"I mean, isn’t it odd -
It's hard to know where to start- just as it will probably be hard to find a simple, single stopping-point once I get going, here, once more.
Then again, aren't all journals- or in some sense, all personal writing- someone's continual continuation? Here I write, there she writes, and there you: From each of us, witness the same dance, the infinity symbol given body by nouns & adjectives. Text unfolding, scribbles across a screen, each time further unraveling into that infamous swoop 'n swirl, your very own figure eight on its' sturdy side. Infinite, intimate, and obvious.
So for now, this brief beginning: Here's me in that universal figure skate of tongue teeth & fingertip, comforting in its' familiarity & too, always, made new. Here, a few touch upons, a handful of this & thats. But beneath the scattering of verbal confetti, is also just a single, simplest reaching out-
Hello.
It's safe to say that if we know one another, and if you're reading this, I very probably miss you. In many cases, quite a lot. If you're wondering whether I do? Again, you can probably trust the answer to be as simple as it is certain - Yes. Yes. Yes.
*
The logistics of living- by which I mean the literal, the actual fact of Having An Address- still elude the make-up of my daily life. If you count the back-and-forth journeys, between ages eighteen and twenty-nine, I've moved almost twice as many times as there have been years. I dare you to live out of a suitcase better than I do. (Yes, this can be fun- even thrilling- a summer splash through New Orleans, a dream of blue velvet couches, window seats, and orange walls. But it can also be fantastically depressing.) I've taken to dreaming of a quiet, domestic life in a fashion not unlike some people probably dream of wild, cross-country road trips.
In (absurdly) short, I am Seriously Reorienting. And Seriously Realizing. This business of reorienting is part-choice, part-necessity, and part-sneaky familial maneuver that finds me living out of suitcases again. So much is up in the air, and at the same time, there's so much that absolutely must be done, like it or not.
I am... class-taking & medical-training? East Coast, West Coast, Oceansiding? Oregon, Virginia, New York, The Carolinas, Fill In The Blanks-ing? Fancy surgery receiving? Unexpectedly considering (It's A Secret)? A whole new set of doctors, and then some-seeking? I'm also not fond of being vague like this, and so, I'm wishing. Ardently - achingly. Wishing for a time and place, not too far from now, when more is known to others. When clarity isn't so tricky, when it can come with more ease.
A dozen-or-so journal entries bubble over in my brain pan, and even those just scratch the surface of the Great Big Everything- but they're something. My words are beginning to chomp at the bit. Murmured night-thoughts swell red at the edges, chapped from being rubbed one too many times between aching palms. I find froth at the lips of my secrets, their over-ripe flesh juicing over. And still, it seems I should keep this relatively short and straightforward. I want to come closer, yes; to speak and be heard, to listen and hear; to reach and hold, catch & kiss those much-missed fingertips that type back to me! But I don't want to overwhelm.
(As I venture into all this forth- reorienting, reaching, figuring out the many whats, wheres & hows- I welcome letters. I've been better at responding recently, to letters and phone calls alike. Better at measuring out my energy, careful, carefully. Taking it breath by breath, so that I don't find myself disappearing before the words have even had a chance to gain that certain delicious, heady momentum. It's a process, especially with such long periods spent away, absent, missing- but it's a process at which I'm improving.
Maybe it's seems like a simple thing, keeping in touch with loved ones. But like many things that seem one way before you face a particular challenge, and different ever after, it's not simple at all. It is a precious thing, though, having the ability and health to keep in regular touch. I wish more people would realize just how precious this ability is - that it didn't, instead, often take devastation to show people the striking flip-side.)
As for Real Mail: I've attempted massive hand-written mailings before, but was generally better at sending out carefully-made packages, one by one. So this time, I'll start small. Instead of getting excited about all the grand packages that I might send, or long letters I might compose on handmade paper:
I'll just mention that I have a kick-ass book of postcards by the delicious Christy Road. Post or send your address, and I'll take it in small steps, this time. I'll scrawl my sharpie sonnets, stick my silly stickers to the backs of postcards, and bit-by-bit send them to deserving homes. IMPORTANT!: I have a couple of fabulous faerie god-babies, and various others of you also have kids. But if you're living with a small one (or an adult!) that I might not know of, and that you'd rather not accidentally come across semi-naked dykes & trannies, be sure to alert me! Ms. C. Road draws such creatures well & often, but it's certainly not all she draws, nor are hers my only fun postcards.
*
Right now? More than anything?
I'd like to hold and be held- no expectations, no demands- for hours, just hours. Only, no. Not even hours, please. Let's take this beyond time. Instead, I want to hold and be held within some realm where the jagged metronome of clock-time doesn't hold court. No minutes or seconds with their sharp exactitude, their Tock, Tock, Tock-ing, the force of gathering seconds slicing at vulnerable skins. No piercing clocks or weighty expectation- just touch and its' quiet truths.
Soon to come: Words about secrets. (I don't know how I've amassed so many; I certainly wasn't trying. But they stalk the edges of my mind, worrying.) Words about books. And people you meet on airplanes. And Portland. And dreams; both sleeping (cold sweats, nightmares that slink from one night to the next) and waking (tender hopes, green buds of possibility.)
As for today? Let's open the windows wide to summer, yes? Let's breathe in sweet summer air, honeysuckle and rose- let's say yes to Yes, despite the much that terrifies. And not just despite, but also because of this much. A dear friend of mine, a singularly magical being, recently reminded me just how much I need to say Yes. I need to get back to the roots of The Magic. Truth be told, I think we all need to say Yes more. To ourselves. To our longings. To one other, out loud and unashamed of our wild, free-ranging dreams.
*
(I mean, isn't it?! Odd, that is - )
"- how you can buy a lap dance / phone sex, or blowjob in a snap, but can’t / pay a person a dollar to just sit next to you / on a park bench
and simply hold your hand?"