It’s almost the end of the year. I want sheets that echo moonlight. White light like the morning. Stay all night. Wake in the night to those white sheets rumpled and know that the morning and love are coming. That love is with you and soon morning will be all around you.
Sex opening the Sky
December 27, 2005
When I moved to California, there was so much more sky. In New Hampshire where I grew up, the sky was sliced by mountains, trees, and many, many clouds. Here the sky is a place you can walk into. That’s why I wanted to come here in the first place. That’s why I wanted to live inside O’Keefe’s painting of the sky. (Actually painted in New Mexico, but close enough.) Because anything is possible inside that play space sky. Of course, I think sex is like that too. Because in that moment nothing else exists. If you are with a great lover, and I insist on it, the world is of your own making, a torn off piece of the sky. (It doesn’t hurt the sky, there is always a lot more), and then you eat your bit of sky totally saturated by blue and clouds and the alive reason for being: Rush of wild. That rush of wild is why I want to live my life. But even so, I feel myself becoming someone I shouldn’t be, don’t want to be. So, I am going to make New Year’s resolutions like we all do and become someone different. Because even in Los Angeles, there are sad patterns of behavior one can fall into that make us become puppets rather than Gepetto creating a world. Back to the sky. You haven’t lived until you’ve made love under that sky. When birds fly by, believe me, they think you’re normal. And that’s what you want. Birds seeing your behavior as normal. Birds seeing you as one of themselves.
I love you. Sheets
December 18, 2005
What we all want to hear. I love you. I want you. Sex me. Be with me. I will everything you. Everything you ever dreamed of. Sometimes you meet someone. You think, I can love you. They say, Ah. You say, I am thinking about you. About us. They say, My last lover was wonderful. Was the best I’ve ever had. You think about yourself. About how you fall asleep some nights when you want to have sex. You know you won’t be the best. So you don’t do anything. You smile. Your gift to them. That smile. Sex me. Be me. Be us. Let’s be us. All that stuff doesn’t happen. Because maybe he/she said the wrong thing. Us. It’s a hard place to get to. (Some say hard is good.) But hard to get to. Let’s be us. It’s a door. Once you walk through it’s a place you’ve been. Worth entering. What I always remember later is the sheets in the morning light or the moonlight. Empty after I left them. The sheets.
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