let me lay out the architecture of the day for you. the first act undertaken was to explore the indian hotspot for brunch with peter. 50% off everything on the menu before four is emminently reasonable. we had this strange lentil bread with potatos & chickpeas & oh. him saying to me "you never really struck me as the lets go out & sit down to dinner type," & me confessing that without my girlfriend around, i revert to having to use what i've seen on television sitcoms to govern personal interaction. after brunch i toy with the idea of going with peter & his brother & brother's girlfriend to the ren faire (they have a car) but in the end i've mostly decided against it. so i pop on a train & off to meet gerd downtown. there is some small amount of shopping but soon we retire to the asian pub my pup scribble found & lit a candle for. we're there when bernard meets up with us, & of course everyone likes the lycheetini. tough to beat that joint. after the breeze is shot by these old irons, gerd splits & bernard & i decide to cruise around the movie theaters thinking we'll see what's to be seen. eventually we decided that something around 7:30 is in order, though not on what (i am secretly rooting for the cave) & decide to go fuck off at some coffee place to kill more time (with these old irons). i know fuck-all about coffee, so i just tell the guy working i'll have whatever northwester bernie ordered. "make it two of those, meister," he says to the barista. ...the fuck...hey! i know you (sort of!) it is whosaidilied, who i am apparently stalking. ze is tiny, like the nitroglygerin cap that ignites the bomb! so that happened to me. when they close up, we go see the brother's grimm, which i had heard nay-sayed by kingtycoon. okay! i liked it, as we knew i would, especially with lowered expectations. very funny to me, & as everyone likes to point out to me, i wish i'd invented those spells & monsters. then from there bernie & i decided to walk home. came across the brooklyn bridge, got some water at his place, brought gilda ratner back to life but left her buried in her grave & then walked on up union street.
ps cyndi, i'm pregnant.
it isn't like i can't face another night of bad dreams. i find myself, i'll admit, trying to calculate odds on whether i'll throw up tommorow morning. you get so fucking tender when you are protected. i mean- i try to count years sometimes. so jenny came into the picture, what, 7 years ago? was it only that recently? so that is how many years? 21 years of dying every morning without her to cling to. plus another 65,000,000 of absolute loneliness. sometimes, like today for example, all today, i worry that there will be no freedom until i have languished for one billion years. it makes me punch my head. how is this hate to be bourne out upon the world over so long an age? can we get some fucking nukes in the air, motherfuckers? where is truman when i need him. if this was the roosevelt dynasty there would be motherfuckers putting buttons into my hand. frank & teddy both had me in their hearts, keeping them vital & throbbing. though of course, in a diffrent context for each. teddy, i brought into the cult of the gun. & well, if you havn't figured out already that franklin was a litch, then there is no hope for you, is there? so i don't know. i have to look beyond the ash veil of sleep into tommorow. or maybe i don't. but i bet if i died in my sleep that she'd kill me. i don't want to let her down, any more than i do with my carelessness. she needs to try to keep my head on, like the kennedys. maybe her pillbox hat is the all the bunker i'd need. i'm not morose, you understand, just matter of fact. i'm going to go chest deep into the bottomless oceans of sleep; while there, the phantasmagory will be upon me, & so it is no small understatement to call it torture. pains i must endure to call myself mordicai each morning, but still cruel. the growth of bones is a unique pain, within the flesh, & thus it is so. but fuck, this rumbling underneath my sternum keeps calling. anyhow, i miss her, but not terrible so yet. but watch me sink into bed, lay out upon the futon. did i mention she left me her teddy bear? she knows me well enough to know that i'll ascribe some huge symbolic portent to it. which means, concurrently, that it is in fact a huge semiotic event in our romance. she loves me!
how me & the war zepplins got here is as much a riddle to us as it is to you, mate. there was that flash of dark, & all the listening to the same song on repeat too. i guess that might make for some kind of diallation, i guess. oh, i should mention that the insects from the park all crowded against the windows here, asking me to "fetch them a scary spooky soul," do you think that might have been part of it? but it doesn't explain the airships, with their segmented balloons & armored plates & mounted cannons. thought i guess you could call me their mounted canon. i guess you could call me a lot of things, but mostly you'd be wrong. mostly i wouldn't forgive you, but would hatch a black mark in my inside-book. does everyone have that ledger? where convienance & enjoyment & hate all intersect? how else do you decide to talk to ever again? speaking of, rukiya called me at 1:30 am tonight, called me from a bar in ohio where we used to go. we keep in touch sporadically, but often enough that we can pretend like we are 'in touch.' apparently she & demario are over & done with. he bought her & co. drinks, which makes me, for once, believe it. um, the thing is, i'm pretty sure i have seen stuff moving under the bed already, & i'm not even that sleepy. & i know, what a five year old cliche. come check in my closet & under the bed too mom. but i never much needed my mom. not like i need you. i tried maybe smashing it with the weights. i used them to form a little barricade at least. i almost want to summon up the angels that live in the walls, as you said it once. you get it, that fucking blows me away. here i am writing love letters to you where you won't see them for at least a couple of days. but it reminds me that i can count on you, that you are just away, not gone. see, i'm not totally unable to deal with abandonment anxiety. i'm not freaking out that you won't come home (a thought, that mentioned, actually physically made me shiver) but rather just wishing you were here. i always say you take me for granted, but when you are gone i remember what being alone without you is like. damn it, it is a cold fucking drink. you anchor this spaceship in ways i forget, in ways i take you for granted. i'm peeled like an orange without you. but don't worry. i still remember to turn off the air conditioning when it doesn't need to be on. because i want things to be the best for us that they can be. seriously, i have a girlfriend who knows the line between the metaphor & the madness. or what i pass as madness, but cherish in truth as metaphysics. i got that girl, the one that got it. the one. i'd say that it is stupid that i only realize it when you arn't here, but i feel like my general adoration of you isn't that slack-ass.
a lot i wonder about how incriminating it is okay to be. like, if i told you that i'd drank all the bitters, that'd be bad, right? you'd have to have been obsessively keeping track of when i bought them, but if you were, you'd realize that i basically drank them faster than water. is that idiosyncratic or eccentric or anything? maybe just a mess, i can't tell. i'm pretty sure that talking about how the songs i've played over & over on repeat are the "into the west" & "gollum's song" from the lord of the rings movie is taboo, but then, the more i think about it, i wonder if that isn't geeked enough to be charming. i can't tell.