Oh look! A 3am post (at least it'll likely be 3am by the time I stop writing, it's 2:30 now. I seem to write in hour chunks but I'm gonna cut it short if possible). What does this mean? Why it means that I'm awake, of course, and just like at 7 or 8 am when I'm posting it means that perhaps no one else in the entire world is awake to talk to.
You know that feeling.
And I seem to have this incredible need for talk lately. You see how much I've been posting; I get together with people and I talk and talk-- it just doesn't seem to be enough. I suppose I'm in the space where I want to lie awake with someone in the livingroom talking through the night until we turn to watching the sun rise. It's been a long time since I've done that. Likely spending a little more time being me and a little less time running around doing things will help, as will being moved-- when we finally are. I'm too busy being a grown-up right now for it anyhow.
You know, tonight I went to bed with Angus and it felt _so good_-- his back was a warm curve, he had this beautiful solidity-- and I realised that whatever is going on with me, part of it is discovering just what's going on with all this-- thinking about that time with Kynnin and signing a lease and just, this is some level of commitment that is saying 'I want to continue' and not just 'I don't want to stop yet'. And so of course I want to talk about _that_ but I can only inflict so many hours of conversation on Angus because it's not his bag.
I wish Paul were here.
I wish I wasn't so busy.
Okay, Greenie, life will be measurably better if you go to sleep now and worry about it in the morning. Get yourself some water. Angus will half-wake-up and put his arm around you. It'll be okay.
And She Waiting
Always I have been afraid
of this moment:
of the return to love
with perspective.
I see these breasts
with the others.
I touch this mouth
and the others.
I command this heart
as the others.
I know exactly
what to say.
Innocence has gone
out of me.
The song.
The song, suddenly,
has gone out
of me.
Jack Gilbert
- from Monolithos: poems, 1962 and 1982
You know that feeling.
And I seem to have this incredible need for talk lately. You see how much I've been posting; I get together with people and I talk and talk-- it just doesn't seem to be enough. I suppose I'm in the space where I want to lie awake with someone in the livingroom talking through the night until we turn to watching the sun rise. It's been a long time since I've done that. Likely spending a little more time being me and a little less time running around doing things will help, as will being moved-- when we finally are. I'm too busy being a grown-up right now for it anyhow.
You know, tonight I went to bed with Angus and it felt _so good_-- his back was a warm curve, he had this beautiful solidity-- and I realised that whatever is going on with me, part of it is discovering just what's going on with all this-- thinking about that time with Kynnin and signing a lease and just, this is some level of commitment that is saying 'I want to continue' and not just 'I don't want to stop yet'. And so of course I want to talk about _that_ but I can only inflict so many hours of conversation on Angus because it's not his bag.
I wish Paul were here.
I wish I wasn't so busy.
Okay, Greenie, life will be measurably better if you go to sleep now and worry about it in the morning. Get yourself some water. Angus will half-wake-up and put his arm around you. It'll be okay.
And She Waiting
Always I have been afraid
of this moment:
of the return to love
with perspective.
I see these breasts
with the others.
I touch this mouth
and the others.
I command this heart
as the others.
I know exactly
what to say.
Innocence has gone
out of me.
The song.
The song, suddenly,
has gone out
of me.
Jack Gilbert
- from Monolithos: poems, 1962 and 1982