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Vertical Prose


December 5th, 2004

lost in the crowd @ 01:34 pm

Current Music: living in an abandoned firehouse with you -- magnetic fields

he moved his hands over my body
stopping over my heart
"you've got a cold spot there"

the massage set out to be an hour and a half
but when i'd given him one two weeks before
i worked for three hours...

so... so did he.

when i walked to his house that morning
the sky was clear and bright
leaving his house nearly four hours later
the sky had turned heavy
not really dark
but so thick
grey
with lots of silver

it just felt odd..

i walked into the castro
and made a phone call

there's this guy i've been meaning to see
and as it happens
he lived pretty close to where my newest obsession is...



i remember talking about him on the couch:
' oh fuck, he's not a Leo is he? what's his birthday '

"i don't know... oh, no... i do: sometime in February.."

' PHEW '


but he's got it anyway
(as only dreams can)

to make me want to be so real for him
to make me want to dig him up and sling him into the air
and fly around with him
playing in the tree tops
exploding in the night sky


We got to the Dickens Fair about an hour and a half before it closed

the massage had left my body feeling so powerful and vulnerable and weak
-- Paul had lifted my shoulderblades off of my body and hung them from the ceiling
"you've got the most flexible shoulders of anyone i've ever worked on... it's amazing... you'r shoulder is coming right off your body"
'that's coz they're not blades... they're wings'

he put them on a spit and turned them
something underneath keeping it warm

my body heaved with a little shriek
and i started coughing profusely


The Dickens Fair smelled like heaven
like every child's ideal memory of the beauty and joy of Christmas (forget about the rest)
i felt like i was in England
i felt like i was in Germany, in Cologne, before the BearenNacht, with Yacov
walking around the town square
eating dense cakes and drinking mulled wine

' where's the mulled wine? '
i asked to myself and the giant 6'8" man standing next to me
he didn't know
but he saw the hot buttered rum
and we went
... that and a hot toddy...

what is this place?

i feel like i should be on stage

i want to cry

where's robert?
where's my costume?
i want to dance at Fezziwig's

where's my lover?



i wandered through the brilliant smells
bad accents
beautiful facial hair
and men with long manes
damn, couldn't i live..

Tim (the giant) followed behind me
as i flew through
lost in the memories and feelings
wishing i were dressed properly to be in the moment
how would i get there?
i'm outside of all this in my '70s leather jacket and leather shirt and courderoys and red-wing steel-toed leather boots
heavy boots
keeping me on the ground
eat step pulls me back down
belly big
rolling through the crowd

where's my lover?

Someone who looked like Robert
but with two big braids
went walking by
i turned quickly to follow
stopped and said so to Tim
' he looked like an old lover of mine '
" i'm sure he wasn't... if he were, he would have stopped... Don't you think?"
' i'm not so sure... '
i followed him til i heard him speak
and it wasn't...

where's my lover?

what's this feeling?

i certainly haven't been getting fucked much
but i've been spending lots of time with my body and emotions lately

' when my heart opens wide Life becomes more vivid.. i can taste everything... the colours all have meanings... and when i come down.. my heart hurts... a physical pain in my chest '
" i understand the rest, but not the part about hurt... "
said the newest interesting spiritual jewish man i was meeting
while i drove him through the windy dark mountian roads
to the hermitage


i lost Tim somewhere in the saw dust and crowds
i walked into a Haberdashery
a whole display of glass fountain pens
what?
amazing
this one?
oh...

one made in Mexico
big and clunky
the other in Italy, Merano
some island near Venice where all the glass is made
"these are Aventurine glass"
' i only know that as a stone.. '
"the gold at the tip there, that's the Aventurine.. the crush it up into the glass"
' yes... ' and imagine how wonderful it would be to write with that?
only $20! so many places would like me to drop my money here
here
here
here i am happy to
stories
and eruptions of anger
i paid and walked out from the bickering friends in period clothing

where's my lover?

maybe it's getting back to where it used to be
am i a virgin again?

it's about making love
and when he said he was going to keep fucking me til i popped out a baby...
Dad?

where's my lover?

i came here to find...

Robert walked by
: it's not him
he's just in all the costumes and bad accents
and scents...
look at the way his hips role

past the band
the second band
the greek resturant
the japanese puzzleboxes
-- we can't figure out how to get out

back in the main square
apple-cinamon spice

a cast of characters had assembled to perform
and there he was
back behind the rest
up against the wall
head freshly shaven
stache and beard highlighted darkly by the three piece suit
memories of my lover at the age of 17
art teacher in england
always these suits
stout little man
the belly
his eyes catch mine and he nods
i can't speak
he doesn't act like he wants to speak
he's in character to prepare for his play
i'm too bashful
but it's important he's seen me
here
to see him

apart from the other people i watch him acting

playing are roles
i turn to Tim
' he likes playing the bad guy... always fun to be Evil... '
i don't believe in evil
i'm trying to understand love
as he screams at a pennyless old beggar who's laughing at him
and runs past me with stress and anger
affected, of course
it's a play
or anything as real



i saw him
and like my lover
just seeing him from a far made me proud that i loved him
made me proud that i had touched him
that i had put a smile on his face
that i had been here, and he had seen me, and he knew i would do this for him

i've done nothing
glass pen
we left the sawdust and facial hair and mulled wine behind us


obsession
a gift from the heart
" it's cold "
closed when not around its flame

the game of love
dominance
subserviance
no
giving
worship
it was so much easier with those cats
to please
to please

"you know, he's married, Steve's his Husband"
i cringe, i hate words like that
i never believe in not being able to love someone
just because someone else does

i had five windows open on my computer searching for him when i came to write this
and it doesn't even matter if i don't see him again
this love
this obsession
this is for me
even when i've shared it with my lover
it certainly didn't bring us together
though i don't know what else to do
but be a boy with him
sometimes a man
sometimes a woman

but these prizes i should keep to myself
i scare my objects of desire into Nihlism, don't i, babe?

the most import part of my existance i cannot share
i experience it alone
in my own vivid reality
waiting for the walls to come down
so someone else can play these games with me
 
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Comments

 
[User Picture Icon]
From:bimmelbimmel
Date:December 7th, 2004 01:51 am (UTC)
(Link)
love the stuff about hate...
reminds me of the stuff the guy I share a house with has been talking about in heart circles up at faeryland...
got Butt #11 with you in it...great photos and i guess an alternative version of hearing you talk in an interview compared to your stuff here...magic

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