the Jersey shore, but there is always the possibility.

We have met, many so many times that you think you know me.  I hate to inform you that that is an illusion.  You know the me that has floated up on the internet for you to see and dissect, at will.  I invite you to take apart an image, this season.  Shred one of  your hard won traditions, a sacred “cow,” try to buy nothing… give it all… love like love is on the brink of extinction and you and only you can save it.  Mirror me, if you please, become the person you dreamed you might be.

I said my goodbyes and then was granted a coda which will extend into the ether, diminishing only when the applause die down.  The applause haven’t begun, yet I expect they will start soon, thereby allowing me to enjoy another year, or two, or ten, twenty works—sort of—but I’m just getting started.  I am open to hanging out at art gallery openings in forty or fifty years when I am beyond the silver citizen stage and have become pure social gold,  a butterfly made of metal.  I intend to be the old lady with a gaggle of admiring suitors and invitations to spare.  You know her, right?

Mirror each other’s most gracious gestures.  Learn to imitate the ones we admire and let leaders be representative of our best traits.  Don’t be afraid to be shallow, as long as you present a polished surface onto which others can project super human qualities.  Let’s look to each other for inspiration. Be better.  Be healthy.  Smile.  Eat more veggies.  Improve yourself the way you polish the specks on the surface of your super smart phone.  Shine!

Sincerely,

Frau Kolb and The Talkinggrid

PS: To my friends in Berlin.  I love you.  Christmas markets are sacred.  I’m sending love from Southern California.