...continued...

this weekend i finally emailed kg. at first i just didn't know what i wanted to say to him: there seems both too much to say, and perhaps whatever i had to say was too sad for any day. but on chinese new year i sat down and decided i was going to write him, so i did in one sitting. then i went out for dinner and was terrified that he was going to write back. there's no help either way. i'll agonise if he does write back but if he doesn't write back i'll agonise some more about why he hasn't. if i didn't write to him of course there wouldn't be the consideration of whether he was going to write back or not, but if i didn't i would be peeking in my drawer at that cd thrice a day being stressed and wondering what to do. i think it must be easier to be a man because the boys kept telling me that all i had to do was to write a civil but very short note acknowledging receipt and no more, but i just felt that it was not me. in the end i went with my gut instincts which was to try to use this chance to write him about the things i really feel. and he wrote back too, the same night, a friendly email telling me that whenever i'm ready he'll meet me again. and suddenly i feel relieved. one thing i can truly put aside now, until i want to think about it again. and i listened to the cd he sent, so that i could say something about it in the email. and i knew it. it was funny and sexy and extremely me - oh darn it, i wish i didn't enjoy it so much but i do! i have half a sense of being bribed into forgiving - heck, i'm trying to bear a grudge against him! but how can i not laugh at a great song like this one about the woman who's got "an appetite for fiction no postmodern work can slake" and who "refuses to read a book unless it's thicker than a steak"? in this song i'm talking about, the woman was a huge fan of trollope ("no one packs a wallop / quite like trollope") until one day, as she was reading him in a cafe, a guy she then fell in love with walked up to her, and she's never been able to read trollope since. ("just a dollop makes me think of you") one of my favourite verses went:

i'll read kafka's tale about that lonely vermin
i'll read every jonathan edwards sermon
i'll read immanuel kant in german
but i'll never read trollope again!

such gorgeous lyrics!! then there was another one that struck me as very edna st vincent millay or dorothy parker. "so let's get this straight / i'm not in it for the long haul / so spare me the roses, the wine and the song/ it all boils down to the raw protoplasm / cos this ain't the real thing / it's just a spasm." who'd think of rhyming protoplasm with spasm? this makes me think of what nohrnberg said about theories of poetry and how sense is dictated by the sound. (the example he gave me was "all my ex-es live in texas" but protoplasm and spasm have got to be funnier) then there's the one about the woman who keeps getting caught - "my record's black... but take me back / i may be no damned good / but oh i'm so repentant" afterall, she explains:

it's not as if these slips of mine
reflect a bit on you
it's just sometimes these lips of mine
don't care whose lips they do
it's not as if these slips of mine
can make my life more sweet
it's just sometimes these hips of mine
don't care whose hips they heat

teehee. and then one about how the french despise and negate americans but there's no debate for they can't dance like fred astaire. the last track was a incongruously beautiful song about the woman who can't stop having affairs, and her boyfriend who can't stop going out to murder these men one by one.

was it adam and eve's rude expulsion
caused the stars of my birth to align
and brought me someone whose compulsion
was so perfectly suited to mine

a catalogue of gory murders and the insistent refrain: "just tell me his name now, stormy" and then the final words of the song "you've told me his name now, stormy. just leave the rest to me." put that beautiful voice together with those lyrics that are sexy and black as anything. ooooh. argh. you see, i knew this was going to happen. now i miss him. because this is so right. and such a gift, given when we had been together, would have been a joy, but now there is only much irony - that the best gift came long afterwards, when we can no longer laugh together over it. but well. maybe not today. but in a few years time we will be able to. this brings me to someone else.

alright. off again. to be continued somemore...