| THIS IS A READ-ONLY ARCHIVE FROM THE SORABJI.COM MESSAGE BOARDS (1995-2016). |
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now tell us about your other |
sober, but high. i stood with my shoes planted in the sand. the earth breathed up through the soles of my feet. silver waves rolled in seven deep. the moon an open eye over the ocean. tiny frogs sang in the freshwater streams that bubble from the cliffs that circle the cove. i didn't know her then. i hadn't heard her name then. i didn't have any idea what was coming. but when i think back it is as if she was standing next to me on the beach. add the slight touch of my fingertip tracing slow ovals on the palm of her hand, and the memory is no less honest. add her breath twisting into mine and rising in unison to the moon, and the memory is no less honest. add her glorious blue eyes reflecting ocean, and the memory is intact. somehow. i wrote her tonight. i told her, she is a miracle. from that night a path chose me and i started moving on it. from that night i was on the path that would lead me to her. that would find me walking beside her. it is one path. i can't encompass her. this suprised me at first. i am used to having my person engulf another. i am used to being the word. but not her. she is huge. which is not to say that she encompasses me. how would i know if she did? but i don't believe she does. she would be bored early and gone. she shines. she glows by my side. she is one hundred feet tall with giant golden wings. i've lay on my back with her head on my chest. her arm across my belly and her leg over mine. from her pours this quiet. this quiet that fills me. quiet, itallicised. warm calm. she listens to my heart tick. she looks into my eyes when we make love and my doors open. we make love. she has given me monagamy. i never understood before. she doesn't get angry at me. when i ask her if she is angry, she wonders why. i feel guilty that i would think such petty things would anger her. she seperates words from intentions. she assumes my intentions correctly. always. she writes. not poems, because she refuses to be a poet. she writes words that combine and vibrate and sing inside of me. she creates. her soul is soaked with the need to create. she is an artist and wants to live as an artist. she wants to surround herself with artists. she wants to be. she wants to BE. BE BE BE BE BE. this is most important. she knows how to live. she knows the basic steps of the dance and everything else can be learned. she wants to learn with me. ME. she wants me to teach her. i want her to teach me. and together we can figure out the rest. she is a miracle. |
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Whooo dooo yooouu llluuuvvvvv? Bomp-ba-bomp ba-bomp ba-bomp-bomp! |
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ite early, im tired, i suck |
I love a boy, but not in a romantic way. although I realise I act as though it were a romantic love. He's the bestbest friend I've ever had, and he's done more for me than anyone. everything I am, I feel that he's helped me become. I owe him everything. He's probably the love of my life, but it's not a romantic love. I wonder what it would be like if it were? |
I think I have possession of the bitter and jaded stick from Patrick today. |
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Now I am in love. Especially now. She's starting to gain some confidence in herself and discover herself. As a consequence, I don't see her as often... but she's beginning to like who she is. And that's worth anything. She's probably the only person around whom I NEVER feel like I have to mask my faults and weaknesses. She's beautiful and loving and perfect and I love everything about her. She had and still has a tendancy to let a ripple of self-doubt become a wave that keeps growing until it finally crashes. But I even love her tears. I especially love that smile just after the tears. That smile that tells me that I actually said the right thing this time. That smile when she remembers one silly little amazing good thing that I always overlook and may never understand. She loves me anyway. |
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cause im tired hungover and i suck or Ive talked about mrs wafflesa t great length? you confused me, again. |
Gee-ese is easy once you learn the vowels. |
i gave her the credit that there was more to it, but maybe she lost her edge there for a minute. |
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Women and men can never be just friends. Believe me; I am old, and I know. Of course, until last week I was still undecided on the subject, after the thousands of false hopes. They all fall from grace. |
romantic love is not the be-all-end-all. trust me. If someone told me I could choose between the romance of a century and keeping my friend in my life, I'd choose my friend. |
HE ROCKS, THOUGH. |
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its totally human. |
it always ends up somewhere in between, and i wouldn't have it any other way. you hear about my bumpy relationship life quite a bit, so i don't need to say anymore about it. what i'll say instead is that i consider the majority of sorabjites to be a surrogate family, i feel a lot closer to you guys than i ever have with my parents and sister. thank you. |
I often use the word love when speaking of close friends. If I need to make the distiction between the love I feel toward my girlfriend and the love I feel toward my best friend, I tend to use "platonic affection" vs "romantic affection". Or I'd jokingly say that I loved my best friend, but not physically. It reminds me of some of the different degrees of seriousness in a relationship that people would try to express. Seeing vs Dating vs Going Out vs... Fucking? I dunno. I could never remember what order they went in, and what each level entailed. I think it's because relationships are confusing things. It's hard to classify them and to describe your feelings, especially in High School. I used to be openly critical of such descriptons and thought that the people who used them were too stupid to just have a relationship with someone and too busy naming it and playing their game to enjoy their company. But I've since realized that vocabulary has nothing to do with emotion, and that the words don't matter. I wasn't any more in touch with my feelings than they were. Despite the stricter definitions of my words, I wasn't any more specific than they were if you knew the code. So I don't really have a point. Reminiscing, I suppose. Thanks to you too, Pez. Love, TBone |
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Ha! |
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I wish all of you people lived in Toronto so you could be my pals, because I'm so supercool that once you had me you wouldn't need anyone else. there's no shortage of ego in GeeLand. |
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What do you say when the kindest, sweetest person you know says that you are the greatest person in the whole world? How does that work? Everyone knows. He thinks i'm not insane. He loves everything that makes me so. Everything. Loves my indecision. Loves my crappy car. Loves my kitsch and toys. Loves every thought in my head. Loves my Jesus memorabilia collection. Watches as much if not more christian television than i do. That is disturbing. He smells so good, even when he sweats. he didn't know how to cook pasta before i taught him to. He just never learned. I want to do things for him that i would never dream of doing before for anyone. I want to clean. I want to make food for him. I am not domesticated. I want to help him do his laundry. I want to do all these crazy things just for him. Things i normally hate. Fuck, i can't cook. He will never grow up. Bleached hair and the brightest eyes. A bass guitar. The Big Lebowski. He will be Beetlejuice and i will be Lydia. He will be Jack Van Impe and i will be Rexella. He would leave me for Kevin Spacey. I would leave him for Laetitia Casta. He will be Dali and i will be Gala (but without the infidelity). Hes a dog, i'm a cat. I'm a panda, he's a lion. He wakes up at 10:30, i wake up at 3. While i sleep he draws me. While he sleeps i draw other things. I stroke his hair until he wakes up and looks right into my eyes and he says "kiss me, just kiss me please" "i can't, i have morning stink breath" "..i don't care, damnit." |
two in particular. |
it hurts. |
i know that doesnt make anything better per se but just remember its never as bad as it seems. i thought, for a turn, i would share something mrs waffles wrote me the other day: i had to go slave away at the darkroom right after work: "ah love, you left without dropping a kiss on me (like you do in the morning). i sat on the porch looking for you, watching mountains and sky mix into sunset's arrival. i know you'll be back later, dinner and game and home. it's this time, this quiet, that lets my thoughts wander and wonder what i've forgotten to tell you. i want to love you and teach you what i see, what i find again and again in this life. sometimes i think i'm going in circles and other times it's so clear it's new. i see big sur everyday. i think about our lives and when i'm barefoot. small houses on the hill look like pebbles at goleta, skin smells like salt air. remind me when my heart speeds, my energy rests quietly in you. " |