Snapshots

[Umbilical]

oh and it all starts with your self-disgust.

doesn't it?

I wonder if you could write a story about Marie without ever meeting her,
as if you have this little game in your end/head,
where you end up the SAME
EVERY (Fu.cking) time.

You know what I mean, Jer, you do... and it makes you so sad,
you could have pretty little conversations looking for love with yourself.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Two moments in time and you manage to make a movie I will have in my head all day if not longer.

And this...



is the width and depth of it all.

That means a very great deal to me, and how to say this next part without being vainglorious (except, of course, that one loves the chance to use that word) but this poem and many of the snapshots seem to come to me in a state of grace, inasmuch as I don't strive for effects but stay as plain to the truth of what I see and feel.

[PrinceMyshkin]

oh and it all starts with your self-disgust.

doesn't it?

If you only knew how passionately I hope that is untrue!

I wonder if you could write a story about Marie without ever meeting her,
as if you have this little game in your end/head,
where you end up the SAME
EVERY (Fu.cking) time.

You know what I mean, Jer, you do... and it makes you so sad,
you could have pretty little conversations looking for love with yourself.

Let me say this for all to see: I love you! Not in a lascivious way, but bloody close to that.

Some would say that these are all stories without Marie or X or Y or Z... True, there really was a "Marie,' 5'7"ish, long brown hair, startlingly blue eyes, ample mouth and being of French origin with a way of pronouncing her English syllables as if they were little bite-sized things without the heft and chewiness of French...

PS There will be a second chapter, if I can put it together.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Encore! Encore!

Many thanks, Bro!

[Umbilical]

I'm glad you've said that for all to see,
because apparently my poetry disgusts poetry.



...and I secretly love it.


lascivious, haha.

[dibyendra]

Marie

She might have been a young-looking 35.
I’d have preferred that
although, even at that age...
And there was something so quiet about her face
I almost found it forbidding.

Still, when she went outside for a cigarette
I followed her with my American Spirits
and asked if I might join her
for the length of a smoke.

She made place for me
on the concrete step
of the building next to the café
and I sat down and lit up.

We exchanged little pellets of conversation,
the sort that might have been the prelude
to anything
or nothing
then she re-entered the café to finish her lunch
and I moved over to one of the outdoor tables.

Soon after that she emerged,
nodded at the other chair and asked
if she might join me.
Of course, I said, hoping for no more
than a few minutes more pleasant conversation
or love at last.

When she left to go back to work
we embraced and, Quebec-style,
kissed each other on each cheek
and promised to look for each other there
some other time.

Lovely poem!

[PrinceMyshkin]

Lovely poem!

Thanks, Dibyendra.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Marie Part 2

I sat at an outdoor table at the café
waiting for Marie to come.
If she came it would have to mean
she had felt about our encounter
as I did. And that we’d have begun
something that each of us
had been waiting to begin.
While I waited
the temperature of the earth
continued to rise,
another glacier slipped into the sea
but she did not come.

I raised my eyes every time
I heard footsteps approach
and for a split second imagined
that every one who came into view
was her: an Oriental young woman
with a pony-tail, shoulders hunched,
wearing a close fitting summer coat,
a scarf pulled tight around her neck;

an older man, probably toothless,
his upper lip in close proximity with his chin,
face the colour and texture
of a tired rubber eraser;

a casually sloppy Greek guy
with close-cropped hair and a laughing
female companion, but none of them
was her, not actually her.

An entire species went out of existence,
a future poet was born,
a murderer, a saint,
but still she did not come.

There could have been 110 reasons
why she didn’t come, or just one:
that she saw no reason to...

[Umbilical]

=( so so sad...
I'm empathizing with you at the moment.
The difference is beginning and waiting to begin...
and her never beginning is her always waiting to begin,
in your mind and your hope.

Please get sad enough to write part 3 before the day ends.
And you should write a poem about me ...
so long as you're not a sleazy old bastard (jokes).

[PrinceMyshkin]

=( so so sad...
I'm empathizing with you at the moment.
The difference is beginning and waiting to begin...
and her never beginning is her always waiting to begin,
in your mind and your hope.

Please get sad enough to write part 3 before the day ends.
And you should write a poem about me ...
so long as you're not a sleazy old bastard (jokes).

Some of this is wise, all of it is interesting but as for me being "a sleazy old bastard," I'm working on it, Dudelette!

[Umbilical]

When you work on it,
and
realize
that
sleaziness
is just loneliness
so long as you can't fondle the edge of a skirt
or the circumference of
a malformed prick
or the penumbra, of a flower that will never bud
but is displaced
nipple to the bottom of your love-
thought---
you'll realize,
Mr. Poet man,
that so long as you can NEVER GET NEAR ME OR my
soiled panties,
your loneliness and
the amount of messages in your box (your box you don't have but the messages you do, my fault)
is all you need to be sleazy,
fukkin SLEAAZE! !636

hi.

[PrinceMyshkin]

When you work on it,
and
realize
that
sleaziness
is just loneliness
so long as you can't fondle the edge of a skirt
or the circumference of
a malformed prick
or the penumbra, of a flower that will never bud
but is displaced
nipple to the bottom of your love-
thought---
you'll realize,
Mr. Poet man,
that so long as you can NEVER GET NEAR ME OR my
soiled panties,
your loneliness and
the amount of messages in your box (your box you don't have but the messages you do, my fault)
is all you need to be sleazy,
fukkin SLEAAZE! !636

hi.

Off your meds again, hon? And though you think nothing of giving everybody here a totally false notion of our connection as in

so long as you can NEVER GET NEAR ME OR my
soiled panties,

let it be known that I never had nor ever will have any desire to get anywhere near you "OR [your] soiled panties," nor your every now and then compulsively soiled sense of 'humour'!

What was the meaning of that "636"?

[Umbilical]

I didn't know until I realized that I'm a maths genius, and
6
6+3 = 9
=
69.
But I swear it was a massive mistake,
the condom broke and I came to it like Doc did in 'Back to the Future' <3

SOILED SENSE OF HUMOR --
I love it.
I thank you for this statement...
because tiz true.

636 is the number of [potential] marie's out there.

I appreciate your use of '[]'

!

[PrinceMyshkin]

Marie: Part 2 ½

This morning,
while waiting for Marie,
I met Nancy.

Make a movie out of that, firefangled! We could call it "Planet of the Aches".

[Umbilical]

That last one is the best,
size doesn't matter.
2.5 is rounded up to 3, even when you're straight down the line.

well dun.