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2002-06-16

Mae West (b. Mary Jane West)
B. 8.17.1893 Brooklyn / D. 11.22.1980 Beverly Hills
Strokes

A snort of indignation from the cat (Max) greets me on the futon where I go to note the first firefly of the year. Somewhat early? I aim a few kicks at the sandpile on the bottom of my five-year hourglass, dislodging veils of drift like powdered skin—
last summer; memories of
fireflies; sightings of
alone on the back steps, staring at the yard; in June
cross-reference with July: Has another cusp slipped? Is nature rushing? Do I detect the hazy outlines of a tightening spiral?
Dear me—spooked by a firefly. Guess it doesn’t take much these days.

Consolation Site: What will they think of next?

2002-06-18

The nature of the reconciliation which has led me back to Murray Hill and the deepest surviving bosom of the lesbian Everest expedition team—adjectives to describe:
provisional—
given;
awkward—
I disagree. Just moments in fact before the key embrace a word came into my head. . .“professionalism.” Both sides impressed me.
minor, then—in the sense of “unarresting”—
strange but perfectly true. Is my love-brain only a cinder—is that it? Burnt out—and far across the stump-field leans the blackened fact that the last and the last but one fed on air;
tender—
which in itself—that is, through the pangs—manifests in the viscera: close enough to raise another spark.
old-fashioned—
Yes back to basics—to a relief palpably mutual. A regular bucket brigade. . .
Language!

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