| edged out 9 part 5 - 1984 august-september | work & days: a lifetime journal project |
20 August 1984 Aw Mike Voskamp in the passport. Coming into the backyard music - T with Maddy and Laiwan, Rhoda's there too, and then when I see a person with backpack kneeling with them the anguish I reorient from - I can be here single - I am here single - when it's Mae next to us I can stare - I can go across to sit with the small cello man - the grass the branches the translucent dark blue sky - J lurking in a chair across the way, T at a space down the side with her friend, Laiwan knocking coconut shells together seriously. Ugly blandness of the body-successful couple. I see a man with a hat in the back. Whether what I'm doing is putting me again in that stupid parent heterosex confident to display while the fire of real life banked to last is in the dark bodies of the orbital dwarves. Laiwan Mae and Jam's same look unclosed, glass eye shields. Still don't know what glasses are. Going home gladly to wait for my boy's good arms and shoulders - "smoking too much, I was painting" - a toothache night and then his lady comes - in the bunshop she tells him she wants to be as he is - they crouch by the sea - where there are boulders and a great plaza of crushed clay - a crane standing quiet for a Sunday - a seal in the dirty bay swimming slowly like a man - a red fireship alongside the new fill, small gravel truck working alone, dust, colored containers piled - they only want to crouch with their bodies close and at the top of a warehouse street hugging - big blank air - car drives around them - then he goes home and paints - in his hotel room - the giddy woman lets me off at Main and going home I see light high up in the window behind the canister transformers - the green wall. Pelvic shaking - something released - is it? 21 Watching the boy body dress, shirt, want to look at it hanging, jeans drawn up, belt, it tucked inside, buckled, the hips, lifting a knee giving the leg a tug - over the heel. In the exciting night - getting suspicious - "You think I'm good genetic material?" - "I think you're excellent" - sucking, the little electric - he hasn't because it takes him? somewhere - pink light and blue - beats - says very gently "I think this body wants a ba-by." And further - not too picky - looking at him suspiciously who is this is he gonna trick me - children beginning perhaps when people meet - away thinking of Jam, was she right and I am going to do it? And then, Robert, my long wish - the fine - I'm staring, he folds his pillow and lays his arm and head on it so like a girl lover I do smile. The mail brings from Robert two horses in a red-light bush, soft land, veins and falling white from Alberta. The sight of them kissing the way they do. J bitter and displaced about partnership in a way to make me want to pay her off to be rid of her drag.
My nose into under his collar like a body lying down with another naked one under a sheet - suddenly knowing and saying it. Feeling - his - in the journal before J reading how it was to be known - the way she in her confusion doesn't - the labour tryin' to get her feeling translated. Aphasias The question of why I was ready to believe I'm stupid.
'Mortals' / social Is the going on being hungry to share the little one? Q why I couldn't stand myself with Luke. It's not space that's curved only our experience of it. Actors Soul's mate, what would it be, it would be somebody whose project was the same, we'd slowly find the ways to speak to each other from the thoughts behind our thoughts, we would go in and out of each other's work, we would guard our loneliness just enough, we would be unalterably in love with each other's bodies, we would be certain of our connection because we would come closer to ourselves with each other than anywhere. [upside down]
22
Torment them a while first - make them cry - look of shame hiding close to my face - "hot and cold"
What helps me - that I can be worship - and mean - "The lower part of your body, just move into it more." Afraid of the head - him - the way it's the head that looks unmade. 23 The white ship in lights, a Starliner, the Fairsky, webbed alongside into floodlight by white lines, long quay side concrete receding, passenger clothing diminishes and grows in chatting, yellow taxis backing up turning around two in the same motion at the chain link gate, my movie man like me with his head on his arms on the sightseer barricades, in the beautiful coloring light like people dreaming, an image with me, and others told. Living for a year driving buses, Winnebagos, trucks, in cavalcades anywhere in the country, "My early twenties, a little town near where my parents live, the trick with a Coke can between the brake and the accelerator, a family of fat brothers, on prairie stretches, the game ---- invented, seeing how far back in the bus he could run and still get back to keep the bus on the road, they were long buses, he got to the back and waved to the driver behind, a car passing would see there was no one in the seat - drunk in motels sometimes he might have had a bath with someone but never this way, arms around each other in the middle of the tub, dips water onto my back to warm me, and then coming to the tastes on his face, on top of the eyebrow in the eye corner in the nostril corner against the hairline all different concentrations of salt and vinegar, and the feel of wet skin, and then from the other side watching him find the interesting corners and feeling myself the cushy tongue in the eye dish. A dream of La Glace school, meeting and seeing a man teacher in the hall. In the morning over Trudy's yelling radio looking at a beautiful one. "You have a light in you this morning! You should see." "My cigarette even tastes different when I have a dress on." "Go away and smoke your cigarette I want to be here by myself." And then the way when I've come behind and lifted the silk he just sweetly lays down to be screwed - oh." And when I'm cooing at him he suddenly "Straighten out" orders me and instantly I do.
Worried about that the meditator they drew yesterday didn't have the delicacy of the other times. The moment when the forehead opened completely into fine grained silvery space and when the whole body gets light the way as time goes on I find a different less heavy balance, working quite quickly moving to feel different parts trying is it going into the feet that lightened it, or was it when I was in sensation not talk anymore - the sounds of pencils like strokes inside. 25 "I was cryin' an' sayin' 'He can't feel' and she was nearly cryin' too sayin' 'I know but he can't help it.'" Seem to have to keep telling the story otherwise I can't believe it. What is this day. Silent. Like other days it's you. I don't have to be otherwise than dwelling on you. Keen and bright. Dry bush. So bright burn. Tongue clear pink, glint, neck and face raspberry blood comes. Eye's difference, there's wet glass and elastic, aqua marine. What happens again. I go down in the streets to get tea. Coming to a room I see you where you've been before. Your brightness moving in the room starting to bang heart will you be gone. Standing at the window now, your shape narrow like someone in another kind of life, so light. Standing with your left leg bent to just touch the floor. You don't feel me though I'm at your shoulder almost bumped when you shift it. I'll calm myself and try to see what you see - the black squares all over the building, gold letters. The run of the side of your face, an eye move, is it the man passing - What I see is that you've got a striped shirt on. You look sharp to see who it is today. It's too soon, but is it? The uncertainty, no, I won't, I have to get out of the building to know to be able to say maybe hello is enough and just take the steps. Looking back, what's his look, is that sorry. Beautiful one soon again but not these next hours. Smiling for you to see the head turned to you sailing away above the toilet wall. 26 "A racial comfort." Looking out the window far across town to the Dutch watery air. Pink in the harbour where cranes like masts. What race are we - Looking west at the fire sky, the water in the air, the light in the air, orange on us. It looks like acid he says, red neck and head, both bare chests, a penetrating orange into his skin under the fur on his chest makes it come up black and red.
Angry by the park, he grabs around the neck from behind, the most final wrestling hold. Bent over nearly to the grass both arms quite a brutal pressure. I agree it is that and then suddenly know to set my teeth into his wrist. His hold flies open, he knocks me down, I grab his leg and he crashes, I bite his thigh, he jumps into a crouch and I can tell by the way I'm sitting beaming with my legs folded beside me that it's over. The peaceful grass. Big rags of cloud streaming north in train. Coarse dark green with a dark red straw laid straight. He finds: a grape: held up: like a jade bead. His face is Mike in the passport.
The remarks. Wondering whether when I stop glamouring with stories and courtesan games what will show up is an openmouth inane weak obedient crybaby self-suppressing flattering moron-religious saint-pretending guilty banalizing braindamaged exploitable forgetable conciliating drag-witted vacant artist without intelligence who can't see to draw, paints women like turds, fantasy-slimed, languageless, otherwhere-dreaming unrooted. When he touches my breast how can it be so nothing. Missing Jam, the way she never banalizes. Missing T's grip and care. "Pretty puppets in your bed. Don't throw me away after you've hauled me in so deliberately." Hardbitten matronly flab-waisted nose-haired flab-breasted lurching shrewd controlling controlled unfeeling solid shriveled puff-eyed seductive vampiristic oblivious self-containing hypocritical sugar-voiced lifeless farting stink-mouthed decrepit lump-muscled banality-remarking generalizing humorless cow-moving literal safe self-stupefying idle vacant cudding anxious dependent ingratiating sex-fastened vain-writing medium-ordinary pretentious last-chance-desperate covering over. Saying he wants to pump me full. "Your body just wants to give me something." That my wanting him makes the peace - are they all like this - another sense of man, is it in sexual body really that the peace is. If I don't refuse wanting you, if I gave any of them the exact wanting there is (would they have loved me this way). Wondering about J too. If I'd given her this, if I'd come to being able to give her this cooing desire that speaks only as sexual body - please stuff me - we can fuck as much as we want - "Before we met each other that's what we were wanting" - "Yes it was" - in what tone? - agreeing for another time but absent thinking of Gordimer's construction. The killing desire poem to show at breakfast. His father would hold the calf between his knees and hit it on the head with a hammer. "He did it well." Rhoda Minoan in earrings. T wide and stiff. I write and see them cross the top of the alley four black feet. Don the Cree with a new travel bag walking the other way, the hideous woman who asked for cigarettes lagging after. They look over their shoulders after her but probably don't see her, when Jésus has refused a pat throw gravel at him. Watching the betraying like setting two lives against each other testing them. I'm saying anything to him the most cock-worshipping lesbian-denying mind-denying. Watching permissively is it for balance return, or is it what it sounds, a fury over betrayal/exclusion/incapacity whose event I haven't learned yet. And then: boiling potatoes reading Gordimer, the door? I go to meet and see. "Do you smell anything else?" A stale smell I don't say. "Beverly was touching me a littlebit, I was flirting with her." Ah. Then it begins to recalculate the day, the past time, the whole net. He's made his move, what is mine. "I was wondering why I broke the thermometer this afternoon." Eating potatoes. Familiar: I know what follows, I know what the decision is. I walk him home. A lost look eh. Thin face under the streetlight at 222. Worn-off skull. Yes I can be steel and still look - so unreal it always was - but a love face - only not the one to go on with - and then in the way he's been he dodges because someone he knows comes past on a bike. 28 Defiance. Watching my defense robot say whatever we've made to say when we will come and find him on the porch with a poem crying. For who these words. For making a tiny competence show. Dear Michael. Haven't you been telling me to be sure to be hard? Hard-headed and sensual to please and hold you, you want the soft position. Lying with me your bliss - 'open to life'. What you have to say about women who cry. Knowing I'm speaking rote. Is there another way. Simply, waves of pain. Cold today. Winter crossing at Robson. J is a bachelor in bright blue. Cecilia paid. I loved the light fit of our arms and chests. But staring to find with my eyes a missing home. Will there be a moment when your face becomes the right one I can trust. A look like the one I feel on my own face steadying you. You gape instead. Idiot face to say not me.
So I'm not having to be my own caretaker robot. 29 Alright, as if no one else is looking: what's happening. Standing on the corner crying. Starving these last days. He's willing here to show like this? Praying skull. Give it a knock. Don't look like that. I'll probably give up. Cause he's speaking for my feeling one. It's what's missing. Beat first afterwards make theories. 31 Woken at night by voices in the alley. Car motor, young men laughing. "Finger." "Does she know?" "Showing?" "Showing." Under my window that was open in the afternoon. Motor zooms. The voices are gone with it. Frightened of having done it where someone could hear and see. "We should put some pillows under." Heels up. "I'm very vulnerable." She saying she keeps seeing him as he will be. Wanting to be outside with yellow poplars. Talking to Dirk and Francine. Whispering to him. "'Bye." What's that. She has cooks. It seemed I was on the way. Cold air in Alberta, him coming into the cookshack touching my forehead saying hello to Robert. How it didn't happen. He cries on the porch. Next day he's drawing in Carnegie since I've gone forever. We eat sticky rice, he wasn't going to remember his birthday. In the evening when I've passed Beverly looking hurt in the foyer, meeting him just in her line of sight and waiting for her, going straight there as she comes to the foot of the stairs. "Will you come and talk to me." "Sure." The face when it talks strong brown, clear eyes, Renaissance hair, excited, "You hit the nail right on the head honey!" Richard to her, "Mike is standing in front of the Carnegie as if he might be waiting for you." Am I too rough saying "Not this time" when he wants to sit with us. Not wanting to look at the boy when he comes, moves the books. ("Are you in love with him? No, you're not.") She in strong love, "He's worth it." I'm dubious. She says he doesn't deceive only he's very changeable. "Can I walk you?" "No," running after. Shaking heart. Waking sore looking at him down there wanting to be saying it really has changed, it's not revenge now it's a closed heart. Hitting his arm hard - he says "Comm'on, hit me in the stomach." "I can't." Know the trick though and do. Glint. "I'm thinking maybe I could hit you in the head. The worst of what I ever think of him, hurt most about abandoning Jam. Then comes again lying two rib cages together melting genital. "Let's just fuck and let the gods decide." A pang in the left side. "How can you be so brave about it, don't you have anything to lose?" He's clear, not foolish. My collection seems weak. Easy to slip into the moment that trusts the gods. "When I first came I thought, she's got a big house." Thin, strained, color and flaring nose, an old neck like his mom, so sad look, beautiful mouth. Showing him the young pregnancy, he wants a copy of it. "Idolatry." "Are you jealous of her?" Looking at me now as someone who'll be 50 when the child is 10. "What about my treeplanter poet, what if he comes to the door?" Etc. "Fuck him!" "I'm not made to be a servant." "Give me the child then." Yes except. Myself with this unstable one, his bad teeth, welfare food. (Too long past ovulation for a girl.) (Should he be going?) (It's my father's body.) She phones this morning. Yes she does mean it and the whole knows something. Haunted with her. Doing this with him, when I wouldn't with her, is nuts. The sense that if I don't do it on purpose I'm going to be doing it by accident. What we do instead, we imagine hitch-hiking to the Yukon. What to say to my parents. I was so proud of J ("who's bringing me children"). Our whole time would be clear - what's R in it - "far in the future". The Yukon - yes - a good place for it. A shirt. "Sh'l I go put on some butter" - holding onto it finding it - it's jumping harder - ahh - needs loud cries - is this pleasure, I don't know - as if body is doing and feeling something I'm not in - the relaxedness after, arms up. Going at twilight to find a banana split at Dairy Queen. Gastown. The girl coffee-cream with hair around her head like a big pale. Negro ruff. Saying to him, "I want that girl." The falling-over boy with slanted eyes. We're exhausted people. He looks like a lunatic, Bluebeard hollows, old poor fuzz. Oh mouth. But after, walking faster and with his three plastics of bread from the garbage, he gets drunk, flying the bread, fairy twinkles. Need to tell her what he's like. A serious personal piety. 1st September She suggests the Carnegie. I walk down finding it fall. Mist and red shrubs, neon. A chair in line with the door, not J but M, feels like the whole day has a fearsome sequence I have to let past, just noticing, no strength to feel I'm moving, though there's my walking and speaking necessary in the turns. (Had wanted to write what I said one night that seemed a nearer speaking, "What we've been doing is working with time a lot.") He stations himself. She sees me then him. I know he's looking long. Walk walk. "I think you've met my friend, MICHAEL" too loud. Jamila, his look on my face, why is, stunned, how's he looking, open mouth, clear, looking to see him, is it a foolish smile, pink. "Is that introduction enough or should I go away?" Begging her. On the street so unusually distraught, like her. "I can't stand this." In Hon's knocking the soup almost over. She knew there was an urgency (wanting to be in Sandy's with that music and neighbourhood). Having to come to the telling. "He says he thinks what this is about is having a child." "The body of the father." "I understand it better than I said." "The father hand, it was to me by way of him." But I can see she's going to say she refuses and it doesn't mean she does refuse. "I want to go home now." "It's been seven years of a certain kind of existence and if none of that feels like wooing to you it's useless and I'm not going to talk about it any more, I'm going home." What she said, "With him it'll be a boy, that's what's really anguishing you, you'll be making the father's body again. The little girl keeps --- ---." Going away thinking it's true I haven't earned her attachment. The wooing she meant was that I should come with her for this night, a taxi. No that's skillful lying, I won't. The wise human. I won't. Getting home five minutes before Michael comes. In bed discovering it's my head that's exhausted. A lump. Phone. To say "So distraught." Morning, still exhausted, "from the side and slower." Yes! Head lights right up. Posing from the bathtub. Look at her I make. Turning to show her best. Ah! Beautiful brown sleek, this flat round bum, twist up to the waist, a breast, the green wall, and then seeing !! her delight doing it. - [upside down on the page] Not a precipice not a torrent not a cliff but is pregnant with religion and poetry. Is Grey 1739 Rousseau on an island listening to the flux and reflux of the waves became "one with nature", lost memories, separate consciousness, "everything except the sense of being." I realized that our existence is nothing but a succession of moments perceived through the senses. The foetus, the refraction of light, whirlpools, all Leonardo's subjects 2 Thinking it should have been Akbar, or Park Choy [Kuan]. What complicity is. The sense that events - image of spider mesh, lines to firm centre - offer possibilities by neat line-ups of timing. There being that girl suffering the battle of good and evil in the hotel room next to Michael, I feel complacent toward, but keeping a doubt, and he too. His young self looked at us lying together. "He wouldn't be able to do it, he was obsessed with himself." The way his arms around my shoulders and chest are perfectly there, perfectly fitted. Twin boys. She had one in a bassinet by her, they had, and the other was in my room in a cot, pinned under a sheet crawling and crying. They put it in the other room they said because it cried, but I'm telling them it's crying because it knows, babies know everything, they have the other one with them. I know what it is, she doesn't want twins, only one baby. I'll take this one, I am pregnant with twins myself, with me on my traveling. The crying and restlessness I'm saying to them mean it's vigorous, Luke was like that, it's the vigorous one. Traveling in a bus sitting on left forward, thinking I can go further back, then realizing it can be the right, a satisfying seat in the sun. Right and left don't work, because of turning around, it's always right, how to specify, ventral, dorsal. Ring - Raked over by the eyes of the power brokers. Pity and excitement amputate there than stay in. [?] Being taken over, slowly. "The form the malice has taken to stick you with a bad poet. What will we know says you want to be pregnant." Shoulders. Imprinted with their lasciviousness she says. Most of long talking went by without grip. Looking at my hand exercising on his thigh. "You're relaxing" he says, "you're not holding back the way you did." ! Suspicion. "What makes you think so?" "You know your power more. I know my power more, too." "What I'm more afraid of is that it would be weedy," the shape of his head. "I'm the only one who is responsible in this decision."
"I don't want to kill the womb, I want the power to be of the womb and in the womb's knowledge." You've jumped ranks, your defiance and revenge. "You can't con me with this, I'm certain you'd be sadistic in any circumstance." Weaker light further into the room - I'm saying the issue in conception is power not gender, he's courting me by giving me lots. What else is there - England - Scotland? That means it's Roy's and Poppy Chisholm. Imprint. Wanting to take fertility without paying in slavery and without abandoning (myself) the little girl. [*scan lovely image of gypsy family] Trudy saying there'll be ten more years. Many sirens these days and nights. 3 Anxious. Something's out of kilter with him. "If you stay this beautiful." This worried. The way he looked coming into the room where I was in suspense. His hat in the room, he's next door. The drawings.
localized pulses a region of intense space that could move through space stably as a whole and that could thus model of a particle a higher-dimension ground immense multi-dimensional ground - A first distracted meeting, "You scared me," hair up and face hot like a person waking, frightening stronger face high up and on fire. Not wanting to look at his face. When he said he heard his voice in a space the anguish memory of the Tibetan bride in my arms in the red and white house. "We still remember what it used to be like." Excited when I said "I was thinking that too!" "It could be a three-way." Something I disregarded about how it would seem "She could look after it for us." "I don't want her to be defeated." "We should maybe get to know each other better." Waking at night wanting to fuck, thinking of her touching swelled breast. This morning blood, very early. 4th A night. We try to fuck. I destroy. He won't father me into it but when I try to crash it he does keep steady. "With Becky it got better." In the morning exhausted heads. We say we feel violated. I say maybe it always overwhelmed me on some level. "When it's the father's body I have to want it to know how to love me." "I want someone to know how to love me too but I don't expect it." Seeing the shoulders with braces, small scared eyes, bony temples. It's my desperate dad and looking at the face moment by moment feeling so alive and strange I'm turning to a stone. "Witness." A witnessed. When after the day we lie down. A thin horizontal plane, black, I've sunk into. It's like somewhere else he may know, is this where he comes. It's a mind. Waking I look up Leith - Lethe - and don't want to say much. "While we were lying there I came into another mind. When I woke I was feeling my freedom more." He says "--- --- --- ---." "What?" "So I wasn't alone." Tears jumped. He closes his eyes. The man who learned to let his hand move like an other. When on Hastings walking suddenly I saw Don, jumped toward him, stood holding his warm big hand looking at how sick his face. "I used to pick you up off the floor." Beyond him my friend's brightness. We sit on the cement curb under the parking lot sign at Produce City. The way M having rolled a cigarette can offer it. Both of us wanting to sit with him when he dies.
In exhaustion saying and saying. "I feel I have to decide whether you're wise or dopey, I can't decide." "No, you can't." The way I work to make our talk, when I stop a level I can't bear. With the face too. Pain. What I seem to be thrashing in is a fear of finding myself married to him. Then what am I doing. "You're a nice boy. I should stop seducing you." Then how sad he looked. That was when we woke sane. "I just want to be close to your body."
Trudy sneezing downstairs. In the night hearing her cross the floor. The election. Mrs Gomez smiling, "Did you vote?" to Nina in earrings, "Did you vote?" Polls in the school bootroom. The quiet in the room, electric light, dull citizens lining three sides, Chinese boys sponging rainwater at the door. It's the way his developedness is in something I don't know to estimate, does it override - 5 Coming to know he will be slow enough so I have time too. 6 Someone who wants to be no better off than the poorest. He sits up with covers on his head like a baby staring at his bed. Big bonehand. Waking alone saying I'm done with him because he couldn't take me into fucking. The green sweater for him. Cold wind at the sea. Powell Street. In Oppenheimer goodbye kissing he flies away, four on a bench observing whose smiles as I go up the green grass, men, one woman second from the end, they together, I can make true by the way I smile too. And suit of clothes for me - dusty rose - satin-poplin - strong made, well fit, a money pocket for the fly. Looking with him into the linings of black suitcoats, a Japan tailor's secret perfections, satin-bound ticket pocket slit under the lapel, stripes inside the sleeve. The Indian girl's suitcase. By the sea looking at what's left of her trip from the reserve. Margaret Charland.
The Puritans encouraged the keeping of journals as a religious exercise - moral histories - conversion stories - special leadings - their own offences - Puritans were Calvinists - the hand of god on every act and moment - early rising, temperance, austere dress, few house comforts, fast days. Menno Siemons d.1561 Fox d.1691 Luther d.1546 Calvin d.1564 Liberal wing of the Dutch Mennonites - the Waterlanders - had silent prayer, Ruysdael was one
[Mike as religious] He is poor / she is poor. He wants to have no more than the poorest ones. He gives his days to seeing and speaking to old confused sick poor ones. Likes having tobacco to give. Lets feeling sweep him. starves, eats anything, is well and fine. Wants to absorb slowly. Erotic body scares easy. Wants to live without prevision. Resisted learning culture, poor of language. Quotes and praises a book. Contemplation - looking as if touching nothing but an ear which hears what the universe of sound is saying in you counting bubble - following breath feeling - whole body sinking-breathing word centre chant the who - no drift - point - the safe home sends a pull - don't label a query - what are facts, how does feel 8 In the CN café when I said "Are you sad" didn't he say it was for a companion in quiet. The bench opposite an empty bench under catalpa leaves, rain through on the centre walk at the train station park. Farmhouse only fixed up, in poor land, potatoes, a neighbour man. What did he say, "Then let me be their father!" with passion I don't show how much moves me. Only heart opens. The man his friend who goes about town with his partner the little girl. Of the lot of it - Biting his ears cold - the look - what look - is that what sex looks like - and if it does - a gargoyle intensely stupid - but what really - not like an infant - older than he is, skullish - tongue - dopey - avid - the mouth collapsed - liking clothes on - dismay. He often covers - is it that - or what is it when it goes mindless. Noticing that I attack him and cut him off and if he's noticing he isn't showing.
Then the change when I look. Beautiful, colored one. I see and seeing isn't with. Want with, cannot. Go home and still amn't alone, have to reknow more complete. What I knew covered. The story of Fynn and Anna - yes and no - if so false then can any of it be true. 9 The grasshopper was at the new container plaza, a hop in small grass I disconnect to follow. Easy to put my palms around. Sticking little feet. Carrying it to the end of the landfill. Can't set it out now, the gulls standing around. He's walking slower. I have to go back to him. It was sun, Sunday, windy, standing water, brown silt and gravel, open my lid palm to show him the thing like cut rock, rock cut like metal, even the eye membrane though transparent, glint showing from inside it, grey chips, exquisite shawl and tail, fit of the jumping legs into the side of the keel. It sits still. "It's vibrating - I can feel the life in it!" Getting it to walk onto his hand to feel it. The grasshoppers with J - three of them, was it something, or crack-mindedness - the ancestors, the dead, how - The watering truck is rounding toward us, loud. It jumps off my hand but then more, it flies, with butterfly wings! Black with a white band. Flaps. Lands without gulls' notice on gravel over the other side. Seduction. Unconsent eroding. "In some well-hidden way quite shocked that you would never hold me to you, when I was on top of you." "In these years wanting a reticence that sees." "What I had been feeling was that you didn't know how to approach me. There have been people who passed that barrier in quite a simple way." "Why you didn't want to sleep with me anymore, that's what I've been asking you in these days. Do you mean it was because I had started to want to?" What dream, what quality, last two nights - a road, a sleigh stuck a long time on a beam in the ground - passes me later - a cutter - chased by someone young on a horse - road with woods - night - somewhere - journey - visit - being in another country. Animals evolving on new animals - "with their tiny wings, strong abdomens and large legs hardly look like moths at all."
"It shows that we are afraid the other may be right." T saying the way I start to look tired in conversation. I've put myself so in danger being her dream. An absolute competitiveness - say about her - but by this believing it's me who's that. 10 But what I've got, this rosy one, face near.
Is it getting worse mindless with this - As: greeting Richard - "Hello-o" - from my dream of lovey love - ashamed not to be uncolored ready to keenly see - speaking to her when she phones as if from pity but it's hiddenness rather, I'm not where I see I can work with what is. Acute question in the time with other, is this false. Too much assuring there is. The way I touched his back when we sat in the Strathcona [School] balcony with the community program - and his hand, walking. Elephants, holding his tail with my trunk, we found when we asked what was I looking in his mouth for. - Truth cannot come to the surface - it is the very depth - and words cannot go to the Truth - they are the very surface. Silence carries a deep fear because it is death-like. You lose your boundaries and become one with him, now something of his heart starts flowing towards you, something of him comes into you. You are an island no more; you have become the whole continent. - [boxed]
12 "No that isn't what it is." "Then what is it." "It's embarrassing. It's hard to say" (His breathing changes.) "It's saying something like, is this a face I could be married to," (solar plex squirms) "how long could I go on wanting to look at it. Is there another face I'd rather be seeing." He gets up like a kid covering a scare. Cornflakes, a smoke, chat. Wrapped in the downbag, to the nose, staring at what I think is anger, cold, not wanting to look at him, transfixed, go home, froze. Something will have to come from there after a while. "Hu bein du?" And I confess it. "It really upset me to say that." And then it goes on, laughing. 13 And next time something else remote, who, a Wednesday after work, the drawing class, coming out the door seeing him there. "Every day I want to see you." "I know." But then what was it, imagining him in the overwhelming with a man. Eye to eye on the street, squirming midriff pain, and still in the morning too. Eye to eye meaning without - What we get away with, Mummy-Daddy playing The way looking at notes and books these days the abstract stays cold, it's a blank, but when I come to a sentence where someone says "I", it perks up.' Though sexual body isn't hot anymore. The hot days are gone. Evenings outside. -
The problem is - HOW TO MOVE TO THE DEPTH? Deepness.
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