Ice

Last night I received another little droplet of wisdom from the big man in front of the big door (although this time around, my heart and head were not being pulled in three different directions. I was as grounded as I could be with wine for blood). He said to me, "Don't shed your tears for just any man. Your tears are like diamonds. And diamonds? They expensive."

Amazing.

Time Machine

On my way to somewhere new today, I took a wrong turn. A mistake in terms of space is easily remedied, however, so I quickly turned around, walked to a place where I felt comfortable, and re-oriented myself.

If only a mistake in terms of time was as easy to fix. If only, upon realizing that I made a bad decision somewhere along the line, if only I could stop in my tracks and head backwards through time to a place where I felt more comfortable. I'd probably stop somewhere well before the unfortunate decision was made, so that I could give myself a nice soft cushion to think things through.

Then again, if I had just stayed on the path after that wrong turn, who knows what new things I'd have seen.

Ecstasy

One night, when my head was being pulled in three opposite directions, and my heart didn't quite know which way to follow, a large man standing by a large door christened me "The Widow-Maker." I looked at him curiously. "The Widow-Maker?" I said. "Why?" He looked at me with suspicion, from the side, squinty-eyed. "There's something about you," he said, "You be breaking men's hearts and leaving they women widows."

When you find someone who makes you happy, and your love for them glows golden and keeps you separate from the rest of the world, it's quite natural that you should want to shout it from the rooftops. Indeed, just about the only thing you want to do when you're in love is tell everyone in earshot every detail about the perfectness of your union. The small problem with wanting to do this, however, is that there is no one - not even your closest friends - who really wants to hear that shit.

If you do choose to tell them, they'll pretend to listen, of course. They'll nod and smile, and say something like, "I'm so happy for you!" while they're putting together to-do lists in their head. But they don't really care. And they certainly don't really understand. So, you bite your tongue hard and keep it to yourself, even though it's probably all you can think of.

And this is why lovers never run out of things to talk about.

February

Gross month. The month of gray days and snowstorms and nights so frigid you can see the cold in the air. Of lonely mornings and winter blues and seasonal affective disorder. Of hallmark holidays and cheap chocolate and flowers that die too early.

At least it's short.

Charles Mee

Love is

anxiety
remorse
longing
connivance
dependency
embarassment
drama
brutality
identification
unknowability
jealousy
langour
vengefulness
monstrousness
cruelty
insomnia
crying
gossip
loneliness
tenderness
isolation
truth
the will to possess
lying
remembrance
suicide
ravishment

in love
we come to know what it is to be a human being.

--From Charles Mee's crazy whirlwind passionate hurricane of a play, Fetes de la Nuit.

Obama in the Village

I have never, ever, ever, in my short time in this world, seen anything quite like last night.

Amongst the people, dancing in the streets, more powerful than the men in blue uniforms, it felt like some unseen giant was ladeling hope over our heads. Another helping? Take two more. Flags waved, anthems sung, arms in the air. I climbed onto a trashcan to watch the bedlam and was swept away on the current of pure joy. After the unbearable tension of the past weeks, last night was the breaking of a severely backed up dam. It was the orgasm we all needed after a chaste 8 years. I have only known adulthood under the dangerous farce that was the Bush Administration. I look forward to knowing something other than facist, racist, sexist ideology in the White House.

I look forward to a new America.