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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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part XIV: ms. lonelyhearts
dearest darling, okay, i have a bit more time at the moment to ponderosa the questiones you posied. on the x front: i don't think i scared him off. x has always been a reticent boy. i tell you, my emails about dinner and opera became increasingly less calm as he refused to answer. and still he refused, finally only answering after several panicked phone calls from me and max both. it's like a game to him, maybe? i don't know. all's i know is (and i hate that phrase really) is that he probably has a procedure for answering emails and phone calls and it might take several years to ascertain what the specifics of this procedure are. in other words, there is no telling with the x, at least as far as i can tell. many days later: however, i do understand the lack of design thinking on your part. (what the hell does that mean? i guess it means that i understand that you think that x has a lack of designs on the sophistica.) we shall see. i don't know if meg had a huge impact on x's moving back here. i'm disinclined to think so, but that is only a poorly founded opinion--and by that i mean poorly reasoned, poorly researched, poorly formed. but it is based on hope. i am hopeful, darling. hopeful. because don't forget, i've met the meg. i'm hanging out at what lea has termed "the other location" because i keep referring to the house in the valley as "home." when i think this i get a splitted feeling of: is this home or is the old home home? but i'm just going with whichever has the laundry and internet facilities today. (i get the feeling that none of this is making any sense.) but, the move into the new home has gone too seamlessly. it's been a bit like "moving" into a motel. i have a bed. a desk. a chair...but since many of my things (books, artwork, computer, books, books, books) are still here, at "the other location," i am having troubling thinking of the new apartment as "home." (bored yet?) but i do like the new place. it's generally very quiet. i feel quite safe there. my neighbors are all really cool, as is the landlord or lady (depending on how you want to spin it, i guess). everything in the place is mine and that's a little wierd. there are a lot of spiders because anne is very green and i love spiders and this morning the enormous daddylonglegs that i rescued from the bathtub a few days ago had a big meal and was sitting and munching away in her/his new beneath the sink home. and i don't feel a bit lonely. and i almost wish i did because i feel bad for not suffering and agonizing over this move. i feel like, right at the moment, i'm doing the right thing. i don't know how that will play out. had neo in to the studio for hand casting yesterday. we spoke a few nights ago, my phone battery giving out just as i asked, "what could cause you to lose your eternal soul?" and, when the battery had enough charge to make the briefest of apologetic calls, i reached not neo but his father, who told me that neo had gone out for a walk. i don't know what the significance of this could possibly be. maybe only that i'm not to get an answer to the question. all this comes on the heels of a conversation we had just before school let out in which he said he wanted nothing more than to have a lot of time to himself but when i asked if that was a huge "go away" sign, he said he would like to see me quote a couple of times. end quote. (and, yes, ouch.) but the crazy thing is, we're actually seeing or speaking to each other every two days or so--and not by my design (or, at least, not entirely by my design). so that all means...? and, you see, i've never done any of this stuff before, and all that's going through my head is, how am i supposed to handle this? i'm all of twelve again over this boy and that's a bit...disconcerting. i'm not sure what else to put in this little missive. my brain has been striking, demanding more sleep. but isn't that a bit of a catch-22? the very thing keeping me up at night is the very thing now demanding sleep. will it never be happy? i've been reading william faulkner (the wild palms) and alice walker (in search of our mothers' gardens) alternatively. (bit of trivia, one of my new neighbors, Carrie, when i told her that i was reading faulkner, said, "oh, he's my great uncle.") the walker/faulkner team is also a bit disconcerting, but oddly, walker's admitting that she has trouble with faulkner's politics and opinions about blacks makes him seem a little easier to read. maybe not so intimidating or something. (not that wild palms is an intimidating book, but you know--oooo, faulkner). i have some roland barthes cued/queued up and then i think a bit of annie dillard to smooth the edges. and then, dear heart, it will probably be time again for school. and a lot of shakespeare. and a lot of physics. and a little robin for gene expression. (man, i love that man.) sorry to keep sending such abbreviated emails, but there is always something to consider and my time is always shorter than i mean for it to be. love and rockets, sublingua
More lies:
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