“All Of Our Heroes Are Bastards” collage art with leftovers from the zine
Lately, I’ve been listening to music a lot more and with more intention. I have grown frustrated with the stupid algorithm and I’ve started making my own damn playlists again…sometimes on the fly, often with prompting from someone who casually mentions something I might enjoy listening to. Occasionally, I will dip my toe into music podcasts to figure out what everyone else is swimming in these days. Every once in a while, I’ll latch onto a random algorithmic miracle and go off on a tangent. But every spring, I revisit “Key Lime Pie.”
Since it’s been approximately 40 springs that this has been my ritual, certain memories and patterns emerge from this practice. I remember even the first spring. I believe I had either just turned 19 or 20, and I was experiencing the crashing and burning of what had been a (temporary) utopia. I could feel myself teetering on the edge of catastrophe, combined with needing to shake the winter blues. It was unseasonably warm in Chicago, and a sunny day walk was exactly what I needed. The things I saw on that walk are still visually implanted in my brain, as is the way the air smelled, and the particular quality of the sunlight. I can even feel the temperature of the still-cool air as I walked under the El tracks on Belmont, emerging, squinting, to be embraced by the warming sun.
I even remember the spring 10 years later, when I related this story to a depressed lover. I described the feeling of emerging into sunshine after the somber grey of winter and gasping at the stark beauty of it all. As we listened to Key Lime Pie together, he steepled my smaller fingers in his hand and told me I was his key lime pie. I loved him, but was secretly terrified of that responsibility, having lost a depressed friend to suicide 9 key lime pies ago.
Spring is that time of possibilities after the limitations and restrictions of winter have been removed. Camper Van Beethoven perfectly captures that feeling on this album. Particularly in one of my favorite stanzas of all time, from “June”:
And I wrote you this letter ’cause the clothes were hung on the line And the crows flew out of the field and up into the sky I’m lying here in the station Stretching out on the tracks Are all the possible places that I might arrive
Springtime reminds us that we can rebuild an entire world, even in the exhaustion of the aftermath of apocalypse. Even when, in the depths of the cold and the darkness, it felt like it would be forever before the sun would break through the clouds. Even if at times it felt like it never would.
I think of all of the other springtimes in my life, and all of the various (physical and metaphysical and existential and hypothetical) places I have arrived in every season of my life so far, and I can’t help but feel like a big old clumsy but faithful puppy, tongue-lollingly drunk on hope, tripping after butterflies and falling in love with tree trunks like all of the springtimes of my past in one endlessly looping filmstrip clacking through my brain like an old-timey projector.
Who needs heroes, when we have each other…and springtime.
P.S. If you haven’t seen the secret agent yet. I highly recommend. It’s a long fucking movie, but it is truly beautiful. And there’s that scene where Armando is driving with Fernando and talking about Fernando’s mother. Wagner somehow is able to convey that tightness of face, and the subtlety of false optimism and positivity that is so frequently required of parents who are experiencing adversity. You can see the almost-tears and feel the subtle catch in his voice. It’s quite lovely. It’s very artful acting.
Link
Only one link this week, as I’ve been busy herding turkeys around, listening to music, living in the past, and not reading so much news.
Oh yay. Yet another opportunity for politicians and their enablers to grift!
“The money flows well beyond large state agencies, to small and obscure agencies most people (including myself) have never heard of. The Point Comfort Police Department in Texas — a town of fewer than 700 people — has a base agreement of $167,525 to supply nine task force officers, plus an additional $5,000 salary modification. The Key Colony Beach Police Department in Florida is getting $119,000 for a single officer once you add its $107,500 base award to an $11,500 salary supplement. The Coward Police Department in South Carolina, also serving a town of roughly 700, has a base award of $107,520 for one officer, with another $15,000 modification layered on top.” – https://www.kenklippenstein.com/p/exclusive-ices-bounty-hunters?publication_id=7677&post_id=192048723
For the past few months…but the past week more intensely, I have been immersed in my own personal history. I have been working on a zine that has been in progress for TWELVE YEARS. A love story to my favorite city, Chicago. The place where I grew up, and where a lot of fond memories reside. Some not-so-fond, as well, but I have been thankful to discover that none of the pain that resides there is sharp. I fear it may make a dull narrative, but the process is delightful for me. It’s like visiting with old friends; some of whom still exist in my present life, but many I have lost along the way.
The zine in its current state is about 72 pages digest-sized, and divided into four distinct sections, representing eras of my life when I have moved/returned to Chicago. There were many more returns in between those recorded here, and the eras chosen for the zine were largely random. They represent a pretty good sample of my life. First – my move into my first apartment with a gaggle of punks; Second – my return to Chicago after fleeing to Lubbock to escape the misery of the city; Third – I return to Chicago a parent of two young children after my mom is diagnosed with breast cancer, and we visit all of the museums and eat a lot of pizza; Fourth – I return alone for my mother’s memorial, and lessons learned bringing me up to the present time.
I have given the draft to some trusted friends to review and make sure I don’t say anything that would embarrass me or any of the (totally fictional) people (fictionally) represented in the pages. I’m nervous, because I talk about my sexuality in a way I’ve never publicly discussed. I also just really love that city and all of the folks I knew & still know, and I don’t ever want to say anything that would make them feel like they were anything other than deeply cherished in my memory. I will probably be writing stories about it and them for the rest of my life. I am kind of excited to share them with you when it’s all ready to go.
But now it is time to be in the present, such as it is, and make plans to keep our neighbors and loved ones safe. I can’t talk about making a zine without mentioning the Prairieland Defendants, so I guess we’ll move on to…
Links:
The creative and highly theoretical claims by the state around Prairieland risk producing precedents. The theory that the whole demo was bait — for which the indictments themselves give no supporting evidence — is but one. The mere use of Signal is recast as evidence of criminal enterprise, while deleting someone from a group chat has become “material support for terrorism.” Fireworks are “explosives.” A home where friends congregate is a “staging area.” Dressing in black with a face covering is “designed . . . to aid and abet those members engaged in illegal acts.” The defendants are accused of possessing “insurrectionary materials called ‘zines,’” and defendant Daniel “Des” Rolando is charged with “corruptly concealing a document or record and conspiracy to conceal documents” for transporting a box of them. –https://jacobin.com/2026/02/prairieland-trump-domestic-terrorism-ice
“Close your eyes, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, stop breathing for 3 seconds, listen to the silence inside the illusion of the world, and you will remember the lesson you forgot,” -Jack Kerouac
The waning light and spent goldenrod
I waited until too late in the day to have my first porch-sit of the year, but I didn’t let that stop me. Jones was like “Where you been? I’ve been out here all winter holding this whole shitshow down!”
Critical porch-sitting supplies
And he really has. If there is one thing I have learned since moving here, it’s the importance of a good barn cat.
My demanding companion
In answer to his question, I’m having Tune Church all day with this Flux album. While I liked the other Flux of Pink Indians records in theory. In practice, there are only so many times one can endure the heavy feedback and painful moaning in The Fucking Pricks Treat us Like Cunts, or the straight-ahead britanarchopunk aesthetic of Neu Smell or Strive To Survive, Causing The Least Suffering Possible. While they all have their merits, they just aren’t heavy rotation material to me. On the other hand, I have literally been listening to Uncarved Block all damn day today.
Lyrically, the album wavers between cynicism and resolve. The songs wrestle with the concepts of facing and overcoming our individual insignificance in the struggle, and are often (intentionally?) disjointed and contradictory. Like free verse. Heavily influenced by Taoism, no concrete answers are provided.
And like free verse AND Taoism, meanings proliferate and dynamically rearrange themselves depending on your mood on any given listen. Even the song order is unclear, as the album version does not have a clear “Side 1” and “Side 2” label. The lyrics on the back of the LP appear in random order.
Song list and lyrics on the back of the LP
The opening, “The Value of Nothing,” is a percussive instrumental with some soundscaping that fades into a saxophone sample and slightly less percussive beats. It’s all basically foreplay before “Youthful Immortal” bursts onto the scene like spring after a long Maine winter. “Emerging from a long dark tunnel / to be blinded by the bright light / love can be so easily distorted / when for survival forced to fight.“
“Just Us” creates another percussive bridge with dubs and effects and echoes…
“Children Who Know,” juxtaposes the “same bigotry breaking into war” with the “same people nurtur[ing] bud into bloom.” and the “Same Children playing revolution in the park” while “artistry just collects the fragments into manageable chaos.” and culmiinates in the anthemic “I cling desperately to my last two beliefs: Firstly – I believe nothing and in nothing. Secondly – I believe everything and in everything.” And “Martyrdom offers nothing. I love this world and my life upon it. I grasp the hand of happiness whenever it is offered.”
I can’t express enough how much it has meant to me throughout my life to be exposed to artists and people who fully understand the joy of the world AND the pain of the world. It brings to mind this poster from the band’s previous labelmate (and 15-year old Bjork’s first band) KUKL
“Footprints in the Snow” refers to transience of life, as well as of the way we show up while we are alive. Like the rest of the album, the song presents contradictory thoughts and weaves them together in a collage of repeating words and rhythms. It is a song that is sadly appropriate for our time, as spring approaches and we are still sending soldiers off to war.
The entire album is sonically recapped in “Nothing is not done,” which then leads into the monotone chant of “The Stonecutter,” which acts as an footnote to the entire album. Warning “I slept with God but discovered, you cannot rescue whom you follow.” And closing with “Looking into mirrors, denying my reflection / while the ripples in the pond radiate further // Refusals or demands, there is a difference. So many words we did not say.”
Ain’t that the truth.
The inner album sleeve.
Anyway. That album felt important to listen to today. So I pretty much didn’t do anything other than that.
And then the sun came out and melted most of the snow and I sat out on my porch and watched the chickens put themselves to bed, and then I went out there in the gross muck and shut them all up.
As part of my normal seasonal solipsism, I am thinking about how I want to spend my time as the days lengthen and the weather begins to warm. I read back over this blog, trying to sort out what the heck I’m even doing here and whether it’s worthwhile to me to keep doing it. I enjoyed going back in time and spelunking through old blog posts. Criminy, I’m old. And also, I have done some cool stuff that I’m pretty proud of.
In general lately, I find myself sifting through personal data to figure out what to get rid of and what to keep. Recordings, photos, writing, art…Not that I’m planning on going anywhere anytime soon, but when I do go, I don’t want anyone to have to deal with like a jump scare of a random erotic journal entry or me saying something regrettable about someone in a moment of venting frustration. In an attempt to prevent this from happening, I have a project I am slowly working on for the rest of my life of transcribing what I think may be of interest to the kids or whoever, and then tearing up that journal and making it into a collage.
So far, I have completed one journal. I have like 89 thousand journals, so I better start getting on that immortal life thingy.
A journey (journal?) of 1000 miles begins with one step?
And while we’re talking in aphorisms, isn’t it all just rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic, anyway?
Wilbur can hear me…he’s just not listening.
I guess when it comes down to it, I just want the historical record to be clear that I was a human being who was on the right motherfucking side of history. And also, I had pretty good taste in music, and some really nice friends. Oh, and my kiddos are pretty neato, too. And I raised up a very good dog.
What am I even going on about anymore? I think I’ve been Daylight Savingsed. Yeah. That’s what I’ll blame it on.
February in summary
Oh, so also I’ve decided since we’re all going to be forced to live through historical fucking times forever, I might as well make record of notable events here in the blog again. You’ll have to give me a moment to re-develop my witty political banter and my link sources so I can actually find useful information.The good news is I’ll always put it at the end of my post so if you are all newsed out, you can just skip it.
Listening to the news
I am really really really REALLY going to try to maintain a weekly post schedule. But I don’t want to say that out loud, because saying it out loud is the kiss of death!
Linky Links
Before we get to the wretched present, please allow me to indulge in some memory lane stuff:
This interview with one of the guys from Flux of Pink Indians was nice, though this particular guy didn’t have a lot to do with the Uncarved Block LP.
I was recently reminded of this interview of Marc Ruvolo on Jughead’s basement, and enjoyed hearing them talk about the Chicago scene from the 80’s.
Last week, I watched Belfast, and will probably watch it again. The child’s POV was intriguing, and the sparse dialog. I might write more about it later. I’m trying to spend more time with the media I consume, rather than devouring one movie after another and not taking any time to think about or process what I’ve seen.
Anyway – on to the present. Such as it is…
“For all the fretting about AI, an autonomous machine is already in charge.”
“A court record reviewed by 404 Media shows privacy-focused email provider Proton Mail handed over payment data related to a Stop Cop City email account to the Swiss government, which handed it to the FBI.”
“The other thing I’m thinking about is relational credibility. The people who’ve taken me seriously over the years when I’ve challenged them are people who know from my actions that I’m invested in their well-being and survival. Even if they think I’m completely wrong about prisons or policing or whatever else, they know I want them safe, I want them alive, I want them to be okay.
If what’s established between us is only that I’m the person telling you you’re wrong, that’s a thin foundation. But if there’s some trust there, if I’ve demonstrated care, then there’s more room for someone to sit with discomfort instead of immediately defending against it. And I’ve gotten more mindful over time about how I’m positioned in those conversations.
Have I given this person a reason to trust me? Am I actually in relationship with them in a way that allows for some vulnerability? Because not everyone is, and not every confrontation is mine to initiate or see through.”
First – I owe y’all an apology. I’m MONTHS late on the zine grab bags. It’s almost cliche by this point for me to say I was hoping to finish that damn Chicago zine that has been sticking in my craw for like, oh…12 years or so? Maybe even more? That I PROMISED MYSELF I would get done in time for this mailing and. just. did. not…though I DID make progress on it. I finally just had to say fuck it so I can get this mailing out to y’all because there is so much going on and so many zines to share. And also I miss y’all.
I started the year with the very best of intentions to put more energy into this project. However, like many of you, multiple of my communities are currently under threat, or helping defend neighbors who are under threat, of fascist harm and/or death. So. There’s that.
Like, there keep being all of these insane reasons for zines to be late. I should really write a book about them. “Sorry my zine was late, but it seemed silly to write about time management, specifically the issue about leisure time, when everyone is organizing to keep their neighbors safe from fascist thugs.” My skills and talents have been needed elsewhere. And I am thankful that I have modest skills and talents to give. Maybe I’ll write a zine about that some day.
I keep typing sentences here and then erasing them, because I have so many conflicting thoughts about literally everything right now. For example, I know logically AND spiritually AND strategically that creativity is a necessity in these times, but also creativitying out loud seems self-indulgent. So I have been mostly doing private art, and almost always visual art, which I am not skilled at, and therefore am self-conscious about sharing because OMFG if I am going to be taking up space with my art, it damn well at least better be GOOD art. Whatever the fuck that means. hahaha.
And please understand that rule applies ONLY to me. By all means, if you want to create “bad” art and share it, I will be all over that shit! I live on a steady diet of ironic memes, so I would DEVOUR anything with an ounce of sincerity.
Anyway, I don’t fucking know, y’all. Just please know that I stuffed every single one of these envelopes with love and appreciation. I am so thankful to have this tiny audience for my way-too-intermittent ramblings, and I truly hope you all enjoy the meager gifts I am bestowing upon you. You all…WE all. WE ALL deserve so much more.
I’m going ahead and making this post public, and cross-posting to my blog, even though it’s referencing paid subscriber benefits.
If you can’t afford to pay for membership, and you want a zine grab bag, please reach out! I’m happy to trade or just send you things you might like.
Also, if you have friends who might want to be paid members…I think I have capacity for like 10 more subscribers without feeling overwhelmed, so please do refer folks.
Oh, and hey – if you make a zine and want to trade or send some for me to distribute or whatever, that’s cool too. When I have money, I like to support whoever I can…and I always like to hear about whatever y’all or your loved ones are up to.
I do everything simple and slow here. I don’t ever want to not be able to write little letters and stick little stickers all over everything. And I do my best to make sure all of the zines I share are made by real live human beings.
I spent much of the morning today thinking about artichokes. Working on my forthcoming zine, Oyster Lexicon.
In case I haven’t already described it (my understanding of this project has evolved over time, so I might have written about it before in a less specific way) Oyster Lexicon will be an alphabet of me (aka Lainie the Oyster) and A is for Artichoke. I have an artichoke drawing, a recipe, and artichoke mix…originally I thought I would just do 6 letters of the alphabet per issue, but it’s starting to seem like I might be doing 1-3 letters per issue, what with all of the artichoke media I’m going to gather. The zine will also be fully or partially full-color. I’m still debating about the size format. It will be hand-lettered (no computers will be used in the creation of the pages, but I will be scanning the hand-drawn/hand-lettered pages to do the layout and MIGHT do some computer editing after that.)
I’m super excited about doing a zine again. I had started to do one years ago after a trip to Chicago, but never really sustained an interest in it (though I do still have some great pieces that I was going to include in that zine that I might use for my “C is for Chicago” pages of Oyster Lexicon.) My plan is to put out the zine, as well as postcards and maybe notecards with the illustrations I’m making for each letter. I’d love to encourage people to send out actual mail, so I feel like making things that other people can use to brighten up the mailboxes of friends and relationships will accomplish another goal.
It’s been a long time since I last put out a zine, so I’m not entirely sure how I will do distribution. Ideally, I will be able to get some advanced orders to help fund the printing and mailing of the initial print run, which will hopefully continue to (mostly) fund any additional print runs. It’s not like I work at Kinko’s and can get free copies anymore. Speaking of which – do I still know people who work at Kinko’s and can get me a deal on copies? 😉
Etsy? WePay? Amazon books? iBooks? How are people promoting/distributing zines these days? If anyone reading this can give me any advice/suggestions, I’d really appreciate it.
In other news –
My new rhythm of days is working really well for me. I feel like I’ve achieved a pretty decent balance of internal/external time, and I’m making time for art and education as well as day-to-day practical things. I’m a little less worried about completing everything on my list, and am working on finding chunks of my week where I can just forget about time completely and focus on a task until *I* feel done with it, rather than when a clock tells me it’s time to be done with it. I still need to work on eliminating distractions and focusing on the task at hand (as evidenced by the fact that I got caught up in several facebook discussions during the writing of this blog post.) but I do feel like I’m spending the time I have doing things that are important to me, or essential to my family and community.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about dating, and how people without children maybe don’t really grasp the challenges in the lives of single parents – particularly custodial parents. Primarily, it’s odd to me how even very kind and understanding people can misunderstand how much of a financial and logistical burden it is to be the custodial parent of children – even when those children are older and not in need of constant supervision. As a woman and a feminist, for instance, I’m not really keen on a guy always picking up the tab for me. As a single mother who is struggling financially, however, you are damn straight I can’t even afford dating unless the other person pays. I’m totally cool with non-extravagant dating. I’m especially cool with cooking in or creating our own DIY entertainment…but it’s really difficult for me to help people understand that my inability to pay for a date is not a “reverse sexist” thing, but a “financial necessity” thing…and if I was the person in the relationship in a better financial situation, I would definitely be the person who offered to pay, or I would adjust my expectations of what a date might entail to ensure affordability. It’s a tricky subject, and it makes me want to avoid dating rather than having to attempt to unpack it with someone. hahaha.
Also, my children are not baggage. It might be challenging to date a woman with children, but it is hopefully a net positive. Oddly enough, I feel like my children become more of a challenge to my dating relationships as they get older. When they were younger, they tended to be more agreeable and open-minded about accepting people into our lives. Now they are more set in their ways and can be resistant to inviting new people in, even temporarily. I’m sure it’s difficult for a man to come into my home and be shunned by my adolescent boys, but that is the way adolescents sometimes are. It might be more exaggerated in my household because I am not a strict authoritarian, and my boys have always been very free to express themselves (for better or for worse) – but it’s the way it is. It’s really up to the adults in the relationship to navigate these issues…and I seem to find men who want instant acceptance from people who just aren’t designed to be uncritical of new people in their lives. It takes time. It takes time. It takes time. And the last thing I need is to be this person who is trying to solely balance the needs of the children with the needs of a potential new partner. Guess whose needs are going to come first every time, guys? You got it – the non-adults! The ones who I am obligated to care for until they are able to care for themselves. Which, by the way, might not be the very day they turn 18. It could possibly take longer than that. Because all kids mature differently.
I suppose dating as a single parent of adolescent boys is a good filter for me, though. It’s a lot more difficult to get involved in relationships and situations that are overly-complicated and require more of me than I should be expected to reasonably give. I’m just not capable of accommodating another person’s needs above mine or my children’s right now. It’s challenging for me, because my tendency is to accommodate. My tendency is to invite chaos. My tendency is to try new and different things, experiment, and see where they end up. And while I might be giving up on some things that might, after some work, end up being beneficial…I just can’t spare the time and energy to get there at this point in my life. I require a partner who is able to give more than take right now. I require a partner who accommodates me, more than requiring me to accommodate him. That FEELS selfish to me, but it’s reality. It’s where I am. And, really? I’m fucking worth it! hahahaha.
I THOUGHT it was 7 AM when I woke up today. According to my alarm clock, it was. I was tired when I woke, but when am I not? I thought to myself “Quit being such a baby. Considering the time change, it’s actually past the time you would normally wake up…in fact, you’d have already worked half an hour by now!” Determined to start my new (later start) work schedule off right by taking a morning walk, I got out of bed, sleepily donned my walking clothes, and greeted the dark dawn. Then I looked at my phone clock. The one that automatically sets itself for DST. 6 AM. hahaha. Well, ok, then.
I’m kind of excited to see how this new schedule treats me. There’s something about a schedule change that is invigorating. For the next three months, I’ll have Saturdays off (where I used to have Sunday off) and my start time is two hours later. Of course, my end time is also two hours later, and with 10 hour days, that pretty much eats my entire day…but if I’m disciplined, and continue to get up just a little later than I used to wake up, I can pack some really good exercise, reading, and a nice meal into that extra two hours in the morning so it doesn’t feel like all I ever do is work. And having three days off in a week is really helpful. As is starting this new schedule immediately after DST, when I’m still used to time being an hour later than it actually is.
A lot of my friends are doing NANOWRIMO. I’m not. However, I’m hoping to have the content for the first issue of my zine done by the end of the month, so I can do the layout the first week of next month and get it printed by the solstice. If I can get the first issue out by January, I’ll be happy. I’m probably going to do a WePay campaign…or maybe even a kickstarter campaign…to raise money for it in advance, because I am broke. BROKE. BROKE. And both of the kids still need ALL OF THE THINGS.
Anyway, I’m pretty sure the name of the zine is going to be “Oyster Lexicon.” It will be an alphabet of the things I love, and the first issue will include letters A-F:
A-Artichoke
B-Birds
C-Chicago
D-Dancing
E-Eyeglasses
F-Feminism
It will be a full-color zine with drawings and hand-written text. And I’ll probably do postcards to go along with it, and sell them for a bit extra. Maybe if I do a kickstarter, I’ll throw the original art in as a perk. My hope is that I will at least break even, and maybe even make some extra for the next issue or just to have for various art projects I’d like to do, and the zine library.
The zine library, which I’m planning to open up at least 1-2 times a month with a reading room and discussion topics. I’m super excited to finally know people I can actually talk to for advice and planning for this, and hopefully we can bring the various zine libraries around Austin (two others that I know of – maybe more that I don’t) together to create some sort of database. What I’d REALLY like to do is have an IZDB – like the IMDB – a database that includes zines, zine producers, zine contributors, and zine topics, with everything cross-referenced and maybe even sample scans.
These are my big plans. So, it’s sort of like NANOWRIMO, only more like LOZILIMO (local zine library month) for me. ❤
The feeling decisive I am transposed growing fragrant flagrantly desired. I can stop this tropical drop kick sudden misalignment sudden non-attachment. I am not ok with this this is too much for me. I rise with the sun and set with the waves.
Ironing out the kink in my armor I don, gray, move forward into oblivion. I am nothing if not superlative. Absolute. Fired. You are absolutely nothing to me and this meaninglessness is all-encompassing.
There was a brief sting and then it was me. And then you. And I was standing there, regarding with frenzied fury. This is no accident of birth this is no mismatched apprentice this is no apprehension to bear another fight and flight and fog and burn and crash and be and flag.
When I resounded, I sounded loudly. I grew weary. I was at my worst/best when we met – and I return to that now. I move outward, bleakly. The edges of this apocalypse are thinly-formed. A valor that completes itself. An armament. A breeze.
You soldiered forth, still valorous dolorous. We shared walks, talks, mushrooming time in the wake of / midst of / dream of eternity. There is nothing I wouldn’t give to you, except my total heart. There is nothing you couldn’t take from me – aside from everything.
We made no plans & all plans. Meaning you filled in the gaps. Nicely. Like sand through rocks. Like water through sand. And I soaked it in. Not complaining over the absence of commitment or statement of purpose.
I brought you in. Fed you. Warmed you by my fire. Kept you loved you fed you some more. Soothed you and never demanded a damn thing of you.
And so I was NOT biding my time but enjoying each moment as it happened. Tricky, that – but suddenly easy. Allowed myself to be nourished by ENOUGH – not too much. Felt not a moment of anger or jealousy. Truly wanted happiness – in whatever form it was meant to take for you. Yours and mine, yet mine seemed at the same time deferred and requited. Persistent bliss – Chronic. This is/was no ordinary thing. Emotions run thick & I am in the thick of it.
My life – so wonderful you began to pick it apart. The people I admired. The music I was inspired by. The places I enjoyed. All fell under the purview of your delighted disgust. You became fairly wretched, actually…and I didn’t realize it until being pushed to this distance.
Finally, you took back the one thing of value you gave me to keep. Your data. Your robotic heart. And I lost the one thing I kept that you gave. The yo-yo. My joyful heart.
Sometimes, that is the way it works. I”m not ashamed of the love I felt for you – unbounded and immense – unmeasurable and intense. It is who I am. Onward and upward. And you soaked it in like water through sand.
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