when the courtesan sang

it seems like it doesn't matter what we say, what intentions we have, even whatever efforts we make in the same direction. there's still this dead air that's hanging between us. regardless of how much we would wish it any other way. doesn't mean i don't miss you (more than ever, perhaps). it's just...my, how distant you feel.

when i ran dry

my words have outrun me. once again this silly blog feels useless. like an ancient riverbed, my orthographic mind is parched and dry. so for now i think i'll let this blog lie silent. what a funeral.

when i was the bluest light

if that's the way it is, then that's the way it is.

when i was a postman

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists:
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loveing me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

-neruda

when i was hopelessly poor

you called me earlier, a bit drunk, and told me you miss me.

the idea just struck me to ask you if it was okay for me to come and see you wherever you were. i didn't ask you, though.

to tell the truth, i really wish you wanted to see me. i really do. even if we just sit in a coffee shop and not say anything to each other, except maybe some passing chatter.

"i was alone and freezing still trying hard to understand you..."

and looking at pictures of you only reminds me of every curve of your body, every whim of your fingers, the rhythm of your breathing, feeling you beneath me. i miss you a lot, y'know.

i' be lying if i said it didn't hurt a bit.

when we were laughing in the bitter face of death

this was kind of a free association/stream of consciousness thing i wrote a little while ago.
--
Death was in the air and we were laughing. Can you believe that? Laughing! But it’s okay because you see we’re on this train and as far as I can tell it’s not going anywhere so I turn to Palomino and ask him what time it is and he leans over and sticks his wrist in my face, showing me his watch. It had no hands and was filled with sand and said TIME IS NOW and I called it his Zen watch but right now I wanted the time, not now. Now I have. Now I will always have. But what I always seem to lack is time; the ruin of seconds past; I see the trail I’ve left behind me but I can only look back if I’m moving forward, no? So I ask him again, “What time is it?” and again he shows me “TIME IS NOW” which got me wondering, if now is now what is the past but a pre-now?
What is then but post-now? So then I realized life is a three-stage process: pre-now, now, post-now. And I felt heavy and insightful and figured that everything really turns in to everything, so I thought about Lila and when she left and I realized that my now was here and she was just a fossil, a fermented, hung and dried pre-now. And I thought about how Pal and I, we’re so young and death seems so daunting: we’ve got so much shit left to do! And I said to myself death is just post-now meaning it is not yet come and that, hey, we’re still breathing and laughing, right? So when I asked Palomino what time is it? and he presented me with TIME IS NOW he was really just saying this is what it is – there is no ruin in the present. Lila was gone already and death was lingering somewhere off in the apocalyptic distance and now…now I guess it’s time to let as many nows pass, putting an immeasurable amount of distance between here and where I came from.
So when Pal turned to me and said “Time to get off the train,” I though “Now” and stepped off onto the platform, crossed the street, and was met full-on by a Dodge mini-van bursting with family, and the last word I remember saying before I met death was “Now” because really, nothing, neither the ruin of love nor the beauty of laughter nor the full impact of death can come at any other time but Now. And hey, it even hurt a little.

when i wanted to um, hm

i say something. you roll your eyes. i giggle. you laugh.

you know what i mean.

when i had a dream, crispy crispy benjamin franklin

i had this dream last night and you were in it and i don't remember much of it, only segments, but i remember there being a dance or lip-sync competition and i was really jealous of the guy who won so i kept saying he was bad and then you and i were somewhere with someone and i was really upset and i just wanted to hug you and have you assure me i had no reason to be jealous about this guy, even though he entered the contest on a fluke and beat out all the competition. i don't know, there was something about him and i think i felt threatened by him or something or other. and Greek was in the dream for some reason. whether you were speaking or it what, i can't remember. but i know it was there. and then you got in my car with my family and we all went to nordstroms but you stayed in the car and i went in with my dad and i was looking at coats and hats and i wanted to try the hats on and i felt silly because i hadn't asked you to come inside with me; i wanted you to see me trying them, even though i know you would have just laughed at me relentlessly (which is okay because i know you love me).

and then i woke up.