Thursday, June 26, 2014

fleetwood mac

I had something I was gonna write regarding something she said. I can't remember. It was a compliment about something. She was talking about sitting next to someone she was so in love with they couldn't even look at each other. Shaking. That kind of love. I'm glad she called to have tea and say goodbye. It restored something that previously had only two polarized sets of interactions, the best and the worst. It proved that another kind of interaction exists outside of the duality. A spirited exchange.

A very young slender dark-eyed woman with matching dark hair was on her Spanish tile balcony in white underwear and bra, and the woman she was with asked if she spoke French. She did, and the sentence fluttered across the block or two off Melrose like an owl. She looked at me, fearless, unbothered, warmly. I don't think there are any beautiful girls left anywhere else, cuz they're all here.

I was watching a Nova special on the tsunami in Japan, this young man who lost everything said something that read in blocky transcript, The wave of black water flowed between the houses. This morning, this woman next to me spilled her coffee drink from the counter, it splashed like the end of the world. There was a purity in its disarray. The wave of black water flowed between the houses.

I'm feeling everything, and it is enormous, everything.