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ShipsPassing ships. I think thats the term used most appropriately. To describe our brief encounter. Our quick lesion. Romantic language for confused feelings of body and heart. A passionate beginning of words and lips, passed and flowed through. Soon the sea grew, complex ocean of currents uncharted. For me at least. The north, the city of pink grey stone confusion of morals I found hard to anchor. I thought wed settle happily into the mariner. But no. A storm of interest, but yours whimpered in the wind, dissolved and dissipated. A brief moment passed as I was left stranded, trapped in sea weed entrails and coils complex. Emotions for the ship that passed me in a brief encounter of quick intentions. Gone with the wind, rather than constant like salt and rock, hard and concrete.
A DestinationYou were the upgraded copy, the richer version, the easy distraction. Id been consumed for hours over the alluded obsession, the favored stature that was a stranger to my tastes. Id thought and Id concluded, escapism or a plan, either to satisfy.
A plan set in motion, a destination. A train, another, a wait, and you. I came for the other, but found my eyes wondering. In that silver, those jeans, that voice. An escape and an excuse. Easy, no? The right moment, the right place, the right hour. The alcohol and the dress. Why not? I could have this version, this smile, this stature.
Why not indeed. A bad idea, a mistaken moment, a plan unraveled in pleasure and excitement, hurt pride and bruised ecstasy. Youth and naivety, for me. You werent what I wanted, even though I repeated it many times. I used your carbon copy aesthetic as much as you used my easy, drunken attitude. It was one night dragged over three days. I latched on to the version that let me,
ObsessionObsession. Its an easy thing to fall into, and an even harder hole to escape.
I liked you once. Quite a lot actually. Despite the fact that my best interests told me you were a bad idea. Your texture didnt suit my tastes, your stature was nothing I ever thought Id favor. And yet I fell after you happily, made a fool of myself mostly.
Its gone now. I found closure in a drunken night and a single bed. In spilled words of oppressed months, inappropriate affection and rejected touch. It was awkward, embarrassing, but satisfying. And then there was the exhibition and the appropriate obsession. And yet, I still like to think.
Your name makes me turn my head, your silhouette and sound will always make me listen. Its hard to completely remove myself from the half whole I once so happily sat in, wallowed in, and would have drowned in. A beguiling puddle of self pity and complete and alluded infatuation.
Im still jealous, with no reason to be. I still reminisce on things that n
Descriptive PortraitureYour eagerness to begin our first day together, in person, was as bright and warm as the golden California sunshine that crept playfully into your window. You waited to wake me only for as long as you could stand to, then tousled my hair and spoke to my jetlag-stricken self in singsong until I stirred.
Your own dark brown tresses, unbrushed, fell flawlessly around your face and onto your pajamas-clad shoulders as you responded to a few e-mails on your laptop. The contrast between your skin and hair in the light of dawn was absolutely striking. In mid-dress, I whipped out my camera and sneaked a picture. You mock-fumed when you heard the shutter click.
"Don't worry," I reassured you. "I won't post it anywhere."
But I did, and thank goodness you were forgiving. It was too perfect not to share. Even my smarting eyes could tell that your face had expressed the utmost sense of joy and serenity.
* * *
That blue-and-white-striped Hollister shirt had been a staple in your wardrobe for ne
Adventures of a CarAs I surveyed my car while my father in-law's phone rang, I considered the events which had led to this. Remarkably, I wasn't angry or upset. In spite of losing my car, I wasn't panicking. Rather, I was quite level-headed, and would soon share a laugh.
Purchasing the car had been a necessity. Just after replacing the radiator in my 1993 Buick LeSabre, I bumped into a Jeep Grand Cherokee which was traveling at about 35 miles per hour. The slight bump unhitched and bent the hood, knocked out a headlight, tore off the grille, and, to add insult to injury, bent the brand new radiator backward over the engine.
The replacement was a 2000 Ford Focus wagon. The dealer had obtained it at auction with only 58,000 miles. It was previously a corporate car. I had high expectations on that basis; since it was previously owned by a corporation, I was of the impression that the car would have been in good shape. After all, a company would care for its assets.
I had not expected what would follo
diez.Stellen Sie sich vor, Sie sitzen in einer feinen Runde am Tisch und der Salat wird serviert. Sie nehmen das Messer in die rechte Hand und die Gabel in die linke – wenn Sie könnten. Aber der linke Arm gehorcht Ihnen nicht. Schlaff baumelt er an Ihrer Seite nach unten wie der Ärmel einer Jacke, welche über die Stuhllehne hängt. Er lässt sich nicht bewegen. Obschon es sich für eine solche Gesellschaft nicht gehört, nehmen Sie die Gabel in die rechte Hand und spiessen das erste Salatblatt auf. Offenbar haben Sie ein medizinisches Problem, welches Sie aber zuerst selber in Ruhe ansehen möchten, bevor Sie mit anderen darüber sprechen und womöglich Fragen auftauchen, die Sie nicht beantworten können.
In diesem Moment fühlen Sie, wie Ihr linker Arm ausgestreckt nach oben wandert, und im nächsten Augenblick sitzen Sie da wie ein Schüler, der im Unterricht artig die Hand hochhält, bevor er zu schwatzen beginnt. Aber
Basculin (has 2 forms)
[Mega Charizard X]
[Mega Charizard Y]
32. The True Journal of a Fake 'Communist'6/2/72
I've been doing gardening lately, since getting the chickens settled, and it's quite enjoyable. I've sort of taken over the section Larry was going to do, but he's been spaced out because of Mary Jo.
I went through this whole sort of discovery thing a while back about a way I can strive to be a good person. Washing the dishes one day I realized, with Vicki's help, that I do it sloppy, and something from a book that had been lurking in my mind came to the front like inspiration.
The book was about the cultural revolution in China, and the part I thought of was about peasants in a certain village having a meeting about their work habits and deciding to get up an hour earlier to work better, and, quoting Mao, "serve the people." It was like a bell ringing true in my head, and I decided that if I'm going to do anything, washing dishes and all, that I ought to do my best and thus "serve the people" and myself. I found a copy of "the little re
31. The True Journal of a Fake 'Communist'4/25/72
A lot is getting together on the chicken coop now. Winnie has been the main one working on it with me, after the post holes were dug (Binjo and Larry helped on those) and Nancy and Vicki have helped too. I'm well into working on it now. It's fun to work with Winnie, though sometimes I feel a crazy competition streak and have silent contests to be able to drive a nail as fast as he can--which is not a bad goal, but little silly since he's got about a thousand more nails hammered behind him than I do. I get better at it all the time though.
Have been working on embroidery in the tipi for Winnie's and Mary's birthdays, but other than that my energy isn't spread out much on other things.
I went upstairs to Pat's bed just to relax, and was watching John play with Molly across the way, and I drifted into thoughts about how it must be really something to have a kid around from part you and part from a man you love or have loved. Then I thought
30. The True Journal of Fake 'Communist'4/9/72
Soon to go feed Mike H's animals, pick up some manure, etc. Another warm, sunny day. Larry and Jo got it on--she was up here for two days and wonder of wonders, they got around to telling each other they like each other and sleeping together and having fun. I think it's really great. Larry told the story a few times--he is quite happy and somewhat wired about the whole affair. As Pat said, he's a heavy romantic!
Had a women's meeting last night. Talked mainly about Stephanie's trouble with Binjo, how Binjo wants to get it on with Pat. Steph let out some tears and talk of her frustration with her anger, because though she feels she must have a distance from Binjo, she feels afraid of pushing him away further, and sees herself as just being cold and creepy. Her anger against Pat upsets her because it isn't entirely reasonable and Pat is always understanding, and she's not sure what to do about that.
The meeting depressed me to the
28. The True Journal of a Fake 'Communist'3/5/72
Pretty much has happened between 'then' and now, though the stuff I considered heavy was manufactured internally and kept there for the most part. The heavy head trips happened mostly around Sam, one of the people who brought Winnie and Nancy from Chicago. I found after a spell that I was attracted to Sam--enjoyed laughing with him and also was thinking about what it would be like to sleep with him. It was all very obscure though because Sam and Judy have been married 6 and a 1/2 years (though they argued a lot) and it was the old third party routine. It got to where I wanted to talk to Sam about it, but didn't in the very few opportunities to discuss it alone. I couldn't bring myself to be so bold as to say "I want to sleep with you," which couldn't have happened anyway without everyone knowing.
It was strange with his wife too. She kept saying such things to me as "Of all the people here, Sam seems to get along with you the best. I wish you'd try to
27. The True Journal of a Fake 'Communist'2/13/72
Well I ended out having a pitiful night last night. After I quit thinking complicated thoughts about being alone, I lit yet another cigarette and settled down on the bed at the window to watch the street, expecting to see either Celia or Diana and company. I watched every VW drive by, examining it for Celia, and sometimes closed my eyes to tray and relax but just felt waves of anguish, so watched the street. By 10:00 my arms fell asleep from me leaning on them and I stared at the wall, rehearsing what I'd say to Diana when she came home.
About 10:30 she came in alone and knew right away I was totally bummed out, and gave me all kinds of sympathy, so I didn't say mush at all. Then her friends arrived and I got a comforting word from each one--I guess I looked pretty fucked up, and Diana said why. I looked out the window again, but at 1:00 gave it up and went to bed.
This morning I went shopping with Jean and Diana, still not very togethe
Stream of Consciousness IHot water, yellow walls, yellow tops, giraffes, penguins. Purple shirts and cadged squirrels. Blue eyes, and messy hair. Burst balloons, scissors and inappropriate behavior. Waiting, anticipating. Cheap wine and loosened tongues. Orange, doctors, tenants and hills, smells.
We indulge, publicly, inappropriately, insultingly, without care or consideration. Disgusting affection. Tongue, lips, ears, nose.
We indulge in our laughter and words, alcohol and kisses.
Sober, little sleep. Big head phones and bigger suitcases. Coffee, morning, newspapers. White walls and carved tables. Shy kisses, lips, tongue, nose. Good byes, and promises in given books.
You are the one I dreamed of. But dont I always dream and fall easily? At least this time my obsession was picked more appropriately.
Swaying walls, blue light. Bed and towels, dripping skin. Sweat or water? Beating heart and pumping pulse, legs and arms and loud in my ears. Sleepy eyes and captured thoughts. Too much time to s
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