you smiled

and i suddenly knew what the scientists had been saying all along was true

-- that the earth really is spinning at 1040 miles per hour --

because i could feel it.

even when you and i are doing nothing, standing perfectly still, we are moving unimaginably fast.

and my brain is panting to take it all in.

mass exodus

tonight i saw you, for the first time since shit went down.

and we all looked. i even smiled.

"you can blame it on the drugs," everyone said.

"he doesn't do drugs," i replied.

i didn't even care to show you how happy i am. didn't feel any need to tell you that hey, there is a boy. and when we are together, it is good. it is right. it is beautiful. and it does exist. what does that mean?

now i can see you in color: black and blue.

like an eternal purple chicken.

a clown.

a baboon.

made your way into the wrong pen, barred to soon.

but have another hamburger, have another boy, all that you can. pretend for the patrons that wait in line for your hand that sanity comes easy...

...sanity comes easy

for fuck-ups.

i want you to be whole. be real.

now unconsciousness-past and unconsciousness-future and nightmares and bricks, with their rolled up horoscopes and prada bags and maybelline and notably not their bottle of skyy vodka, are lining up single file ... naivete and rainbow sprinkles and old bitter grounds and WTF!!s and atheism are all poised under the lighted exit sign, prodding the door open with a big toe, or a ring finger, or an empty palm ...

and you

and they

will join hands

into a content,

malcontent

mass.

i embrace that mass.

it is.

(exit them, in various guises.)

(exit you.)

.

goodnight

we will learn to understand each other

i am allowing myself to be immersed in the c# minor prelude and fugue (bwv 849).

i've always said i don't believe in marriage... and now, like some god, Bach is forcing me to compromise my morals: a marriage this must be: for better or for worse.

playing a five voice fugue well is much akin to, i imagine, reading an alethiometer. in His Dark Materials, Lyra subconsciously enters a trance-like state to keep the questions, myriad symbols, various levels of meaning attached to each symbol, and answers ever in focus. too much is happening spiritually for her body or mind to be concerned with the outside world; too many layers, too much potential energy...

now apply all of that to a fugue: a big, thick, dark, miasmic, macrocosmic, microcosmic onion. learning it can be ... is hellacious. physically painful.

but

playing it is a religious experience.

one day, soon, we will learn to understand each other.

jeremy, on the upswing

dear, dear Cup a Joe. my big Blanket of comfort while back in raleigh. i swim through those grey plumes and folds and my eyes are simultaneously assaulted and massaged like when one lies limp in the ocean and allows the waves to minister.

some waves travel Thousands of miles, thousands, through and across the surface of the water, all only to crash on sharp rock, or flat beach, or over top of a pair of lovers' feet. so much energy. it doesn't matter; they all die in the end. destiny says they will meet their end at x time and y place and by z method. and for what? to begin again from nothing.

such cyclical avalanches: birth and death and rebirth.

spring and winter and spring.

love and hate and maybe.