From the Book of Voices

This is a kind of journal I am writing. Opinions mine, voices products of conscious artistry. (i.e. I am not insane.) Figured I'd share.


Not the smooth speeches which you could say but the slippery sentences which you do. Not the influential tomes you could have written but the few spare booklets remembered by your friends friends you actually have.
- Haven't you been meaning to say that for you sex is inseparable from friendship?
- Not the life which you may have led but the life which you are leading. Not the measured thoughts you may have if but the accidental and half-noticed ones you actually do.
- Because you know, it's not like there is some dividing line. Often there isn't even any change of feeling. When clothes start to come off you never do discover any special knowledge. No mysteries revealed. No... revelations.
- Not the right ones whom you could have been with but the wrong ones with whom you are. Not the years of comfortable peace and loyalty to one another that could have been as you imagine but the unexpected hours when disloyalty was not a tempting choice that actually were.
- And even if your world does end after the first time with a wanted woman, too bad for you. The both of you. You are too busy with belts and elbows, pantlegs and hands to seriously notice anything.
- All that is wanted happens once; all that is needed turns into a habit. A friendship is a way two bodies have of reacting to the closing of distance. Take three steps into infinity and mind the gaping void. All limits fluctuate.

May 19