My friend’s have mentioned at long last that they like some of these things, so I am doing it again. Listen in, I expose all my secrets (well, most) and tell the truth about things. I like being truthful and am good at it. It is a practice. Here is the poem I reference in the post:

(POEM OF YEARNING)

Was meant today to start the new play; A woman is shot and slides down a hill, at the bottom of the hill she dons a mask, a death mask which is covered in green earth and a single flower like a lily pad. A child approaches in bucolic clothing and grabs the flower little by little and puts it in her basket, tearing the petals, leaving the meat. The gunman sits down nearby for a spell, in a fugue state. He buries his gun in the soft ground. What does it mean? I couldn’t tell you. There are other themes I need to investigate today, of my waking life: The silver edge of a worn porcelain cup, been repainted. I am thirty three this year, Last night went to my friends forty-fifth birthday party. His kids put on the play I mentioned; I aim to steal it off of them. He said to me over coffee that I’m closer than he was. Older friends sometimes say that to me. Though today I accidentally forget age and the past it built. I have one bit of truth to build and its in the novelty of every new day and every new state: I needn’t behave in such accordance to things the ‘were’ if it is in conflict with things that ‘are’. Now Bella and I are meant to make hats; Now Tess and I have plans to catch up. The girl I had a crush on at Guero is gay, like most every crush I get. The other one and the other one has a boyfriend- And this morning when I masturbate out of depression I end up crying, like always, for the chasm between here and there- It is tiresome to elevate and compress over and over; I keep it up as a function of living, I say to myself, and then today an hour after crying I hear a song I AM KINDA NEW… I am indeed man, and it needn’t sound meaningful to you, sometimes these things hit, because it was for me. And that’s not even the most notable thing of the morning; a beautiful cool day with some intrigue; some freedom of being; some crush to message and dribble away; some stupid jokes, friends coming over and records on and a little waffle- imagine that a waffle this fine autumnal pretending morning, I say to myself, like the older cats I’m closer than I was, this day-

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