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Thursday, Mar. 24, 2005 / 11:35 p.m. ~Looking For a Way to Start It (A cross post)~ I was going to write it like this: This is it. And then I was going to write down everything that happened, but the more I began to write it in my head the more it began to sound impossible to write, anywhere. Like there were too many details and they all needed to be noted, there was no way to leave out any of it, and it began to feel like a screenplay, something with characters' names on the left margins, next to colons and lines of dialogue. So very complicated. Then I was going to write it like this: Y'all guys would not believe what happened to me tonight. But then it was going to end up just like the other, like a screenplay with charcters' names on the left margins, and the colons, and the dialogue, hey. And then it got hard to type, at all, and I began to feel I needed to lie down, as in not had a strong want, but felt as if falling over was a possibility, and not from on great height. Suffice to say this. Could make it simple, could. I went to a Moby meet and greet, and it was good, Rooibus tea was drunk, (my picture was taken) and girls were happy, and one cried happy tears, and I told Moby, "I'll see you on the 12th" and for a moment he looked so very puzzled, and I know he is weary with the tour already, but in a good excited way. Oh, and then the pub, the bar in the pub, and the drinking of Black and Tans, and the drunk chiropractic student who'd just passed her finals, and she told me I am old, "I'll be 44 in a couple of weeks", "You're old!", and she stood six foot three, but then there was her friend the massage therapist, and he told me he wants me to succeed, he knows I will, he knows I'll find something amazing to do, and he liked my fried zucchini so I let him eat, and I couldn't eat it all, and I helped her, wiping the ranch dressing from her shirt, directly above her breast, and asked, "Do you want to do this yourself?" And then I'd have to talk about 'John', for that could have been his name, we're not sure, and the motorcyle ride, and the fact every Thursday is 'Bike Night', and didn't I know?, and John said he wasn't married, and he pointed out the finger where a ring once clenched for some ten years, but that was a while ago it was over, but not too long it turns out, and he's in a place... dot dot dot, and he wants to kiss me again, and he can't believe he's going to get on his bike, when he needs a hotel room and a cold shower, and I say, "Well, that is flattering". I wouldn't even know how to write what happened tonight, but that was a start, excluding the smoking of some premium 'hooch', and the feeling of gripping him with my groin muscles (with that power underneath us, the cool wind blowing on my closed eyes a road I know so well and all its curves and it was an amusement park ride but we were tight together, like one), and was it my joking about them, and how sore I am going to be tomorrow?, and he said he thinks I'm great, and he said over and over how special this all was, how it was like a Cinderella story, but I know he meant Cinderella is him, and it's funny to hear someone you only just met say, "We'll never see each other again", not so much to assuage any hurt feelings as to convince himself, because of that dot dot dot place and whatever he needs to figure out, and what a good guy not to let himself be seduced, but to adhere to his principles. But we don't know where it would have led, beyond the foot massage in the car. Right, I wouldn't know how to begin here. Cost of the War in Iraq
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