050405 the wee. Just want to pause in my Shakespeare class scribblings and nibblings to say that although this totally sucks, all this work and bother, I also am not so dead yet as to forget to notice that i love it too. It’s still me. I’m smoking and typing on into the late of the night. It doesn’t even matter what, just smoking and typing. And later I’ll go home to my loving family whom I do love. And oh yes--I want a man like Orsino. I don’t want a twink or a poseur or a pretty builder. I want a scary bearded big fucked up man like Orsino to sacrifice me like the lamb I am. I too am in disguise; time too is fleeing. 050505 The ritual gang-bang hootenany done got its head cut off, and that saddens me. Things I remember from last night: How diffidently big Tony and some of the others greeted me. How I could tell as soon as we walked in that the energy was off. How listless and funereal the music was. The glare in Sapo’s face as he straightlined across the floor at Gume, pissed because he’d lost the fight-within-roda that he himself had started. How sitting there watching all that with Ann, I realized how much of all this has to do with pack ascendency -- and yet, to put it that way makes it seem more natural and “okay” than it feels to me yet. How joyless Gume looked in that same roda. How small and translucent he looked, sitting there while everyone peppered him with peevish encouragements. How Sapo talked all night as if he knows everything about fucking everything. How everybody kept echoing back to Gume, “That’s Capoeira.” How Susan and Sapo leapt right into their plans for what next. How Marco sat there looking smug. How he said, “Amen called and asked to have that meeting,” after Anh pointed out that it was low of people to suddenly air all their grievances and put Gume on the spot the way they did. How relieved and grateful I was when Jen suggested Gume take a month off and then decide. How ardently Sapo argued for Gume not to quit, even past the point when everyone else had eased up, and how little I believe him. How, Ann told me later (I was in the basement helping Megan go potty), none of the others said anything AT ALL when Gume suggested I and Jen would be good to help teach the kids. How I had to play the berimbau with Phil & Dex just to help clear the air of slimy energy (it helped a little). How awesome it was to see Megan running around and playing with the other kids, and to see the other kids welcoming her (even though Ann told me later that Jacob had been so pushy with Megan that Megan cried). Overhearing Marco remarking glibly, “...well, Capoeira’s been going on for 500 years now, so....” How Sapo hugged me and said, “It’ll be hard, but we’ll pull through.” Will it really be, Sapo? How sweet that Jonathan kid was. He hugged Anh. Gume telling me that it was about more than Capoeira; he wants a family, kids, a life.... I’m pretty sure Amy dumped him. Wayne saying, “I’m sorry, Matt.” I told him he should call me if he just wants to hang out or talk or anything. I kinda doubt he will, but. I’m thinking back and I realize the connection I shared with flighty, flaky, goofy old Wayne, walking up and down Venice beach for example, or when I walked up as if from out of Lake Michigan to where he sat waiting for one summer class to start, and he was glad to see me, was greater and more real than any of the hifalutin, quasi-intellectual or -philosophical conversations I ever had with Marco, no matter how coolly passionate we may have acted at the time. Just goes to show how you can have an entirely different conversation than someone else has, even if the someone else is the one you’re having the conversation with. Just goes to show you the connection doesn’t always show up where it “should.” Just goes to show you it’s easy to mistake a charismatic leader for a real friend. And as easy to mistake a real friend for a mere associate. I’m not saying Wayne’s a saint; he is like a little boy when he gets hurt. I’m just saying there’s a lot more to it, a lot more to him, than that. And I’m sad. 050705 Okay. I’ll go back to Batuque and see how it is. I have too much invested, too much to give and gain to run away because of other people’s bad blood. But I’ll tell you one thing: I’m not going to play the doe-eyed adulant to Marco’s cutesy arrogant king-shit shenanigans any more. 051105 The other day Megan came padding out into the kitchen, clutching a Winnie-the-Pooh coin bank. “I want money,” she said. O, so it’s finally come to this! She slays me with that pathos / mischief / innocence. This morning there was a soggy pepper shaker on top of the rain-beaded USPS mailbox. It made me smile. We are living in a giant, all-encompassing restaurant after all! Hey, can I get some salt over here? 051605 It’s time to start praying in earnest for my babies. Anh’s having problems. I need help. Why is it that the care of angels is entrusted to trolls like me? It’s a mighty strange system, to put the most breakable in the hands of the clumsiest. Oi, God is an Iron, eh Spider? My strongest asset is the infinite love that flows through me. I’m a crackling conductor, a fatally flawed, meaty conduit is all. I only hope I can fulfill my function before I am burned to a stinking crisp. If I can, I will have no real regrets. 051705 New personality test: you scroll down through the pictures. Either your hand will move the current one into your personal folder, or else it won’t. There is no other explanation furnished nor required. Your breath will catch, or it won’t. Your hips will thrust, or they won’t. You will stop the slide show or you won’t. o To bed o i gotta go see Mama now * I know I’ve said all this before, and I know it’s not innerestin and stuff, but: I love women. They’re so arrestingly beautiful. They’re so spatial, so pungent of aura, so regal, so lethal. And yet: I. WANT. A. MAN! 052005 This year’s novel is going to be BETTER than last year’s, in that it will be the instrument of mine own exploration. Experience has taught me of the falls of guile and vain performance--though some ornament will still remain, for mine own incidental entertainment. 052305 If you take the sex out of sex, it’s not very sexy. I want to taste his secret, resonant funk. I want to drink in the hot undercurrent of his moss-grown hollows. 052405 X is definitely a winter system. As summer rolls around, 9 sings out, clear and clean as air-conditioning to my torpid, barber-shop soul! I’m such a tard. Smoke in the ink. 052605 Wanna talk about times you don’t regret having been foolish? like when I decided I sensed Wood was gay because I wanted him to leave Willow and come to me? smoking is cocksucking period Wood may not have been available, but he was more available than the dead guy. How I know you’re away: I had a romaine, carrot, radish, peanut and bacon salad. With parmesan cheese. And fresh tarragon. Gay. Just a reminder. Gay. Gay, gay, gay, gay, gay, gay, gay, gay and gay. Gay in the office. Gay upstairs of the old, creamstone, summer-bold library of ancient haunts. Ancient haunts are brand new again. And gay. In the summer. In the heat. In the wet. In the mossy hollow. Anywhere you like it. Gay. Oh god. Help me. Thirty-five years ago, I started to succumb. I’m approaching the point of religion. God help me. Ann’s not crazy. She’s lonely. Not surprising, given the husband she ended up with. 052707. Now I remember what the thing about Van Morrison M O Double R I S-O-N-! It’s Soul Salvation! Soul Salvation! What about this Band! My Lord! Into thy bosom I commend my spirit. Do you like VM (500) New syke test: Answer the questions 1, 2, 3, don’t stop to think. Oh when i think of the friends i’ve lost