July 22, 2001

  • Other Sirens, Other Shores


    I don't know where to begin.  Perhaps another beer would help.
    Or perhaps the last one hurt too much.
    How strange a day as blessed as can be that transforms weak fascination into compelling lucidity.
    Somewhere midst the day, the world jumped away from me.
    Was it the chemicals I was working with—the toluene, the naphthols, the glycerines that wreaked their havoc and delivered me unto this mischief of things bereft?
    How is it that my notion of yester morn which implicitly and unquestionably hailed women as ascending seductresses now resolves to an impression of them all as virtual lesbians??
    I'm in a world of hurt, if hurt can be.  Though my mind is keen, it's broken free of this mooring called collective reality.
    So my only true personal face-to-face contact with another person today was with a lesbian….


    Oh, I know now that another beer can help, brb…
    Ah, the wine bottle's closer and to hell with the glass!


    Oh yes, this woman cared for me.  Oozing empathy, as none other has for a very long time.  And she played the flute.  And she played the cello.  And it settled my nerves as I worked for her to prepare her sanctuary from the rest of the world.  To adorn her attic as a habitable space, a secret garden hidden from the whole else of all gap, and all strife, and other forms of life that would surely debase.  But of her I beheld as impassionately as can be.  And all the manly desires in which men typically indulge, which were my daily rejoice, fled from me.  And have not returned yet. 


    After finishing the chemical stripping, and prep, and painting in her attic for today, sensing I was psycho-sexually rearranged, I felt a need to reclaim myself and so impulsively, even juvenilely, strolled into a tiddy bar this eve.  But there I encountered nothing but lesbians too.  Every girl, a lesbian!—who would have guessed?? Well, perhaps, not in their own actuality, but virtually so anyway, this evening,  for me.  And as I sat there, what my vision took in was truly inconsequential since my whole spirit was sinking into the accompanying hi-tech sound-system songs, the resounding rhythms, the enchantment of melody.  All so sexless.  All so perfectly blessed.  Broken free. 


    Perhaps in this music where I now reside,  I'll find myself the luckiest man alive.

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