that pit of sorrows
it's so easy to let time pass
to get caught up in our simple addictions
stare at the sun set
oh, you can't see the western horizon from here
but look to the north
see that orange on the mountains?
the clouds in the valley
the hawks circling over them
fifty… a hundred feet… between them
what are they saying?
they are god
we're all here together
making the mountains to reflect the sun on
to make valleys for the clouds to slink through
to make a hill for a man to watch
what are we saying?
i want to know the truth
the whole truth
but i get beauty
i don't get understanding
in my mind… in my mind…
but not in my body
but i get beauty.
i was telling someone about a tempting situation i had with someone in my life
someone i've known my whole life (yes, important enough to share and to conceal)
it's rare that i do not explore temptations
and this man, in my hands, i imagined having sex with him
not because i wanted to
but because i know i'm good at it
and so many men
i've known so many years
that i have no basis for communication at all
nothing in ideal or content we can share
but i could give him pleasure
we could be together
not like all these stumbling conversations we've ever tried to have…
i wasn't willing to pay the price of all that unleashed pain
i already know that style of loving
but here's the point
it's the way i get along
it's the way i've always had
it's my gift
i touch people and i connect with them
i can do the things i want to do
in the way i do them
but without words
they can feel the loving
my words are too sharp
are they sharp in writing?
i imagine they are all cloudy in writing
i don't know, i never read my writing (hardly ever)
is it like walking through a forest? in the fog?
just like reading some kid's journal entries who's forgotten how to write in sentences?
i have always had a huge disconnect with people in general
and have been an acutely lonely person most of my life
fortunately i'm gregarious
but i didn't know that until i was nearly 20
my sorrowful years are still heavy in my heart
i'm often ok with that
and these last few weeks i've shifted into a different mode
being a bit selfish
probably not yet enough
i became so only after i was drowning a bit
so i did it in a reactionary way
can't i ever get it right first time?
it kills me to think i've wasted any time with him
a little death every day…
i was staring at his altar
as he sang his song to jesus
i was imagining
when i wore his habit
ten years from now
and told some body about where i got a real franciscan robe from
how will i describe him in ten years to a stranger?
friend? lover? father?
the weight of sadness. . .
sadness of death and loss
loss of my friend
loss of my beautiful view
loss of the only way i know how to connect with someone
but not enough.
i was talking with this 66 year old
an astrological leo
so awesome sex with him
create connect there
but of course i knew his aura was too fucking shiny
a man who can't take criticism
and i couldn't help but pour it out
oh, just a little, just a little
he's good with it, he's learned from dealing with his long time partner
he's stoned all the time
but there he is
and he's telling me
as we're driving up or down
he's telling me about how good it is that i came up to be here with Leo
says "well, it makes it better… it helps.. i guess. doesn't matter, coz we all die alone anyway. "
and in the days since then i've realized it
it is good i'm here
but he's so alone with me
just as i am with him
coz i can't appreciate his politics
his God, his vestments
i can barely appreciate his food
where is his wife? who loves everything about him?
i look as his body
and love to touch it
when i hug him
lingering for a moment
this fat old man
filled with cancer
all through and through
and all his heavy food
throwing caution to the wind about plastic and aluminum
and anything else
why worry? why bother?
the kids these days
i remember joking, seriously, to him years ago:
don't buy me that shit. it's the cheapest. which means everything in it is dead and eating it makes me feel dead. puts the dead right in me and i don't like feeling dead inside. that shit will give you cancer.
ha. cancer through and through.
and anyone . . .
love that body
the fat and old and achey
and appreciate so little about the man inside
you know this song too
'do we ever really love anyone? are we ever really loved?'
but i do want to kiss him, to smell him and hold him
i want to help
but what is helping?
and phone calls
and pop corn
south park and 6ft under
i remembered something i'd found yesterday on someone's facebook wall
but a song sung by Bob Hope: i never knew he was a singer... just remember his comedy...
all this pickling in emotions is tenderizing me
and listening to him sing, vibrating in my bones...
did he cry the first night i went in there?
how come i never did before?
i wanted to show it to him this video
and put my hand on his head and felt him
and it was sentimental
and there i am, crying at movies about my life
what's that for?
i'm starving to touch things with my hands
all this sadness
and the birds circling
and the future reaching back to the past through the present
Thanks, for the memories…