Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Thursday, October 25, 2007
I hope you know what you are doing
"I love it!" he said. "I just love it!"
And then we kissed our first kiss soon after that. He tasted of salted sunflower seeds (his secret weakness, as we would learn later). His tongue was thin and pointy and intelligent. I didn't remember leading him to the bedroom, only that we were there already, lying on the crumpled blue bedcover, his fingers, my fingers, the small hollow inside his elbow and the vein pulsing in it. I thought I could see a faint radiation of heat where our skins touched. Did his hair smell of lemons? In my hurry I tore a loose button off his shirt. (Later we would laugh about that.) The back of his ear-stud rasped my hand, raising a weal. He brought it to his mouth and licked it. The small mirrors embroidered into the bedcover pressed their cool disks against his bare back, then against mine. His nipples were brown and hard as apple seeds in my mouth.
Then his hands were on mine, tight, stopping me as I tugged on his zipper.
"Don't. It isn't safe. I didn't expect this. I don't have anything with me. And I take it you don't either…."
The blood rocked so hard in the hollows of my body, I feared I'd break open. He had to repeat himself before I could understand the words. I shook my head vaguely, not caring. I wouldn't let go. My body, thwarted so long, had seized on wildness like a birthright. A part of me cried, You're insane. I pushed my face against him, his chest hairs wiry against my tongue, until finally his hands were gone. I could feel fingers, their drowning grip on my hair. I heard him say something. The words were too close, out of focus.
Later I would think we had started with God. As in God I hope you know what you're doing.
And then we kissed our first kiss soon after that. He tasted of salted sunflower seeds (his secret weakness, as we would learn later). His tongue was thin and pointy and intelligent. I didn't remember leading him to the bedroom, only that we were there already, lying on the crumpled blue bedcover, his fingers, my fingers, the small hollow inside his elbow and the vein pulsing in it. I thought I could see a faint radiation of heat where our skins touched. Did his hair smell of lemons? In my hurry I tore a loose button off his shirt. (Later we would laugh about that.) The back of his ear-stud rasped my hand, raising a weal. He brought it to his mouth and licked it. The small mirrors embroidered into the bedcover pressed their cool disks against his bare back, then against mine. His nipples were brown and hard as apple seeds in my mouth.
Then his hands were on mine, tight, stopping me as I tugged on his zipper.
"Don't. It isn't safe. I didn't expect this. I don't have anything with me. And I take it you don't either…."
The blood rocked so hard in the hollows of my body, I feared I'd break open. He had to repeat himself before I could understand the words. I shook my head vaguely, not caring. I wouldn't let go. My body, thwarted so long, had seized on wildness like a birthright. A part of me cried, You're insane. I pushed my face against him, his chest hairs wiry against my tongue, until finally his hands were gone. I could feel fingers, their drowning grip on my hair. I heard him say something. The words were too close, out of focus.
Later I would think we had started with God. As in God I hope you know what you're doing.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Dreams
I understood.
Will it hurt? I whispered.
Will it hurt a great deal?
He lashed his tail. The air was the color of old telegraph wire.
Will it at least be quick? His scales winked yes. From somewhere smoke rolled in to cover him. Or was the smoke part of what is to come? Will it happen soon?
A small irritation in the glint from his eyes. In the world he inhabited, soon had little meaning. Once again I'd asked the wrong question. He began to undulate away.
His tongue was a thin pink whip. I had the absurd desire to touch it. Wait! How can I prepare? He swiveled the flat oval of his head toward me. I put out my hand. His tongue--why, it wasn't whiplike at all but soft and sorrowful, as though made from old silk.
I think he said, There is no preparation other than understanding. What must I understand?
Death ends things, but it can be a beginning, too.
A chance to gain back what you'd botched.
Can you even remember what that was? I tried to think backward.
It was like peering through a frosted window.
He was fading. A thought flowed over my skin like a breath.
But only if you seize the moment.
Only if-- Then he was gone.
Last night the snake came in my dreams again.
Will it hurt? I whispered.
Will it hurt a great deal?
He lashed his tail. The air was the color of old telegraph wire.
Will it at least be quick? His scales winked yes. From somewhere smoke rolled in to cover him. Or was the smoke part of what is to come? Will it happen soon?
A small irritation in the glint from his eyes. In the world he inhabited, soon had little meaning. Once again I'd asked the wrong question. He began to undulate away.
His tongue was a thin pink whip. I had the absurd desire to touch it. Wait! How can I prepare? He swiveled the flat oval of his head toward me. I put out my hand. His tongue--why, it wasn't whiplike at all but soft and sorrowful, as though made from old silk.
I think he said, There is no preparation other than understanding. What must I understand?
Death ends things, but it can be a beginning, too.
A chance to gain back what you'd botched.
Can you even remember what that was? I tried to think backward.
It was like peering through a frosted window.
He was fading. A thought flowed over my skin like a breath.
But only if you seize the moment.
Only if-- Then he was gone.
Last night the snake came in my dreams again.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Untitled
Did it matter, then, she asked herself, walking toward Bond Street. Did it matter that she must inevitably cease, completely. All this must go on without her. Did she resent it? Or did it not become consoling to believe that death ended absolutely? It is possible to die. It is possible to die.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
White Nights
"But that I should feel any resentment against you, that I should cast a dark shadow over your bright, serene happiness!...That I should crush a single one of those delicate blooms which you will wear in your dark hair when you walk with him! Oh no- never, never! May your sky be always clear, may your dear smile be always bright and happy, and may you be for ever blessed for that moment of bliss and happiness which you gave to another lonely and grateful heart...Good Lord, only a moment of bliss? Isn't such a moment sufficient for the whole of a man's life?"
Change
Change. we don't like it, we fear it. But we can't stop it from coming. We either adapt to change, or we get left behind. It hurts to grow. Anybody who tells you it doesn't is lying. But here's the truth. sometimes the more things change, the more they stay the same. And sometimes...oh sometimes change is good.
Sometimes...change is everything.
Sometimes...change is everything.
Saturday, October 06, 2007
Message from a Zen master.
You are missing the rea life. Use more energy. Then fresh energies will flow. Just don't be a miser. Use them today; let today be complete unto itself, tomorrow will take care of itself, don't be worried about tomorrow. The worry, the anxiety, the problem, all simply show one thing: that you are not living right, that your life is not yet a celebration, a dance, a festivity. Hence, all the problems in your life.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Untitled
I say I love you, but you say you want to have freedom.
Why is freedom more important than love? Without love freedom is naked. Why can’t love live with freedom? Why is love the prison for freedom? How many people live in this prison then?
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