a bite from the tree of knowledge
July 22, 2012
Check me out squriminn like The Cat when I try to bring her close and she doesn’t wanna be held but she wants to be stroked. Yeaa. Thas me right now. Close but not quite. I gotta do this and my skin feels like it’s not on quite right.
But I’m smilinn. You know that smile that crinkles your nose and your lips are kinda tight like you might wanna bite them but fuck it why fight. Let me dive in. Day Fifteen, fuck me. What writer or teacher most influenced your work?
Did I mention Mr. Brown was a teacher? Taught kids in jail and I don’t know why he neva blinked an eye when he said Spofford and I nodded my head like, Yeaa.
But really he’s an artist and a writer and a poet and this is everything to me cause me, I love artists. Fuck Art. Let’s Fuck. Art is like, it’ll let you figure it out—or not. Art is like, teach you how to think for yourself. You can love it or hate it or ignore it or even vandalize it cause thas how they do these days. Banksy got dudes tryinn to be somebody by tagging Picasso in Texas. And, huhh if I ain’t even mad about that. Dialogue, baby, Dialogue. Set my book on fire if you want to. I dig the flames.
So yea, I still gotta answer this question and you know why I’m squirmy right? Yea so yestaday I’m chair dancinn, Str8 West Coastinn, when I get an email from African Mami talkinn about how she feelinn my love for Mr. Brown and this is everything because you know, me and her, we vibinn but it’s on that Ethernet tip, so we know but we don’t know. It’s just instinct, I guess.
Then I turn to Miss Barry and I tell her how Miss Mami loves my tales of Mr. Brown and Miss Barry looks like she wanna spit out her drink because I swear all my friends neva wanna hear me mention him again, cause you know I ran that story into the ground. I mean, your girls ain’t tryinn to hear about how you have an Imaginary Boyfriend for two years and now you gonn write a book.
But here’s what I dig. I neva told anyone all the good stuff. I couldn’t talk about that. Discretion (smile). Yup. I felt like, thas my heart and it’s only for him but damn if I didn’t wear my girls out with my crazytown. Cause I am and they love me but after awhile, crazy wears on the nerves.
But you know, all told, I do the math and it adds up to my favorite non-number. The perfect. The round. The ineffable. Zero. After alla this, and all that is to come, the only thing that changed in my heart is now I love him without want. I don’t need. Or expect. But I asked one favor. Because I know it. Only he can talk to her for me. Because, that is who he is. To me. To her. To something else. To things for which there will never be words. Neva eva eva eva.
But all the same.
I’ma write this book, this memoir, when I get it in me to shine like the sun cause when I can say what it is, who he is, who I am, who I was, who we are, who we was, how it is, who knows what it is, doesn’t matter, does it?
Day 15, it’s Mr. Brown. It is. Like no one else.