Friday, January 28, 2005
Nature has her way, her dark blood soaking through these chemicals
stark white hands covering my mouth I want to ask her
fingerprints of blood on these powders
I sink into her silky membranes
that could nourish me better than pills
I want to close my eyes.
I wash her scent off me and stand straight
only touch her with the bottom of my feet
I long for sleep, long for love. I don’t know
if I communicate
only mechanical hums in my ears
skin too delicate and the air stiff with soot
angry bees in my head, hot wires, the candle
was stolen and replaced with a socket:
the toothless old mouth of want, now electric.
And I long for the blood to disintegrate in &
make everything make sense
I eat her plates of white mushrooms
breathe in her yarrow scent
crush her on my fingers
These waves of blood: tidal, ignored.
To taste metals with precision, never sink into you,
everything must open and close.
I am dosed with all the wrong things & still endure.
His spit paints me, I eat it like nectar.
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stark white hands covering my mouth I want to ask her
fingerprints of blood on these powders
I sink into her silky membranes
that could nourish me better than pills
I want to close my eyes.
I wash her scent off me and stand straight
only touch her with the bottom of my feet
I long for sleep, long for love. I don’t know
if I communicate
only mechanical hums in my ears
skin too delicate and the air stiff with soot
angry bees in my head, hot wires, the candle
was stolen and replaced with a socket:
the toothless old mouth of want, now electric.
And I long for the blood to disintegrate in &
make everything make sense
I eat her plates of white mushrooms
breathe in her yarrow scent
crush her on my fingers
These waves of blood: tidal, ignored.
To taste metals with precision, never sink into you,
everything must open and close.
I am dosed with all the wrong things & still endure.
His spit paints me, I eat it like nectar.
|
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
I want to explain what happened, not only for my few friends who read this blog, but so I can try to figure it out a little for myself.
Olivier, the wonderful man with whom I fell deeply in love with this summer, is going to France without me.
When he and I first met, in those first beautiful hazy glowing days by the lake in Maine, he said he had been planning his life like a single person but that wasn't going to work anymore, since he had met me. He wanted me to be a part of his life. He asked if I would consider traveling with him during the winter when he would be teaching dance in Paris, Chalons & Nice -- then spending the summer in Bali and various other places, and returning with him to Boston in the fall. Of course I said yes - I couldn't imagine anything more wonderful.
I started saving money. I bought the cheapest soap and the 99 cent shampoo. I ate a lot of rice. I tried to go easy on chocolate, hoping to quit before leaving for France. I stopped shopping cold turkey. I went through my belongings, getting rid of nail polish I hadn't used in years, the clothes that didn't fit -- everything I wouldn't want to keep in storage until we returned to Boston. I found a friend with a garage where I could store my things, dug out my passport -- basically prepared myself as much as possible for this exciting journey. Which shoes should I bring? Will I need to bring a dress?
Of course I was nervous. Things had been a little bumpy. O and I didn't always communicate so well. We had never mentioned the trip much, but eventually we stopped talking about it entirely. Three weeks before we were supposed to leave, I insisted that we talk about it. He finally said "I want to experiment with different ways of being together." After a long conversation, this turned out to mean he wanted to go to France alone, and he wanted me to wait for him.
He thought it would be too stressful for me to go with him. He was worried he would feel responsible for me, that I would feel lonely while he was working every day. That I would have trouble getting along with my high-school French. There were some dancers he was really excited about dancing with, and he didn't want to miss opportunities to dance with them. And finally, he was worried we would argue and that I would leave him, and he would be so devastated he would be unable to work.
I was simply stunned. No Paris? No wandering the streets alone, listening to the chatter of French -- no croissants and chocolate? No shopping daily at the boulangerie, the charcuterie et la patisserie and cooking dinner for my sweetie? No falling asleep in a strange bed in his arms, listening to the rain? Non. Ca n'etait pas possible.
I couldn't decide if I should wait for him or not. On one hand, if he was the love of my life, I probably should. On the other hand, if he wasn't, and if I waited for him and he fell in love with someone else, I would feel like the biggest ass in the history of relationships. I told him I didn't know, I would have to think about it. It felt like an awful lot for him to ask.
He planned to come visit for New Years, the last weekend before he left. I just wanted to see him again, to wrap my fingers in his hair. An hour before he was supposed to get on the bus, he called and said he wasn't sure if he was doing right thing. He didn't want to see me and get attached to me if I wasn't going to wait for him. He kept saying "Baby, don't you want to go to Bali with me in March?" But it wasn't about Bali for me at all.
He finally said that if there was any chance I wouldn't wait for him, he would rather not see me. We left it at that. He's leaving in three days, and I haven't heard from him since. And I would be surprised if he called to say goodbye.
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Olivier, the wonderful man with whom I fell deeply in love with this summer, is going to France without me.
When he and I first met, in those first beautiful hazy glowing days by the lake in Maine, he said he had been planning his life like a single person but that wasn't going to work anymore, since he had met me. He wanted me to be a part of his life. He asked if I would consider traveling with him during the winter when he would be teaching dance in Paris, Chalons & Nice -- then spending the summer in Bali and various other places, and returning with him to Boston in the fall. Of course I said yes - I couldn't imagine anything more wonderful.
I started saving money. I bought the cheapest soap and the 99 cent shampoo. I ate a lot of rice. I tried to go easy on chocolate, hoping to quit before leaving for France. I stopped shopping cold turkey. I went through my belongings, getting rid of nail polish I hadn't used in years, the clothes that didn't fit -- everything I wouldn't want to keep in storage until we returned to Boston. I found a friend with a garage where I could store my things, dug out my passport -- basically prepared myself as much as possible for this exciting journey. Which shoes should I bring? Will I need to bring a dress?
Of course I was nervous. Things had been a little bumpy. O and I didn't always communicate so well. We had never mentioned the trip much, but eventually we stopped talking about it entirely. Three weeks before we were supposed to leave, I insisted that we talk about it. He finally said "I want to experiment with different ways of being together." After a long conversation, this turned out to mean he wanted to go to France alone, and he wanted me to wait for him.
He thought it would be too stressful for me to go with him. He was worried he would feel responsible for me, that I would feel lonely while he was working every day. That I would have trouble getting along with my high-school French. There were some dancers he was really excited about dancing with, and he didn't want to miss opportunities to dance with them. And finally, he was worried we would argue and that I would leave him, and he would be so devastated he would be unable to work.
I was simply stunned. No Paris? No wandering the streets alone, listening to the chatter of French -- no croissants and chocolate? No shopping daily at the boulangerie, the charcuterie et la patisserie and cooking dinner for my sweetie? No falling asleep in a strange bed in his arms, listening to the rain? Non. Ca n'etait pas possible.
I couldn't decide if I should wait for him or not. On one hand, if he was the love of my life, I probably should. On the other hand, if he wasn't, and if I waited for him and he fell in love with someone else, I would feel like the biggest ass in the history of relationships. I told him I didn't know, I would have to think about it. It felt like an awful lot for him to ask.
He planned to come visit for New Years, the last weekend before he left. I just wanted to see him again, to wrap my fingers in his hair. An hour before he was supposed to get on the bus, he called and said he wasn't sure if he was doing right thing. He didn't want to see me and get attached to me if I wasn't going to wait for him. He kept saying "Baby, don't you want to go to Bali with me in March?" But it wasn't about Bali for me at all.
He finally said that if there was any chance I wouldn't wait for him, he would rather not see me. We left it at that. He's leaving in three days, and I haven't heard from him since. And I would be surprised if he called to say goodbye.
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