Bitch !
Get the fuck away from here !
It was raining and I was leaving and everything that I saw was alone.

Soggy teddy bears and sausages that cooked next to porn movies in trailers.

I was a bitch because I was there and I wanted to be there even though it was inévitable that i would have to leave.

Have you ever felt as though the future has some type of gravitational pull? That it isn’t merely a matter of time that creates a succession of movement into the next.
It’s bigger or stronger than that. It hangs over your steps and you fall asleep on the train because unconsciously you don’t want to change spaces and become ever more aware that that is what is going to happen. Svetcna ! Svetchna ! Even the métro police knew I was expiring.

Why do you look like something I want?

I awoke and took pictures of myself in bed,
staring at the camera. This was before selfies were called selfies.
T-shirts with poor English. Blocks of cheese that tasted like soap. I loved it. I wanted all of it so much that I did it over and over again as ritual. I created rituals out of nothing. The time. Over head Windows like a greenhouse. We slowly cooked every morning and I awoke looking like a pancake. Pictures of myself in bed.

As I am writing this it’s raining and I’m somewhere simili r .
BONJOUR!
I forgot that there was a street. A street with cars. A street with cars and sidewalks where people walk. Where families walk with their families to go places together and then come home to go to sleep together.

We stayed horizontal on the benches amongst candlelight with beers and a dog , I’m not sure who’s dog it was but we laid with her. We loved to be together because each of us represented the very fact that we were there. At least I think of it that way. Friendship goes through waves of définition, and this time was a matter of true allowance. People are the new in you. ( ?)
We emerged from the dark space feeling protected and I stared at him as he whimpered and darted his eyes all over me. It wasn’t me that chose the way we danced.
Be good, he told me.





We walked by old science kits wondering if it would even be legal to play with those chemicals today.
Piles and discards of piles of piles. Shrewn and thrown about
it is
or maybe it was always a matter of walking through the idea of history. It’s always walking through history, but some places are remembered as the fact that they need to be detangled. Not always the case elsewhere(?)

Squares where people once sat to speak about their sisters and brothers and their wives and children. Some still do, sitting on doorsteps and holding their necks that hold their heads up. White shiny hair and the holding of one’s self as a life 
in the circling of vocabularies, or the sound of vocabularies.


This is where I go to cry, she said.

She would go and be alone and walk there away from others and be alone and cry.

It was a necessary act because life creates that Inside of us, but it was a necessary act because, she said, we were meant to be alone in this world. We weren’t meant to co-habitate.

I didn’t agree but I didn’t tell her why.
She climbed then out the window.

I turned around and tried to remember how I'd arrived.