AB
well
the system did
the system did the system did
so well so fucking well
your structural form and your
physical form, AB. by your squinty eyes I see
myself around you
ripcords unflung
sang
your Shoulders flexing star [poems]
and oh! the fucking!
it smelled like your sweaters.
Lovenoted,
BA
:)
:)
:)
Friday
August 15, 2009
Dear BA,
I am seized by a tumult of emotions, and I must express them here, on this blank sheet of paper. What happened last night was…
No. Let me state it this way. There is a place where form meets function, where the fact that one precedes the other no longer makes a difference. You are the function to my form, or perhaps it is the other way around. I laugh at those who claim that functionality is mutually exclusive from pleasure – for have they never taken into account the functional nature of two bodies merging? And the pleasure that is derived from that – is it not a manifestation of both the system and the reversal of the system?
No. Let me state it even more plainly. There is a place where water meets land, where ducks waddle in great numbers and turn their beady eyes to watch those who pass. There is a place where lovers meet, and perhaps it is a cliché, but can we not subvert that, can we not escape the system by being within the system?
It was quite difficult to tear myself away from you this morning, but I had to go home and clean Jacques’ cage. Please meet me in the arboretum tomorrow night, though. I will have a surprise prepared.
Yours,
AB
August 13, 2009
Dear BA,
Sorry I ever doubted you. You were right, Joe Wenderoth is a whirling cyclone of unrelenting, sexual advances. Never fear, BA. I will always be there to protect you and herd Joe out the door when he has had one too many beers and is trying to remove your pants with his teeth.
That image will remain burnt into my memory forever. And I will have to live with it, just like I had to live with the death of my great aunt Marigold, who in my childhood, introduced me to the beauty of poetic verse.
I hope you are not too traumatized from the events of last night. Feel free to call me whenever Joe is lurking.
I’ll be there for you.
Sincerely,
AB
August 9, 2009
Hung over.
I would say that the party last night was a great success. That moment when Wenderoth donned a tutu and shouted the first few lines from the Iliad, except every other word was “FUCK.” Brilliant. I can’t remember much of it, considering how the three of us finished off seven boxes of wine.
Thank you for teaching me how to make a casserole. I’m sorry the first one burnt, but in actuality, I am not sorry at all because I was privileged enough to watch you in your element. And your element, BA, is carefully arranging chopped onions and carrots into a casserole dish while humming along to the resonant voice of Frank Sinatra.
“I love foxtrotting to this stuff,” you said.
I learn something new about you every day, BA.
My head hurts as though an industrial size washing machine has been thrown against my forehead repeatedly. Somewhere through the haze of pain, there is the blurry memory of you sitting on my futon, petting Jacques as we lean into each other, shoulders touching.
This is what will get me through the day.
AB
PS- You left your sweater.
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