you know, i tell these stories over and over and over.
i was telling him today
“oh, i got a letter from this kid today”
i giggle too big, my face is red…
hell, my Soul is Red.
i’m flushed
i’m blushed
i try to explain
“.. the one i love”
and it just sounds like an old jazz song.
i don’t understand it either, but on with the Tale
“i kinda bubble over at him, then don’t hear from him for days… or weeks… or months (or years) until i get angry and write him off… then he connects.”
i guess i fear i’ll never hear from him again: defense is Get Angry
the age-old lesson
of
LET IT GO
there it is!
PHEW
–“i heard the news today, Oh BOY”
i was laying in bed all day today with Leo.
the last few days there has been someone else here…
i got sick when i arrived
i took it personally
i got angry (at myself)
they all started talking about allergies
and, though i would take even that as a personal problem
i let it go
“oh, i have allergies”
what the fuck?
i decided not to travel with Leo to the coast
just to stay on my own
things were gonna be different this time
but the first day
was me mostly on line
like a junky
and the next day featured TWO men comming up here
Wade and i went to the hot springs
It helped move all the phlem through my face
i slept in his arms
and a pretty pale skinned voluptous woman
who had been floating on her back
surfaced in front of me
smiled
looked in my eyes
and said
“your eyes…
they’re… so Clear…
— i think you have gotten rid of Everything”
sweet, but…. ( not the case )
wade reminded me of everyone
ex lovers and fantasy charecters
it was insane and just plaIn sad
i got terrified of him
and he was ackting like quite the rodent in the flashlight as well
but golly
when did we all get so afraid here?
i was standing in the kitchen today
Leo was standing the chicken up in the roaster thing
“dancing chicken”
something about the getting the fat out…
obviously: i like fat
he cut off some big chunks
i convinced him to dress the dancing chicken up like an ’80’s pop star
with fatty shoulder pads
so it would melt down her shoulders
and she would glisten in the stage lights
–“allllllRight”
i let him touch everything
i stood back like a good director
i knew if i touched the fat or the bird
i would have to wash my hands again
and i got paranoid about all the poison oak up here
so have been washing my hands thouroughly
one minute or more of soap and warm water a few times a day
and he already made the comment
“what are you, Lady MacBeth?”
[is it that obvious? i always thought i hid it so well… still, there is blood… on my hands]
it made me think of my time with my brother over the last few years
i was about to say
“i didn’t realize my brother was such an obsessive compulsive germ freak”
but i didn’t
because
in truth
i always knew it
my whole family is afraid
we’re all afraid
i’m afraid too.
so how come i’m the only one who pretends he’s not?
and i looked at it
many times today…
as i lay in bed with Leo
i was afraid of his breath
whatever is going on in his intestines to make his breath smell like that
i don’t want in my intestines
people tell me my breath is intoxicating
and perhaps i am better as a commodity
as an abject (i meant to type “object”)
it is pride
but i want to keep my purity
god… something in this world has to be pure
i lay in bed with him
and was wary of him:
if he hugged me
it would hurt my hand
or my spine
or my eyes (he grabs me so hard and pulls me tight so quick, sticks his chin in my occular sockets)
i was terrified of him
and i realized i always went for men i was terrified of
physically
and then used my mental prowess to tame them
(lion tamer.. what joke did i used to tell about that? Ha ha!)
best them
control them
control my fears…
ok, i don’t get it
someone please explain
after all this time
i’ve realized that i’m still afraid
i still have LOTS of fear
TONS of it
and now i don’t believe i ever didn’t..
but what has allowed me to do what i’ve done?
do what i do?
i don’t pay attention to the fear?
i don’t feed it?
i ignore it? hide it? smash it? colour it? sell it? market it? shape it and give it away?
i put it in my pocket and lie about having it at all?
–“young america, young america… he was a young american”
–“it’s enough to make me break down and cry”
yeah… Right.
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