I’ve had this conversation minus the alcoholic involvement on my end. What especially amuses me is that I’m fairly sure the every recipient has walked away with unresolved decisions in spite of the fact that my motives are explained as entirely innocent. This may be further evidence in Kyle’s assertion that I am Selina Kyle and that I have an air of mystery, but in retort, I have the fact that in the three blocks back from walking him to the bus-stop last night two different men in cars mistook me for a prostitute. There is no depth to money for sex in my neighborhood, not at all. I know when the woman downstairs has a client when the lobby is flushed with cheap perfume.
My hands are dirty today, there’s soil underneath my fingernails and my palm lines are etched in earth. A glimpse in the mirror, I fell asleep this morning with a metal foil fern still stuck in the middle of my forehead. False natural third eye placement, it glitters when light hits it. We have no sun today, it’s sheathed, brilliance hidden by clouds, water vapor protect us oh. My lover might visit today, to me he is limned with fire like knives, and enough to eradicate the weather.
Dee sent me this enchanting film last night, this morning, our eight hour difference. He’s winning to me, the red haired ferret writer. I told him that his dancing is worth moving across an ocean, that to cement our time like a movie memory, serene with the cut glass clarity of “we have never met before, but we get along fine.,” he should have kissed me at the train station when I sent him from L.A. to Chicago. I sing, Strip for me, don’t stop making me think of a red light night club and playing pool in a princess dress. I’m laughing. If nothing else, it would have made a fantastic story.