Look: it's another tea party. I will go, sing Elizabethan Madrigals, eat fire, well, write for a sort of a living. I am going to a castle with linen changed weekly by servants, I will be so rich that someone else makes my bed. Is this the way it is, that I go to Europe to read books all day and putter about, like a listless old dutchess without an armada, and I will leave you behind with my blue bicycle and my glittering blue rose?
Tea again, tea every day while I wait for you. My whole life has been this: drinking tea, waiting for you, and here it is--and I leave. Today I record: on ice, black tea with raspberries and bergamot. What will we wait for now? To grow up, to grow old, to play at Career or Homeowning, to engage in certain rituials that we refuse to discuss (because we feel: 'god, we are so young today') and think of when we will be older, in Beach Boys songs sung at top lungload on endless highways. Today we play our video games together, see a movie or get dinner, walk home from this wage labor in the polluted twilight, the skies like a salmon sashimi and blue raspberry popsicle, over the bridge with the coordinated river below. You are right to remember how I would tattoo your name in the sky, your fairy-tale name and mine, in swirls and crosses, our religion. I wait here because I have to learn how to write out our litanies and dirges, to complete that which is required as a component of any faith. Here's to the things I imagined could happen: and they will, they all will. I tie my neck in jade for you, I tie you up in jade to keep you, and we will be safe and the threads will keep us equal. The Tea Man is hollering, gutteral and rocked-out, I remember how safe I am and how unsafe I have been and how I want this to go on forever. _______________________________________________ Five7Five mailing list [EMAIL PROTECTED] http://www.pairlist.net/mailman/listinfo/five7five
