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HOME 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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