(still not) Too Much For Me To Touch

When you saw me you said exactly the right thing.

You are reactive.

In the very best way.

And I think it was the first time a man has ever said exactly the right thing to me—maybe to anyone.

“It’s So Good To See You.”

And when I asked for you and called you by your nickname that only someone from then would know, they knew too.

They knew that it was “So Good” to see me.

 

And we were not two people who once spent so many days and nights on one another.

Not With. On. Because there Is a difference.

We were not “them” or “before” or “back then”

We were not trapped in a city with a bullshit slogan.

We were Free. In the Pacific Fucking Northwest.

We were matter and bone. Like everyone else.

And you did not say, “You look Amaaazing”, because you would never say that after thirteen years.

You know, you have always known, that I would never want to hear that and that I would never in a million years believe it anyway.

You would never say anything that everyone else says.

Your words are better than that.

Because you are better.

Your words are the cement that we stood on and that we kissed on a lifetime ago.

 

When you see my eyes that are sometimes green and sometimes brown you see me standing on that ladder.

You see me looking down at you and saying, “Like this?”

“Yes. Like that.”

You pick up the bucket of pig’s blood – and I am ready – and you pour.

I click click click the shutter and it’s going everywhere and I am prideful.

This is love, I think, and you are you and I am me and we will never work and I know this.

The blood finds the gutter and the rats are frenzied and I think, no, I KNOW, this is love.

 

You’re drinking a martini, and I like it, because I was a mess before and it’s nice to see you a little messy now.

I want to ask you for the story about you naked on a motorcycle in the dead of winter.

I love hearing that story.

Almost as much as when the walls cracked like spiderwebs, and fuck Blag’s stupid t-shirts- you might actually die, and what happened to the pipe?

And why did you have to be high during one of the worst earthquakes ever?

You knew I’d never felt an earthquake yet – because that was before the Me that is Now – and you loved watching my eyes grow so  big.

You loved having me as your audience of one.

 

Thirteen years and I did everything that you knew I would, but you didn’t worry about me.

From the moment we met, you knew about this day because you were always so much smarter than me.

I was ok with that.

You liked me and I knew it and I knew you had a girlfriend but I climbed over my records and I grabbed your neck and kissed it anyway- and you would talk about that kiss for years.

You would find a way to fit it into the conversation, and I loved it, because people only ever remember the first “real” kiss. On the lips.

That Was our first “real” kiss and I love you so much for knowing that.

 

We never subscribed.

I know now that’s how we survived.

You waited a long time for me to figure that out.

For me to buy a plane ticket, to rent a car, to wait for your call, to sit down next to you at Your bar, to tell you that I Get It now.

To tell you that I bought a vanagon when I was thirty before I even knew what it was for.

To toast to half-breeds. Our word.

Our sitting on an aquifer-california is too expensive-I had another “fucking” kid-you were always a nudist you just couldn’t say it when you were too punk-fuck censorship-make art-money is awesome-who are all these fucking people no matter how cool I design this place they still come-the days of cocaine and pizza WERE great but now you’re fucking vegan and I love you too- I love you so fucking muchWord. Our Word. Half-breed. Us.

 

I say that I am sorry that your partner is sick.

And I mean it, and this is something new for me.

You are proud. I see it.

I know what it’s like now, to take in all of the broken wings.

To sing to them sweet tragedies that they will either live or die by.

I know what I did to you and I am sorry,  but you know that I am.

You are proud. I see it.

We have never known an allegory that suited us and we never will.

You are the darkest being that I have ever known to be so full of so much fucking light.

 

I love you and it is perfect that we are never getting back together.

I pull you into the street and it is not to kiss you and it is not dark but it is not light anymore either.

I am not reckless and you are standing on the cement and you are not picking me up from it this time.

We are the most unchanged transfigurations that I have ever known.

And you look up at me and you ask, “Like this?”

“Yes. Like that.”

And I click click click the shutter.

And it is So Fucking Good To See You.

My first photography credit for an album was back in 2003 for the above photo- Pig’s blood poured onto a manhole cover; many years pre-vegan. There was someone responsible for my involvement in that who, thankfully, matters so much to me still. This entry’s title track “Are you ready (for some darkness)” is apt. Incredibly so. We were seeing Turbonegro play A Lot around that time. And like the piece above says, “You are the darkest being that I have ever known to be so full of so much fucking light.” Enjoy the … (click here—)  Are You Ready