Fake Empire

You wonder if you have something good to say, something better than usual because you’ve been quiet.  Time passes and the burden grows.  After a while it becomes hard to say anything at all.  Partly I’m silent because I think it’s the better course of action.  I don’t know if what I want to say would be said if things were different.  I want to share parts of my life with you because I know and adore most of you.  But whether or not it is applicable here–and you’ve convinced me, it is– will it cause harm?  I don’t know.  And so I take pause.

It’s been warm here, as always, and stepping off the plane weeks ago was almost laughable, it was so hot.  Noel drove me out of LA and I don’t know if I can convey the dread and resignation I felt at the sight of the yellowy sky and the dirty street signs.  We passed two signs for a tattoo expo and the ad pictured a busty woman with no tattoos and I laughed at that, at how false it was.  I’m no longer surprised that I don’t mind cities like I used to, living in this one and being in LA and in Portland.  Columbus was beautiful, snow-covered and deadly cold.  The people were wild and a kid tried to fight me and I stood right in front of him staring and telling him to remember who I was.  Minutes later he threw a chunk of pavement through the window of the house and I got cut a little on the glass and Christ, how alive that night was.  Ushering people out and hiding the contraband and the moment when she was caught up in the rush to leave and there was such a pull in her eyes and it may have been too perfect to happen but our hands met as she backed away.  Days later I found her on the street in the cold and she took me to a bar and we talked for hours.  And just a handful of hours before I had to leave she called and said she was coming, and she found me, and we sat before the fireplace and eventually we moved to the couch and laid down and for an hour I wanted to kiss her and could only brush our cheeks together.  We fell asleep and woke each other up a few times and finally I kissed her, and eventually we slept again.  I regret that I didn’t tell her to warm her car up before going.  I regret not having those few minutes and what they might have held.

And then here, in the dark, with storms approaching and lined up for the week.  Gray skies look so much worse out here.    New laptop because the old broke, money I don’t have spent on something I have to have.  I wrote a prose poem that went away from where I wanted but I think is good.  Too close to really write about it, now.  Though I want to, and I think she deserves it.  65k into the third novel.  40k or so to go. 2,213 miles from where I want to be.  Less if she drives out to meet me, again.  A little gesture, a little kindness.  I haven’t been exposed to something like that in a long time.

Well, there you go, dammit.  I managed to shut up about myself for a couple posts, at least.

Edit:  Wasn’t quite clear enough re: kindness.  A great many people are good to me, and there are a few I probably don’t appreciate enough.  I meant a particular brand and a particular reception of kindness.