her or her or me

i am still in a spot of trouble. i had fun on a week night with this woman. she's beautiful. she's funny. she's smart. she knows who dario argento is. she's young and motivated, and she is interested in doing something good for the world. she loves dogs, and she smiles so wide.

she's perfect. and she's interested. she's busy enough to keep me from drowning beneath the weight of her. she's perfect yet again.

but i find myself picking out problems. she's too young at 24. that's the main one. this shouldn't matter.

here is the truth. she isn't the woman with the man's name. she isn't the one with the two children with rhyming names. she isn't the one whose legs i think about every time i close my eyes. she isn't her. and this is what i wait for.

CURRENTLY WATCHING:
Freaks and Geeks, Complete Series

close to the knives

i've been listening to this man die today. i've thought about him all week so far. he talks to me about the fevers and the pissing and the pain. and he makes me laugh, but his anger is pure in a way that mine is not. his pain is fair in a way that mine is not. he didn't ask for his, and because of this, his pain is valid, while mine is not.

he makes us all laugh, and i have to say, it's funny when he talks about william buckley; it's funny when we all laugh about larry flynt and jerry falwell, but it reminds me of the danger we are all in. and of the power they all have.

they can be the reason it all ends.

that's not something to forget. it's not something to lose sight of--where the danger comes from at the strangest times. we forget, i think, during election years and political cartooning, that there are real consequences for the things we fight for or against.

and this man, this man who tells the tale of his own demise, he is one of those consequences. when he talks about fevers and patriotism based on fear, he is closer to the heart of that ideology than we might want to admit. being close to death makes you honest. you've got nothing to lose. why not tell the truth?

here is what went through my head...

i'd been in my office for twelve hours wearing the butterfly sweater that she likes so much--the one mary ann calls my mariposa sweater. and i walked by her windows. she yells out, "what in the hell are you doing here so late?" i was working... and i told her so.

and when i left i thought bad things. i thought, i'm hungry. i thought, maybe i should just go back and eat her pussy.

CURRENTLY WATCHING:
The Blood Spattered Bride