Sun 28 Jul 2002 09:01
milkchocolate blacks playing b-ball this morning

wrong

sara-h

ed

rachel

sandy

tiredness.

smilk

-

I struggle man'

cut off'

no, how "you- as in people (soc change comes about)

so I did not hear how he struggles

-

1128 sandy mentioned joseph joshua herschel (first two names?)
when describing to her purpose of site I'm working on.

hmm, it could be I won't hear from sara for a while. in the past she's chosen not to call for a while. That's how she is, I guess. She could call today.
obviously I wish to hear from her.
I haven't seen andrea, and don't have any base with her, even If I did have her number-

so.

1138
wonder how she took to me telling her "I guess I'm doing all right, but wondering about finding a place to live and what I'm going to continue to do here."

1146 The human rooster is outside, doing his cries. Somewhat pleasant in a way. Baco ah baco (an approx. of one of his rhythms). how would I write that so it could be read back by someone who had not heard it?  he could be recorded.

1204 damn, I'm going to have to wait how long to talk with her? why isn't there any one else I'd wish to-
we know.

get used to yourself by yourself sir, it's not going away, ever, or anytime soon.

We shall have another stroll to the holy courts under the magical bridge, and perhaps make it to the fairy-land of flowers and slender, dressed in fair clothes, maidens in the lands at the feet of towering fort tryon.

and dragons, and peasants, and haystacks, and (no cars!), a marvelous sunset over an expansive plain. dotted with the small houses of those who tend fields. Wisps of woodsmoke rising from their chimineys, groups of people, an occasional cart, making their way slowly along the roads to/from the /around the centerville.

maidens (young women-rather my age) in fair clothes among the flowers of fort tryon.

was it only one I see (only one in fair clothes perhaps) that gives me this?

Yeah, and she's gone now. She's left, and this is how I ham. don't forget-

She will forget. She has forgotten. She does not remember. She has moved on. Who's he? I don't know him. Who was he to me? I don't recall. She is gone now.

Here I am, surveying this scene, and my friend from memory is here, sitting there in her long skirt, by those tall flowers with frilly stems and ruffs as heads, looking off toward the setting sun, inside herself, in a white sweater, thin like the girls wear, reminiscent of that of Mister Rogers (buttons up at the front, she'd left it open), which was green, I think, olive green. A slight breeze (we could not do without this!) ruffles her long, light-colored, with flower print, skirt, her long, dark, wispy hair (though she's not wispy, she's a powerful one).

She's to be remembered that way.

There are others though- the one lounging in the sun on her back on top of the parapet, not a parapet, but the wall, which one does not want to fall off of!

And the short-haired, striking lesbian woman, friendly, with a dog I think.

There is also, the one I am not mentioning. She runs, kicking up her heels. She says, "I think I should get my -

She is how,

She is there, and you're letting her fade, like Michael J's picture of his family, lost to a past that had changed.

You've got her- in her long (maroon-ish) skirt.

You've got her- on that arch overlooking the inlet, the art-inlet, where you were as a king (amazing) and she, well, it would have to be prince, and princess (colin, how sappy-) but if you let one's mind wander from the rapunzel thoughts- she's not, to a romeo and juliet play (that works). You get back to where you were above, only you're with her.

And you have her, sun striking her side on- the spot of light through her pupil to the edge of her iris and the white of her eye, split by that edge, lit from the inside.

You have her kissing you, and disturbing you.

You have her singing her song.

You have her- other things- other things-

and always there is that cursoryness-

cursory!

Come here! I passionately-
and I -

substance as a cloth which felt in one's fingers crumbles to dust.

is it her? or is it you?

what you've both chosen to make.

will she do better in the future?

You know, _you_ can do better.

Can she?

With her, the ways you're able to love her are limited by the ways in which she is responsive (with anyone).



she does not write, to you. She is (a) busy-- you used to think that, until you found she didn't call because she thought you didn't want to talk. She is (b) afraid of something.

foolishness.

1417 peter called, we're goin to the tenament museum- I've been doing little but drift in and out of sleep so that suits me.

2002-07-28-2002
this work has gotten to be like writing that paper.

I could work on the old stuff or the new.

I seem to recall- once you get into it and in a groove you're fine.

Yeah, I could work on old stuff.

But wish to have new in place?

do the least- necessary.

do what's fun.

for the record, sara or something does affect my mood. not very cheerful (until I got back home (now)).

you've heard it before. I try to let her mean as much to me as she wants to. She , oh, let's go-

current task:
make a good index for individual pages. Well continue from there once that is established.

That is something people could start using right away (people=you). You can add the other things later, as warranted-. Sounds good. Would you really pay $100 some dollars to host this? We'll see. Make it easier to get your other page (journal) online as well.

goal is not spend all our time developing.

get content in a minimally useable form, then worry about more complex presentations.

encourage people to evaluate possibilities meaning, vitality.

no I don't need my p/t job to stay sane. I could dance instead.

I want to go someplace and be a waiter.

I could do that..

2130
oh sara called, and its my same old story, and how I react. just me I guess, my free time, and a wandering mind.

a relief to hear from her. yes.

she's got a lot of work to do before she leaves.

what will it take to be joyful again?

I look forward to winter.

do I look forward to not having any relationships to deal with?

just me and the snow, the hissing radiator. I don't know. continue.
love.


.