Star

Star

I saw you on an altar
and remember why I dreamed
of emeralds and redwoods
shot through sand-filled eyes.

You were simple, gold-stitched and pure.
A farmer's cloth.
A band of pearls.

I stood with the anticipation of song
to be soaked by your fabric
and kept as your meaning.
Your memory.
Your birthright.

Your song
from mine.

This day is getting off to a disastrous start.

First B proposed that we not see each other for a month. And then I forgot my wallet. I only realized it once I was on the train and had to beg the (jolly) conductor to let me ride for the $3.50 in change I was able to scrounge up. Now I'm broke with now way to buy lunch or get home. I suppose it's vindication for buying all of that whiskey last night. I'm going to make some really big ice cubes and dry the Drambuie for when I watch 24. Wait-- no... I'm having dinner with IronChef. I better tape 24 and save the special drinks for tomorrow.

I'm so annoyed at just being awake today. I wish I were somehow inspired to do something creative with all this time instead of babbling on like this. Maybe I'll make a schedule...

Today: Survive with no money, Dinner with IronChef
Tomorrow: Pedicure/Waxing, Duane Reade, Drinks!!! Clean up, Order Books
Thursday: When I'm up here order the dissertation, Leave for FL!

*********************

STAR OF THE SEA

Later and still at the desk (from a borrowed lunch sans beverage)

An idea-- to illustrate and bind Yeats.

And to start with-- He Wishes for the Cloth of Heaven.

French Martinis in the Nation's Capital

Just got back from drinks in the hotel lobby with English. The waiter served us something he called "French Martinis" but I don't think they were. It was a combination of Grand Marnier and Cognac and it was damn strong, but yummy.

I wish I could have stayed to have another, but he closed us out. So, I came back up here, but no one's here. I can't decide whether to go back out or call it a night. I'm kind of tired so I might just settle in.

The combination of the alcohol and the mood I've been in all day is making me kind of depressed. Even my revelations at the National Gallery seem light years ago.

My eyes sink-- shaded and heavy-- and I remember that moment of being at the top but never that he loved me as much as I needed to be loved. I feel so fucking tired right now and I don't know why I'm thinking of ChoirMan so much. Maybe it's because he kissed me right before I came to Washington the last time. And AIR7 said that he wanted to kill him. I don't think I ever succeeded in sorting through any of that. And now it's so long ago... so many fucking years ago that all of the characters are dead. When I saw ChoirMan in October, he seemed so shrunken out of the context of that drama... and I? So ridiculously scared, so impressionable and silly.

But still, I feel the same say now-- right now-- in the fog of Cognac and alone on another tour-- that I wonder if BH is still in touch with him. I know KSing felt the same way as me and that's why she caved on the election. I wish I could have talked to her about it. But we never could because of who he was... Because of what we were... And Liu...

I remember when AIR7 wanted to kill him. And then all of friends wanted to kill AIR7-- especially B. And now it's the same for B. And so, it's hard to tell if it's I who picks losers or if none of them are losers at all and maybe they've all been right and I am totally insane.

I know that I made them think that I'm crazy. and how can that not be to blame? Whatever.... there's no point in any of this... I'm just really tired and the fog is thick now.

If only Liu were here vegetating with me. It's my favorite thing in the world to do what we did on Thursday. That Ecstasy was such an amazing and incredible high. I won't ever forget it-- that miracle of red and blue and the thickness and transparency of smoke that was solid marble all at the same time. And making it better were those wonderful lips. I can't believe the way I behaved though.

Thank God for the bartender enforcing "house rules." I'm going to fucking get myself in some real and serious trouble one of these days. I don't think about the risks of that stuff enough. It just felt so good. that whole night was a miracle to me and I thank God for it so deeply and so profoundly. I only want that feeling back again. Damn...

I hope that Joseph can come through with the coke he promised-- or at least remember that he has my $100. That would suck.

I can't stay awake all of a sudden. My head is throbbing.

I think I'll turn in
(or be found dead in the morning).

In the Basilica

In the Basilica... It's so strange to be back in Washington again. It reminds me so strongly of the last time... even the smell of smoke on my fingertips calls back the ghosts still lurking somewhere int he L-shaped studio ceiling corners. Remembering the drive down and those sparkling eyes.

Now I feel dislocated-- like all that resides in a sealed and dusty gilded volume of fantasies that never happened. I'm not quite sure whether they did... or not... where memory stops. Anyway, I was just interrupted to sing (and stare at the mosaics of flame and gold) and so I've lost my train of thought.

I keep thinking about drinking hurricanes with PhysicsGuy in New Orleans at Pat O'Brians and I don't know why. Chain smoking and giant 32 oz slushies made from orange juice and Everclear and a sepia picture of me and GoldenFinch and the slashes and the broken wine coolers on the floor of ChoirMan's hotel room.

It's all coming back to me starting in the fall with AIR7 and Scheisser and my Washington ghosts.