this weekend:

God said to Abraham, "Kill me a son," Abe said "You must be puttin' me on!"

every one I know

these are my memories, I hold them in my hands.

and I wanted you to know then just as I want you to know now: you have always been the one. through thick and thin, sickness and health - death and life life life. i have loved you and I have hated you, I have loved you until I have hated you and I have hated you until I loved you. i won't ever forget the past summer and the lifetime we have before us. how many nights are there left? thick with heat and memories and love and fire - how many are left? I won't forget you, i will remember everything about you. when I have grown old and I have forgotten how to take care of myself, how to wash myself and how to think about myself - the laugh lines on your face will still remain in my memory like a fresh present, waiting to be opened and explored. you will always be a part of me whether you like it or not.

when there is nothing left of me, everything of you will remain and vice versa. I won't ever get over this big love because it is the biggest love I have known. You are anonymous because I don't want people to know, I want to be selfish and say that I have no best friends, i have no best memories, and I have no best parts of myself. you and I, we both know what's true: you are my best memory (ALL MY MEMORIES) you are the only good thing about me, and friends I would have few if it wasn't for you.

winter has been:

cold and wet and far too long

(cheers for queers)

and it's coming to me now like a childhood dream: here the waves lap at my feet (skin soft and tough at the same time from the sand) there the sun bigger and brighter than I had seen before; warmer on the eyelids and hotter on the hair. The waves were too turbulent for any safe swimming so we sat in the sand and filled ourselves with beer and tequila, gorging now and then on beans and rice, chicken and salsa.

and now I'm watching television on tape again, always rewinding to the start and watching until the end. My sandwich sits uneaten - salami and provolone and red peppers and totally unappealing. The show is about prison, it's about a god damn prison and I'm watching it (maybe 'cause I FEEL LIKE I'M IN PRISON) Nothing so serious as being unhappy, it's just as simple as being unhealthy.

All I want is a room of my own in a house of my own, with friends of my own and cats of my own. The time to be selfish is now, the time to flit, flutter and fly away has come. All I want, I want for myself. I am not selfless because the things that are coming are coming only for me. I am young and I am ready. I am ready.

This feeling in my body (weakness in the legs and thickness in the head, sore in my back and unwilling to leave my bed), I can't help but wonder - I can't help but think of Jezebel and the Yellow Jack scare. Logically I know that isn't even relevant, but feverish, romantic nightmares are the best thing about being this sick. I start to worry if maybe all this depravity disguised as decadence has caught up with me. If the gorilla on my back (no longer a little monkey) belongs to these hot fingers grabbing my neck and making it so hard to breathe.

Tonight I long to be a fisherman or a fish (a lion or a gazelle) on the ocean, in the ocean (in the great, wide open savannah). I want to drive a hook through a fish, I want to bash heads with hammers (I want to feel the hook driven through me, I want to see the hammer coming down all blood and ice and dark dark metal and then shoot into darkness, fall into nothing). I want to be on the sea, in the sea (not the sea I have seen but one dark and tempestuous and always cold, always with daggers of ice crashing into the hull).