aslan & jess have become my world. they are my poetry & they are my love. i am not sure which one is which, though they must be separate on some grounds, somehow. however, if love & poetry truly are the same thing, i will just have to hold them both together. i love them both & i want them both forever. the synonyms threaten to suffocate my intent.
i feel hysterical & i sound insane. i am sinking fast & i know it. let me sink let me sink let me sink.
let me sink.
we are driving - the three of - down to big sur this weekend. kerouac's refuge and braughtigan's first novel-inspiration. i am ecstatic. we will be camping for three days, finding a quiet spot a few miles from somewhere (or anywhere). i am going to propose to them - both of them - but i am still unsure what the proposal will be. propose that they let me in, truly. perhaps. i will write it down first. i will recite to them the sounds of the waves and the sounds of my mind & they will have to say yes to everything - as i have learned to do. i have been writing nothing but poetry all week.
i still have no job & camping seems to be the logical solution to unemployment. though san francisco will come back to me when i come back to her, for three days i will forget. there are 259200 seconds in three days - and perhaps even more moments - and i plan to exist in each and every one of them. is there a measurement for moments? i hope not.
i live on dangerous grounds. the ceiling might collapse. the floor might give out.
i have found something constant, between the ceiling and the floor (between the ground and the sky). i have found something that exists and i'm sure of it.
i'm fucked. i've said it before. it's a cheap statement & i say it again. let me be cheap. let me sink.
take it all in and let it all out. over & over & over & over.
i will love all the same.
