As a child, I once visited my dad’s friend’s family. I think there were three kids and in the basement the man had carved out a workspace for each child out of wood and chicken wire. That image stayed with me which is perhaps why as an adult warehouse life resonated with me! The notion of being secure in one’s own creative world and yet surrounded and stimulated by other creative humans is an artist’s dream!
This song, written two decades ago, has several layers: it’s about having a surprise crush; it’s also about the joys of collaboration – finding the best friend or soul mate or killer roommate whose box of tricks has a keyhole in which your key, the one you’ve worn around your neck all these years, turns easily. Inside the box are photographs, you take one back to your desk and gazing at it, begin your story, which turns into the story of Us. . .
Well, at least if I need warmth, I can burn some books.
When he left me, I was devastated; from the perspective of my domestic queen the question loomed: how could he reject such a paradigm of household perfection?
But the destructive lady thought differently. She saw how deftly I handled adversity. She noticed how a part of me leaped with the packing up of boxes, the purging of cookware. She saw how devastation made room for new growth.
And I, in turn, was indebted to her for keeping life vital and exciting.
Now I am pulled towards familiar comforts. Destructive lady says, hang on, don’t forget me, I am the key to so much – creativity, sexuality, as well as chaos and demolition. Don’t neglect my role in your life, or else!
The idea comes. How about letting the destructive lady pick something substantial to pursue? And if she is occupied with something powerful she can really sink her teeth into maybe just maybe lady #1 can go about her needed business without so much drama and fanfare.