It must be wonderful to have a tail…
to issue comments from the back of me…
and wave away irritation.
To send tidings of trust….
and messages of wisdom to the stars.
It must be wonderful to have a tail…
to issue comments from the back of me…
and wave away irritation.
To send tidings of trust….
and messages of wisdom to the stars.
When I think about the Glam House, I remember Good Times. It was on the Ridge, part of what was called ‘The Banana Belt’ around that NorCal area. Micro climates were common, and that area had better weather, warmer temps, happier gardens, and in general also had higher prices. I felt privileged to live there, and so deeply wished I was in the position to buy. But that was not to be the case.
I asked both my Brasilian, who had property in Tahoe, and also another long term friend, sometime lover, and business partner, and frankly if either had agreed to come up with the down…$50 thou… they could have turned it in five years and we all would have made a bundle…. Five years later it sold for a half Mill…. and later the whole banana.
The asking price at the time I lived there was under 200, more like180, but they needed a big down. Just like my Point Arena ‘boat house’ creation. Desperate times, for some reason. Those who hung in there made a bundle later.
Those who used to sell cosmic crystals, then started studying Massage,
and then moved on to Real Estate…
So meanwhile, I just Loved the place to death. And that Brasilian, although I must admit I didn’t see much of him, when I did, it was always The Best, and sort of like a movie…How much was Him….How much was Me? and does it really even matter?
One day he was in town, and drove up in a new car. He loved this new car, as it was a classic Big Fat Thunderbird…. What we referred to in the islands as a Huna Car… short for Kahuna…. Those powerful shaman of Polynesian persuasion. Big and Cool and fun.
He drove it up on the lawn, got out the hose, and proceeded to give it a bath, as I watched from upstairs, and put on Sade….
When I went to the Faire on the weekends, he came and watched my house. It was fun knowing he’d been there looking around and touching things, thinking of me.
One afternoon, Lil …then about 9….and I went down to the cove, about the time the divers came in… and believe me, there were women who showed up every afternoon just for that event. I remember my son hearing about that, and about one particular one who came regularly, and he wondered if it was me, his mom, who was one of those women he’d heard about who waited to greet the divers, because they, indeed, were a special breed of man.… But no, it wasn’t me, although it turned out to be someone rather close to the family…
Remember the reality show… ‘The Most Dangerous Catch”…? Well, Alcir had done a couple seasons up there in the frozen seas…. Working the King Crab Boats. He loved it, craved the excitement and the danger.
So one afternoon, Lil and I went down to the cove to have some fish and chips. Now the cove was an experience in itself, and let me briefly describe the scene. This place had been there forever, down a winding road leading to the cove, which is one of the oldest coves on the northern California coast… one of the few safe harbors for hundreds, maybe more, years… lots of history, lots of ghosts.
When friends came to visit, one place to take them was there, for that was the true old point arena. It was a ramshackled place, run by an older Greek woman, with the numbers on her arm. Sophie was tough, and could run out the biggest and the drunkest, all Four Foot Ten of her. Late at night, if she was in the mood, and you were lucky, she’d put on a Greek tune on the box, get out her hanky, and do the dance with one of the locals. What a show.
The regulars, unwashed and already into their cups, sliding off their barstools, the fishermen, telling tales, and into their cups, and the locals, who consisted of old hippies, descendants of old families, and spawn of combinations of all. Always different, always the same…
So we are there ordering the fish and chips, which actually were quite good, and quite fresh… and along comes Mr Brasil… he’s all up from being out on his favorite location, and enduring adventures, and he briefly sits down, and does the jolly talkative nervous chatter. I was feeling quite calm, quite yummy actually, and just did a lot of smiling. He left rather quickly, and I felt sorta sad, realizing that he was nervous. He didn’t quite know where he fit yet…
Then a while later, as we went out to view the view… so sweet, gotta tell ya…. Of the old pier and the rocks, the surf rolling softly along the shore… and there was big Alcir.
“So… would you like me to find you some deeener?”
How cute is that? My warrior going out to catch our dinner….
So he did just that. He sat me up on the hood of his big Huna Car, stereo pumping rock’n’roll thru the hood and into my netherplaces, whilst he put on his fins and mask, wet suit and knife, and proceeded to walk out into that frigid water and down into the deep.
The Primal Feels were enormous. He had a sort of floating basket, and I saw him come up, and go down…. Come up and go down. It didn’t take him long to get his limit…
Soon he was done, and the warrior in his suit of armor marched up to show me his winnings. Four Abalones and a couple Perch… which he called “Porch”….
“So”, he began…”I could come over later, and show you how we cook these theeeengs een my coentry”
“Oh, OK… great” I answered, giving my best blase.
Another time, the divers had been out en mass, and there he was, displaying his wares, out in the parking lot, with the rest of the fellows…
I still felt shy, like some little Japanese girl with a fan or something, eyes downcast, smiling to myself, feeling that I’d gotten my own good catch…
And as he turned over the Abs and other fare, he began peeling off his wetsuit…. A sexual dance unto itself….and talking about his day. I couldn’t help but be caught up in the display of not yet dead creatures. I had never seen an abalone still alive, although I’d eaten my share.
As I stroked their smooth and undulating Snaily selves, still alive and glistening with colors and slime, I was feeling their sad surrender to their fate. They were quite beautiful, and I said so…
“Oh, they’re so beautiful…” and tears almost welled up…
“What are you doing? Hypnotizing them, before I Keeeel them?” the word Keeel was emphasized with teeth and nuance.
“Yes, sort of…” I said, and he smiled his best Pirate grin.
It was odd. I loved his Pirate, and he loved my Hippie.
…Either you can slit your throat,
or you can get your shit together.
Those of you who care, you will be happy to know that….
I HAVE ENTERED THE KING TUT’S TOMB OF MY PAST TODAY….. and have located some delicate delectibles of my past Journals… as well as Photographs and Memoirs…. oh my! I shall deliver ….and soon…!
Meanwhile…..This type of tray was produced in Brasil in the twenties, thirties and forties. In the fifities and sixties, they continued, but by the late sixties, the Morpho Butterfly was protected, and no longer were these gorgeous but doubtfully moral objects.
I admit it. I am putting off going into my storage, my deep dark pile of the past, and retrieving those journals that strip me bare, and tell me word for word just what transpired, long time past.
Yes, I wrote them for myself. Yes, I am curious. Yes, I wonder how my memories stack up against what I wrote in the moment. I also want really badly to put aside such deep and emotional touchings right now. Why… ? because I have armored myself against the hurt. Yes, Me…. The one always ready for feeling… I have just reached some sort of limit in my life, and have finally become protective of Myself.
And this is not a bad thing. No, indeed. I have just now learned the lesson that I might have well learned long time past, when I was young and full of so much…
So do not despair, those of you who await the next chapter, the next word, the next Phase… they will come…..but…. frankly, it’s All a phase, Dear Reader…. and it will come, but….
Just accept the fact…. It’s All a phase, every single day, every single chapter, every single decade………it will pass, and something new and unknown will come along, something you never even dreamed of, and it will overtake your being, your heart, your spirit, and you will say in retrospect…. Damn! That was the Best!
What comes to mind today is how fucking boring my life is right now.
What comes secondly is …. If it were much more interesting, I wouldn’t be left with nothing to do that is truly exciting but write.
What comes to mind thirdly, is Hunter S. Thompson. Because complete Gonzo insanity is the only way to Compensate for the Isolation that writing demands.
She is a hungry Bitch, and only takes you alone, and in the dark.
I wish right now that I had a Gonzo buddy, someone to just go fucking crazy with me once in a while, to escape this mundane existence that is life right now in this culture, and at this moment in this year of our lord and this month of Winterness.
So here I write, the snowstorms raging outside. OK, not really Raging, but everything is relative, right? Winter is for the Yin, the internal, the contemplative part of the year….
Or the contemplative Half of the year, if it’s Oregon….
Lovers come in all colors. If you’ve been privileged, or cursed, to have more than a few, you find yourself grading them, on a multitude of scales.
And you find yourself missing parts and pieces of them all. There’s the comfort scale, the creative scale, the sensual scale, the wild and in the moment scale, and of course the boring and mundane scale.
We won’t talk about them…. too boring…
So let’s talk about the others. Me, myself…. I like creative and in the moment. I also really like men who can be thoroughly Yang, and also Yin. I’m not talking Bi here, for even though I acknowledge my natural and healthy awareness that I am Both…. I choose not to act on it…
Please…. Half the world is quite enough for me to deal with…
No, I speak of the ability to Dance with someone. Horizontally…
Most men I’ve known really like to take charge. Some are able to submit for a little while, but there always comes a time where it’s time for the guy to take the lead, do his thing, and get to the finish line. Rare is the one who can change places.
Me… in my life, I’ve always liked a lot of flavors. It’s so in ice cream… and it is so in Love. What do I Hate? Formula Sex. I mean why bother? Do it yourself already.
And I don’t mean necessarily a lot of different people… I mean someOne who can go to a variety of places… When I’m with someone for more than a little while, what else keeps us interested but the dance of the creative in the moment of who knows how it will go, and there is no script sort of Dance of love.
I had a long time lover who enchanted me with his creative. He was a musician, and a naturally creative being. When I was with him, his presence, his complete attention, was part of what was so enticing about him. When we were together, that was All that existed.
And each time was Different, which I found unusual at that time. Of course later, I realized that That was true, but also what was true was that when he was away, he was away completely, and wherever Else he was, was All There Was for him …
But… let’s not loose the point.
There are Lovers, and then there are Lovers. Legendary Lovers are few, and if one is lucky, we have one or two. I’ve had two, and although right now I am bored out of my mind, still I would never say that I am not grateful for the life I have lived.
So do we rank our lovers? How can we not? Yes, as in ice cream, we have our special favorites, we have those wowie moments of discovery where we think we have found something that has never been found before. But then there are those that hang in there, that last, that shine like major stars in the heavens, that keep on shining through thick and thin, and we may wonder why….. but then again, they just ARE, and we best accept the fact, enjoy them while we can, and make good ART from them when they are gone.
Fact is, everything goes, everything moves on, and at some point, or points, we are here, with ourselves, wondering and full of wonder, at this brain which retains these incredible memories and beautiful movies of miracles that will never come to pass again…..Yet I am sure the same amazing miraculous dances occur everyday, somewhere, and at this very moment.
Miracles of love and connection, and the miracle dance that is Us, we stars in this Universe of endless stars, not so special, yet special beyond the word special, and we dance on eternally,
and That my friends is the True Miracle of All.
Over the next few weeks, he would call every two or three days. I liked that. He wasn’t oppressive and demanding, nor was he showing insecurities, which I hate…. he left me space. And he didn’t leave me hanging during these times… it was rather a perfect start.
And I might add, he never failed to deliver in that interpersonal realm, definitely making up a thousand times for that first funny “bad impression of Brasilians” … I had thought he was a bit boyish, and he was in ways… but believe me when I say he was one of the most wonderful and most Present lovers I’ve ever experienced. And his skin was electric… He told me that divers are the cleanest, because of all the salt water, and how many times they rinse off each day. But it was more than that. The energy coming off of him in those times was in big wide swaths, like he was on fire from the very center of his soul.
The phone rang.
“Heellooo…” deep voice… I know that voice…….“So…… how Are you?”
“Oh… the wind is making me Restless and Bored …”
“Reeelly? Can I come over an take advantage of that?”
(soft snickers on both ends…)
“oh I suppose…”
“gooooood. I’ll be there…”
…..and he’d hop on his bicycle and peddle the short half mile along the ridge road to my house. He was camping at a friend’s house just up the road.
How cute, I thought. This manly man, this worldly cultured man, hoping on a bicycle to come visit me. He was quite winsome.
Once I looked out to see him surfing the top of his buddy’s white van as it drove in. Surfing it all along the bumpy and unkempt little road from the street to my front door, past the little pond, past the cabin where my son lived, and up the drive to be delivered at my door…. Like fresh milk, or the daily news or the most delicious meal, cooked to perfection and just for me.
Our times alone were pure magic. Years later, he would tell me he was mesmerized. Great word, mesmerized. It comes from a magician, or hypnotist or something, named Mesmer, I’m pretty sure….
And I… I was swept away. He pleased my eye so, this artist was enchanted by beauty, intrigued by his wit, and searching for the truth of just who this being could be.
He loved Opus and Bill the Cat. He said he was voting for Opus for President. He would sit reading the paper, and mumble to himself about the news from home.
“Stupid fucking Brasilians” he would curse. “ they deserve everything they get”. He was furious, the way they dealt with the rainforest, the Indigenous tribes, the natural resources of that most gorgeous country.
He loved “Monthy Pyton”, and I would laugh and gently correct him. He always had a hard time with that difference, the T and the Th. But it was endearing, and sometimes I’d tease him, calling out “Lucy….. I’m Home!….”.
Then came a time where I hadn’t seen or heard from him in days, which was unusual. I had his number in Tahoe, and one night with great trepidation, I dialed the number.
A woman answered … the one he called “the woman who lives in my house”…
“Is Alcir there?”
She called him to the phone.
“Oh, you’ve made a woman here very unhappy” he scolded.
“Oh I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”
“No no, it’s alright. I’m just going to be here for a while…”
Short and sweet, uncomfortable and strange… I hung up.
I had known he had someone in Tahoe. Not much else. I justified everything by the notion that he couldn’t be That happy there, if what was going on here was going on…
I remember the second or third time we were together, when we came back down to earth, and he sat up abruptly, and said “Oh noooo, I cannt Dooo theeees. I leeeve weeth someone. “
“I know”, I replied. “Are you in love with her?”
“I don know….…I don know” he trailed off.
“Well, you’re here now” and I shrugged. He looked long and hard at me.
And then he dressed and left to dive.
And right around that same time, early on, and I’m not counting that first time when he snuck into my bed like the bandido he was, …. As was our way, we went into another reality, our world where there was no time, no ground, no division between us. It was truly mystical… and then he sat up quickly.
“Oh Nooo”….. he shook his head, his hands like they were holding it on.
“I deeed not know eet would bee like theees…” his voice soft and a bit lost, his head slowly moving from side to side.
“I did” I replied. “that’s why I kept you away for that week”
“Yes….” For from the first, I knew that once I stepped off that cliff, it would never be the same for me.
When he came to retrieve his things once more, and it was funny, for he always seemed to leave something to come back for….I walked into my studio and as I began to ascend the ladder, I asked how he was doing…
“Oh much better now” he grinned, looking up, and as I glanced back, I understood the wicked pleasure in his smile.
Once when we were making love, and he was above me, staring into my eyes as he so often did, his body stroking mine in every way possible, words came from his lips in a soft dark voice…
“Oh, yooo’re a Gooooood Wooooman………. What am I going to doooo weeth you?”
”You’ll think of something…” I whispered.
I loved my house. It was my hippie haven, with little rooms here and there, places to sit outside, decks and landings. Handmade, pieced together, I didn’t care. I truly loved it. It was a sculpture that took form over many years with many owners, and it resonnated with my lifestyle. There came a time, as often did in my renter’s life, that the owner wanted, needed to sell. It had been on the market for many months, but nothing had really taken shape. Now the owner took charge, and as it turned out, took charge of my Life. There was one time that I Really hated my status as a single self employed mother, and wished there was a Man behind me when I spoke with the owner man guy.
His situation was desperate I guess, and so much so that he and his family came out from Colorado and asked me to leave while they Lived there (yes!…can you believe it?) and proceeded to sell it themselves. It was Terrible.
My girls and my animals and I all had to camp around during that week, I couldn’t get any work done in my studio, and I was Sure he wouldn’t sell it…….. but he did. It was devastating. He and his family really never acknowledged what they put me through, and after that, I had a month to move out.
Rentals were hard to find, especially for a single woman with children and animals, and self employed to top it off. I was part timing at St Orres, a glamorous inn and restaurant on a hill of Hwy 1. with panoramic ocean views and the best food… but still, I lived precariously.
To add even more stress, it was Renaissance Faire time, and right now I have no idea how I managed to accomplish it all. The Faire means Three Months of weekends, building a booth, studying Renaissance lingo and costumes…they kept changing the rules every year…. and Making Stuff to Sell. It tires me just remembering … but somehow I found a Wonderful, but very different house, and the owner was a woman…. a single woman! Yeah!… and she decided she’d let me rent it. I remember arriving at my faire booth and calling out to my faire partner….”I got it! I got my house!” and we did a happy dance.
And What a house. I called it my Glam House. Somehow I knew I wouldn’t be there a long time, but I decided I would enjoy it while I could.
Get this: Five Levels. Two master bedrooms with bath. Three smaller bedrooms… and they left me a Huge couch that wrapped around one corner of the level with windows and a big screen TV… big for then anyway. The entire house was wall to wall carpets… Shelves for books, window views, Two Acres which had a lot of woods, and even a large …no Super large aluminum shed/workshop thing that could have eventually been rented out to someone as well. The kitchen was super, and the lower deck… there were several… had a hot tub that could easily handle a party of twelve. Oh yes, and an attached single car garage to use as a studio. All for $600 a month… unbelievable, No? …..this was 1986.
I was sad to leave my little boat house, that had cradled and nourished and protected me for three years, and the last day crept quickly near. Then it was the last night. I recall a thought blurting out from my brain, erupting without hindrance… oh if only I had someone here to share my last night with. If only He was here. But it seemed too much to ask.
He’d been gone for several weeks, and I can’t remember if it was because of the urchin season… they had breaks that they had to abide by… or his business in Tahoe, which I never really understood… something about a snow cleaning business….but anyway, he was gone.
My girls and I were in the far end, the bedroom with bath that had been my oldest daughters room, before she left for college. We were watching TV, I was on the floor enveloped in a bean bag chair, the same sucking me in to the netherlands of the floor, sinking me down, cradling me in soft surrender….and very mellow from eats and wine…
A knock came…
Piney went to the door, and then rushed back to me.
“Mom! Mom!! Oh my god mom…. You’ll never guess who’s here! Get up, Get up!” and I remember groaning and slowly rolling off that beanbag world, wishing I could just stay there forever, I was so tired.
I literally crawled to the doorway, with a clear view to the entry way. And who stood there, hands on hips, in his bright green BARBADOS SWIM TEAM sweatshirt, Varnet sunglasses and a big fat grin…
I swear, I was awake and up and over to him, and I began punching his shoulder, yelling…
“I don’t know whether to kiss you or kill you”, …..and then falling into his arms.
It was always like that. The joy always overcame the frustrating and unpredictable side of him that drove me mad.
He walked to the open door, hung off the railing and called to his diving buddy in the van….
“See? She’s happy to see me! Jest looook at dat smile…” and drew me close. We were both grinning from ear to ear…
The next day, knowing I was moving, he left to dive, and said he’d be back to help. And he was. Along with several friends with trucks and hands, we managed to cart out almost everything of mine, and drop it into the next house.
When he saw the new house, he took a deep breath.
“You do VooDoo? How deeed you fine this house? You dooo voodoo for meee…. I wan a meeelion doelars… eeets worth ten pearcent, an a month in Montecarlo”
“OK…! I can do some visualizations…”
“It’s a good thing you showed up when you did…. you wouldn’t have known where I was!” I chided…
“Naaaaa…. I’d have found you” he scoffed, and it pleased me to no end, the way his confidence created confidence.
Long time later, when I reminded him of his offer, he laughed out loud and told me…
“Ha! Ten Pearcent? No way!! I might as well just maaaarry you…”
The next couple days, I settled in, and he came over to help get that hot tub started. Oh, he couldn’t wait. He walked out onto the deck, which had to be 5 feet off the ground, took hold of top of the over 3 feet tall railing, and in one perfect movement, went over it, landing on the ground below… like a cat. He looked up briefly, just to make sure I had been watching, then proceeded to check everything, reset the motor, and get it going.
And oh my, did we enjoy that hot tub. It was simply amazing, under the stars, slow swims across, melting together in the middle of nothing but us, nothing but our breath, our bodies…..and our hearts.
I remember that night, the one I’ve promised to tell you about, like the movie that it was. How many times I replayed it, I cannot tell, but it was truly one worth re-viewing.
So, you remember it was the Fourth of July, 1985. We had briefly seen eachother along the parade route, Main Street Point Arena. He had given me the Latin Stare across the small town road, and I’d invited him with the gesture of a lighter needed. Later, up at Bower Park, I was singing with a Blues Band, along with Gary Bloom and Barry Bastian (then known as Abdul), and John Scott on base. I was good that day, and felt in my element, very hot, and really enjoying the crowd of my beloved locals who always looked forward to the yearly happening.
Interestingly enough to me later… I did a solo of a Sade tune….
“Smooth Operator”…… and sometimes it felt pretty right on, Mr Souza.
I always worked the Oyster Bar with John Scott, my long time buddy, and had been given the title of Oyster Brother, one not easily won for a girl, amongst the boys… I dined on oysters, drank micro brew beers, and felt so at home with my neighbors. Absolutely delightful and blissed out.
I remember seeing him once or twice, amongst the crowd that meandered around the woods and open lands of the park, and even once when I was dancing. He was always in the background, fleetingly, and always watching.
That evening, I took my two girls Piney and Lily, then 13 and 9, down to Schooner Gulch, and as we sat on that big log watching the smoke and sparks rise into the sky and blend with the stars…. and as the fireworks shot out over the ocean, blending with the sparks and the stars…..you might remember that that voice came over my left shoulder, that fellow from Brasil joined us on the log, and he revealed the sadness that would capture my imagination, and later my heart.
What is it about the sad hero, the gladiator who realizes he’s not quite received as the hero he thought he’d be as a boy? This man had grown up reading all the classics, and his heart was one who knew he could send himself forward, sword in hand, capture the maiden, tame the beast, and arrive safely at a home where rewards and repast reassured him that he, indeed, had done the right thing, followed the path that he alone was meant to walk, and in the end it would lead to Everafter. He was Built for it, blessed with the talents and physical blessings that would enable him to fulfill his Destiny.
Ah… but not so for every hero, or even for a few, not so for every brave gladiator. Not so for the brave and beautiful, for LIFE has a way of stepping in and letting us know that it is not Simple but Complex…. it is not Foretold, but proceeds on its own path, and none can predict the outcome of the life we lead.
So…. on to what you are all waiting for, I’m sure. The WHAT ?… after I suggested that he come over… after I put the girls to sleep…. oh you wonder, do you? Hmmmm?….. And so did I….
I only remember the thrill, the terror, the excitement. I put the girls down, probably changed into something yummy, although now I do not remember just what. And I waited…. but not for long.
And then he was there, at the door. What can I say about his energy…? He was like no one I’ve ever met, before or since. His energy field was large, full of sound and furry, and definitely signifying stuff that I’d never known, but wanted to know, to understand. I didn’t know how much of the longing I felt was because he was from another world… Brasil… and how much was because the life he’d lead was so completely different from the one I’d chosen, and it was very much Opposites Attracting from both sides…. and yet, we truly met on so many levels of understanding and taste.
I know we were both high from chemistry, from drink, and from the greenery we shared. We never got to the upstairs loft of my bed, at least not for the first meeting. I only remember the complete and utter surrender I felt, and the swept away feeling that overcame all fear, all doubt, and time itself. Yes, time became meaningless, and the Fourth of July was omnipresent inside and out. Skyrockets is putting it mildly. I remember laughing as we tumbled off the couch onto the rug….
Somehow we woke up in the loft, he leaving at dawn to go dive for urchins. He sat up quickly, as that was the way he awoke in those days. Startled awake, no pause for the re-entry, ready for the challenges of the day. I have no recollection of what was said, I only know that my mind was completely burned, swirling, confused and delighted, all at the same time. He left, and I was glad, for there was no way we could look directly at what had just occurred. He was off to conquer the sea and plunder its treasures.
Later that day, in the early afternoon, he appeared at my door to retrieve his wallet. Aaaaahh! The moment was brief and charged with sparks across the ethers. He said he’d call me…. and of course I had gone through his wallet, you silly. Wouldn’t you? Alcir bla bla bla de Souza. born February 14th, Rio de Janeiro. (oh great… Valentine’s Day….) …several cards from those he’d met. Not much of anything else, not much money. But nice wallet. It was funny, because the first time he’d left his beloved divers’ watch, and now his wallet….
“When you leave things, it just means you want to come back”, I told him later…..
It was the next day that he called and he returned, and from then on he called pretty much every other day. We seldom talked about US. We were each equally swept away, and for those times, there was nothing to say about the experience that this clash of souls had created.
It quickly became the center of my universe…..
One afternoon, he decided to pull out the old Legionnaires’ uniform, and here he is looking pleased with himself… after 18 years, he can still Almost button it closed… double click to enlarge the brat. This was 2006 in Rio.
I’m anticipating going through my storage soon, finding my old journals, and beginning to review the days when I was seeing Alcir. It’s not all pleasure, be assured, for I will likely never see him again, and in some ways that chapter of my life is closed forever. Stirring the memories is stirring the emotions, and they run deep and technicolor vivid.
As a being, he is etched upon my brain pans, like one of those movies you see over and over through the years, always creating the sensory overload, the tastes and smells, the cocktail chemistry, the brain bath rushing over skin, through veins, visions of sugar plum fantasies with someone who came so close to being a perfect match, yet membraned apart just enough to never quite get there. There were moments, flashes of paradise…
Heart breakingly almost, tantalizingly dancing just out of reach, touching in and running away. Begging for help, longing for true love, believing in conjoined souls, and terrified of love, that was he.
double click to enlarge this bad boy…