these days of leiderhosen

I hate: Being filled with physical need, not knowing where and when the next embrace is coming from. I might just explode with desire. Messy. Having discovered the pleasure of telling the people I love that I love them, and then being unable to tell the newer members of that group the same out of fear or misunderstanding. I get so much joy out of simply delivering that news to someone. As if it was not written all over me in capital, glowing letters.

What I am having here is a long night of the soul. Monday, February 4 th , 1 in the goddamn morning. I have eaten all of the green, tinny tasting olives. Delicious. I wake up now, in the middle of the night, discovering something And I am not sure if that is at all good for me. What I want to do is what I said: I am here until my father no longer needs me anymore. That’s what I want. That is the true thing. I said I’d do it and I meant it. It cost me much more than could be imagined: My Beloved. My best Self, in a way. To catch you up on this deal with my own personal devil: It’s beginning to go badly. Da’s aging poorly with all the damage he has done To himself in the myth of his glorious life. He has been a remarkably good sport about it It’s raining outside, a proper storm. I bet it sounds great in the attic, right beneath the roof. My roof. My gift of a roof. What I want (which is all I know) Is to take my lover up the la...