Date: Wed, 27 Aug 1997 08:38:43 +0300
Subject: two


Yes, I knew you called, I mean, before at school. Where I sometimes go,
you know, good little student that I am.
	It was I suppose, among other things, to put a little distance between
us, for our last phonecall was followed by a tremendous anxiety attack.
For hours my heart beat fast, convinced i was--one more time--that you
are my father: charming, irresponsible, cruel. I kept telling myself
that this is not you: obviously, since I don't know. Some  of us,
though, are destined to pay for cruel family prehistories--and why me, I
ask? rebelling. What compels me to sort this out. Proximity throws me in
fits. Then distance, sweet breathing space, allows me to find the right
proportions. 
	Four, I liked, very much. It is when you balance in your writing  the
wild need to push language to the limit with a certain poetic
sensibility, when you allow some of the goo to come through, my weird
sentimentalist, that you open up a beauty that is convulsive. 
	But, it surprised me that you wrote to me, there on the list,
accomplice-ing and symbolic-ing at the same time, for those who would
(knot) know. Multiple temporalities unfolding, you reach deep, and every
time you pull out something profoundly beautiful. Now, how did you
become so intimate?
	I conclude: you analyse yourself, don't you? I am not the only one. I
see you shift in ways that cannot be accounted for simply by the return
of the repressed; no, there is displacement. "I do not think," you say.
Hah! As if I believed that. Of course you think. Ergo you think. And in
movement, that brings you here, day after day. 
	The opening up of the grey which haunts my sky, poignant I always call
it, for it recalls me to a certain task that demands its accomplishment.
And the complicity of you and I? We are. Should we meet though, our nice
schemes in language, will have to yield--surely you know--to the working
through of multiple lesions (on both sides) which show themselves
surrepticiously. And oh, the sound and the fury! Do I dare, or do I
dare? 
	In the meantime, in the early morning which recalls me to work, which
recalls me to you, and with the tenderness that dawns out of a sense
that you are fumbling with a way to reach me, fortified city that I am
(what did I know then?), yes, a kiss, but a morning kiss this time, just
as you slide out of sleep, on the face that has not come yet to its own
awareness. Sometimes, I'd like to meet you before we play this game of
donning those alienating ideal-ego's that makes us him and her in the
objectifying eyes of anOther. Heath-cl-iff, I call and the wind brings
it over to you in gusts. 
	nigo (look it up in Womansword)