The power to drown the both of us
2020-02-21, 11:11 p.m.

barbiturates haven't had the chance to rise in my blood and acetaminophen to kill my empathy and sadness. if i didn't take acetaminophen i'd be mourning the various losses i've accrued until this current era. but acetaminophen and forgiveness. Circling in my mind, like the repetitive intros I'm writing for each section of my dissertation. And I'm wondering what meanings each person I knew in the previous epoch will take from my trashy novel dissertation and if I took amphetamines instead of acetaminophen would I find a better way to swirl these thoughts into a final form. I really didn't the first time. la fatiga. my joints hurt. my face hurts in layers. Degenerative illness. Chronicity.

Watching All the Boys I've Loved Before 2 and wondering why Lara Jean stays with Pete Kavinsky instead of John Ambrose is so pointless. The mythology of our loved ones is an important story, even more important than how things could get better. But John Ambrose. Damn. He is smooth. Guys who play the piano as you sit beside them are...whew... I have a fantasy of a guy playing Dead Presidents for me which is really Lonnie Liston-Smith's "A Garden of Peace" and both of us dressed up. I actually had some of that be a reality when I was getting my Master's degree. A nice conclusion to a love affair. Having my heart broken repeatedly was probably how I ended up sick in the first place but there is art in finding your muses, even temporarily. My favorite muse wore his medals on his tuxedo lapel in the middle of Harlem, swinging the heavy metal gate open at 1 AM for me. My heart dropped into my stomach and he knew. We always dressed up for each other, a civilized nicety before we got into other...more carnal... events on the agenda. I knew we would never have constancy and that added to the magic of my elusive muse. There are other muses I got caught up in because they secretly wanted to trap me, like a siren to drown me, but I always had the power to drown the both of us. I remember when he was merciless with my heart and I would breathe deep and smile through tears. My beautiful merciless muse. The next muse spoke to me from the balcony as the sun set, looking at me with dusky olive eyes, directly into my soul and said that if we had met 5 years ago the story would be different. The very first time a man kissed me on the forehead and I felt what that actually meant. However. None of these are tragedies. The energy of a muse is something you can never contain.