So yes, Nathan. I love him, in a way that doesn't need to grasp or obtain... I miss him, but again, not to cling, but to always signpost. He's one of the kindreds. He knows me and I know him. but that' isn't a preclude to say those who don't need words, don't need a visual to have already met...and someone knows what I mean. I said what I said. You know it. I know it. I follow. You follow. And there it is , as I eat, as I pretend to not notice. Your black Honda, near my black truck. Rust spots on the front of the car. Ear phones always in...those sunglasses. I shouldn't notice should I. We can all pretend. It's how we all work...as one, together, and yet a club of lonely hearts. He knows what I mean. Nathan knows what I mean, of which I suspect he's found someone to settle down with. I hope so, like Jordan R...I hope he and his wife are doing good. Which this isn't gay-straight, or relationship desiring stuff...it's something else...just these quiet types. Solitary types. It's not a cry for help. This is what I mean. It's not something that needs attention, but rather, aims to embrace. The younger are here and on the way, and we are among that thread. The determinate space, these words, can be all wrong, this splitting isn't what I mean as I signpost and detour...This is what I mean. We are together. We know it wherever we are. Theres a group that will go through the same. So it does mean, we shouldn't be so guarded. Black honda...maybe, he can fight through it and club me over the head and take me to his cave who knows. Which means...I don't now, like to play charades....to wonder why are you so fucking nutty...or maybe something else. It's odd. All is odd. WORDS....WORDS....ROUTINES...SOLITARY CONFINEMENTS...SMILING AMONG SANITARY CONDITIONS... For now, it's just so...watch dog over everyone else, until someone makes note, I'm watched too...the generation above us, they are still here, I sense them as well. UGA hat...Judge, etc...Yep a regular tragic ballet and we all know it. Ear buds...walking around, silent, black honda. He is truly interesting. I can't apply words to him. I wish I could. I can't. I like him around though even if he's not so, into me. It's okay. There just something about him. I can't really say much. It's a mystery and that's that. I'll leave if that is what he prefers, but he does interest me, and it's not so literal. He came back. Among proximity after I said what I said. Maybe he likes me? That could be nice. Or maybe, as usual, it's just one big misunderstanding. I think he's the decider of that. I didn't choose it. It's just the way these cards fall. I hope all have that connection, even as I have yet to have it. It' might come. It might not. It's just how it is I guess. Even for someone, she told me what's happening. She's not going to be here for long, and yet, she loves her family and she has done all to make sure she has given all to everyone she meets. She holds a gravity among us like no other and what is truly astonishing, is even with her influence, she can't experience her own significance. I think that is the case for all of us.
What I have learned from black honda is that old souls need not a visual or a world to follow matters. It can mean a variety of things. I don't care. Veal...He was straight and yet one of the most effeminate men I have ever met. He loved everyone. He was depressed at East Coweta, and I always remember him at East Coweta Middle. He was unhappy. He was someone who exuded love and yet he wasn't a desirable being, his design to be hated and detested, among the tight lipped crowed, and even as we had our moments...of a sadness we understood each other intently. It wasn't our world, wasn't our time. we were of a design among this existing mirror that was hell to pay. Straight or gay, of which we both represented the opposites, we knew we were together. The poor dears. Creatives. Smart. Not easily fitting into a mold that could be held to the mirror. It would be a problematic for us, even if we were simply being ourselves. He found his poor dear counterpart early on and the timing worked out, but it wasn't enough for him to check out fast like Adam. I get it. Still, I'm here among this endurance test and no, even if Nathan and me worked, the timing was entirely off. We care for each other, possibly, maybe he things I'm nuts...likely nuts, lol, but it wasn't, I don't think, meant to be. THEN, there is black honda, easily a construct among my own creativity, but it's just too delicious not to pretend at least, like Anne of Green Gables; But I could be entirely off and wrong. I'll have to own it if I am. I should eye fuck him one day. It would be funny. He can be straight. That would be funnier. Then I can breakout theatrics and he can stun gun me...at least there is something interesting to pass the time. Maybe, for me, it's just a never never land scenario. I'm to just keep it upbeat as everything else falls apart. I can handle it. It's not the first time. So that could be the scenario, and black honda, ear buds sunglasses, mystery could be straight, and in love...married. I can embrace that as well, and yet, he returned near me. It was nice, but as expected, it's likely a complete failure. So be it. It's just the life of other voices, other rooms. Most have something, and some have nothing. Wah, wah, wah. He's interesting though. He truly is, even if he is...you know, focused and attached to a design that doesn't involve me. Just observing the one in a cage. I can handle that. I expect that. Nice though to see the proximity, because it at least offers some sense of intrighe, some sense of hope that doesn't read as lost desire. I don't know. If he came up to me, I couldn't reject. That, I do know. If he rejected though, I wouldn't suffer. I expect it. I see folks with family, friends, and lovers, and realize in relatin to me, that scenario, regardless of the reason is a near impossibility. I'm to be a pure isolation it seems. So be it. I can take it.
He can be straight. I'm fine. He reminds me though of veal, who was straight as well. Meaning there is something in the water, were I grew up, of a design that isn't at all guy-girl binary form. My friends. Most of whom, oddly, were straight, and we loved each other...they are all dead. A group gunned after them, and I am the last. Why? Not so sure, but I'm here, and I'm not straight. He's a lot like them. He's likely straight, lol, but he really is then. Veal in particular I can tell. Quiet. Observant. Not so into the mirror. Caring. He should have someone. Fuck me, he shouldn't be alone. I can tell this, even as he does his rounds. And here we are, this life. awkward, and at a loss. Where is that angelic...non existence that just works like a trusty switchboard operator and connets those who need to be connected. She's nowhere to be found these days, so some of us, of a particular design, are to be entirely fucked. The modern existence I guess. I'll simply run off into a rural wasteland and paint I guess. Maybe that's what this era is about. Ice age grids, and a hollowing silence among those that don't fit in. I'm not so sure. But when someone seems to connect with that, in a black honda, I'm intrigued..and I can be wrong, and I can read between if I am. If not...drop by...It's okay. I can be the idiot. Not to worry. Am I just thinking too much and too intrigued for my own good. It's not like I would suffer in a way that couldn't survive. Just come up and mock me. laugh. I could take it. That's what I mean. How did we become these...isolated routines so far removed, when once upon a time, despite these odd, biological attractions, we didn't shy away. It wasn't merely biological so we were excited to run into each other, yet again. Seems like if we do that, it's all taboo. Why? I'm here. I can handle the mockery or the love. Just drop by and stare...even with sunglasses. It's nice. Again, I can be wrong. I'll take the heat. It's simply nice to see one be around again.
It's the same with certain people differentiated as women. I think of Stormy. I miss her and I also miss Pat, he's differentiated as a man. I just wasn't someone who really can find solace in the mirror. Why, I can't articulate, but the oddity is there....My friends and lovers are a mesh of confusion and I have to accept it. I can miss the mark, and I hope, folks get that it isn't a matter of creeping someone out, it's just a matter of having this sense of identity that is at an almost complete loss, without folks coming up to me to say hey...I'm here. It's okay. Give this a shot. It's likely to never happen, and I can accept being among the lost boys club of never never land...it seems to be my destiny...at least the creativity is always blooming. Something that I can follow is a welcomed gift...far removed from interests desring mirror play. Again, when a silent figure walks around and opts to park near me...after I said what I said, I have to wonder, of which I need no words, no visual, no type, nothing superficial to understand. I do wonder. He's a lot like veal. A lot like him, and we loved each other in a way that straight-straight couldn't understand. Adam was the same way. I miss them both. It was love upon first sight, not of a bodily desire, no, it was this energy, this sparkle in the eye, something familiar, something not so literal, like an attempt to literally paint the sky blue. It was love. It's gone though, but not lost. That's what I mean. Someone who gets this isn't trying to present. Rather, the are connected to the same matter that underlies. We could just stand next to each other and just get it.
An impossibility it seems. I'll just have to accept that. I'm just fucking weird. It's all in my head, lol. I'll keep to myself, and leave the mirror, mirror, to itself. that's the beginning and the end. And as for the ass-antics of a family unit, smiling demons in a mirror, fake as hell, of which we will never rejoin, as they know their bullshit...and my good friends dead...it's simply work a job and move on until the eyes among this rock spinning around fire shut forever. That's that.
I really do say crazy shit...it all may or may not be the case...but I mean...I wonder...I have to wonder...the outcome is the outcome...but I wonder. I think we are all fucked, even among indeterminate space. Here...we are fucked. I look forward to the day of finding a tomb stone that reads...here lies XXXX fucked to death. Something of that nature. I've seen funny tombstones, but something that doesn't sugar coat what this is...a decomposing trash heap of meat...and as we flow on...what all of that is...to be continued type of thing. It's not something I worry about...at all. It seems like a better event then what this mirror mirror world could offer.
For now, to pass the time...Black Honda...and Telenovela scenarios that are merely speculation, but I mean...the day is less interesting without it. I even imagine folks cross-dressing and consider if certain people held pajama parties...what cartoons would the select...era, genre, etc...and what would the theme of the pajamas be...I also think of people building fortresses...some build fortresses in the trees...maybe a treehouse, or maybe something impromptu...in kudzu, near creeks...along with an entire system of fort code...I imagine who has built a fort and who hasn't. If you are NYC you are just fucked in that department. I lived in the middle of the woods...it was all of the above, including adobe, log cabin style...etc...there wasn't really a TV. No TV. Not much for words...for a long time....even the words now...it's more performative. I can't really buy into these words as a basis of my existence. Maybe that's why I can say these things without concern. Even if one had words to my words...it doesn't mean much when you die, much like the empire of the dirt. The performative, more in line with words as art though...I think that can be worthwhile...maybe not a need to follow all the literals of the literal, but the methods and the overall landscape among all of the writing...Much like observing a good painting at a museum. One doesn't have to know the entire method to connect, but the overall sense of what the artist's process is about. I tend to connect first, in that way before I would attempt to outright know the artist, their name, and even look up more on what they are about.
