words, words, words
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If I begin to detail myself here, will you understand?
P. I am me
Q. I don't always know exactly who that is
R. I am Quaker
S. I like words and playing with them
T. I like genmaicha tea
U. I like the word napkin more than most others
V. I spend time walking my neighborhood
W. I cook rice often
X. I sleep well most every night
Y. I eat large amounts of fruit and vegetables
Z. I munch, sleep, write, create, cook, bike, watch, walk, listen, hope, learn, drink, live, breathe, touch, know, question, taste, copy, read, stare, carry, talk, dance, finger, try.
raisin@gmail.com
albums:
Magnetic Fields: 69 Love Songs
Erasure: I Say, I Say, I Say
Depeche Mode: Black Celebration
The Beach Boys: Pet Sounds
Marvin Gaye: What's Going On?
David Bowie: Hunky Dory
George Michael: Listen without Prejudice
George Gershwin: Porgy and Bess
Yo La Tengo: And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out
songs:
Wild is the Wind: Nina Simone
Come Undone: Duran Duran
Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini: Rachmaninov
My Funny Valentine: Chet Baker
Feeling Yourself Disintegrate: The Flaming Lips
This Must Be the Place: The Talking Heads
Hyperballad: Bjork
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Tuesday, June 03, 2003
Who are you? you is not a word i use often enough, you is not a pronoun i understand, and it's just like me to take you and put you into a word or a part of speech instead of a person, utterly confusing and different from myself. instead i concentrate on i, repeat the word until i reach obsession, a typical gay man who thinks he's so hot and the object of adoration. and yet, i've been deeper too, digging into the mineral ore beneath my surface, unearthing demons, digging so quickly that i have to stop, breathe, and heal before i begin again. having done this so much, i have both well polished my surface and enabled a good view into myself, so shiny that i attract even more people than i did before, but now people who aren't satisfied with the physical but want more of me, want affection and love. what can i give them when i'm only used to giving to myself, soaking up all of their energies because i was so dry, after too many years of my father and the air force squeezing me into shapes i didn't fit, without regard to my self. but now that i've lowered the walls between my self and my self, and licked all my wounds, i am curious about you, as if you're some new alien i've never encountered. But I know this time that when i ask who you are and you begin to tell me about your first crush on the guy who would never talk to you, i won't be able to hear well. you've been telling me these stories all along, haven't you? but i've never heard them, too like Liza Doolittle who couldn't hear the difference between her speech and her tutor's. so i have to train my ear, listen again and again. I promise I will this time, will try after the first, the third, and the fifth failure, until i hear, until i am helen keller putting her hands under the water pump and realizing for the first time that water has a name, with letters being spelled into her hand by her teacher, until finally, finally, i understand who you are.
1:47 AM
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