Fine Ink

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WYD?

What

Are

You

Doing?

Are you working in a restaurant?

Having sex with a man?

Are you writing a new screenplay?

Riding home in a van?

Are you twiddling your thumbs?

Are you thumbing your twiddle?

Are you listening to drums?

Are you playing your fiddle?

Are you engrossed with messaging

With alien beings?

Do you believe what you’re seeing?

Do you see what you..

No wait, I messed that up.
Are you engrossed with messaging
With alien beings?

Do you see what you believe?

Do you believe what you’re seeing?

 

I text my writing partner. (not pictured)
He doesn’t respond to my “WYD”
I keep texting.

I text him a poem.

 

I call a suitor (pictured),

My suitor in Seattle who is an aerospace engineer

And, of course, twenty-six years old.

He uses the secret weapon of his kind:
“Look man, I’m looking to date someone in is fifties so If you’ve got hang ups about what people will think, then kindly piss off so I can find my fifty-four year old to date.”

There’s not much you can say to that.
And he’s into pens.
Like fine fountain pens and fine paper to write on.

 

Two days ago,

A package came.

A 199|Nbenisyne notebook

ECO fountain pen

Shin-kai “Deep Sea” ink

It looks more like cobalt to me.

The pen is my new sword.
He has given me a fine sword.

 

The gift comes with a card

The boy professing his “pretty big crush.”

Hmmm. “Boy.”
Who or what are we trying to heal here?

Are we trying to heal here?

Are people allowed to use romantic relationships to heal the wounds of the past?

If not, what are they good for?

 

“Kyle Scruff Seattle muted this call”

(Because I asked him to.)

ME: What are you doing? It sounds like pigeons tap dancing on tin foil!

HIM: I’m texting.

ME: Well I’m going to mute you.
(so I hit the mute button)

ME: Wait. No. That doesn’t work. That just makes it so you can’t hear me.

Mute your side.
And so he did.

And it casts a gray gel over the screen

‘looks like a misquote netting

In one of those old movies

About Africa.

 

Kyle plays along nicely and does what I asked

He’s carrying the phone around with him
As he does his young upwardly mobile, professional, red-bearded, nerdy, sexy, scientist thing.

A minute ago he was in college.
My God, my life is insane.
But for however long it lasts

And whatever it turns into
(Mama always said, “At the very least you can make a new friend.” Miss you, Mom.)

He has, for tonight, done this thing I asked of him.

As ridiculous as the request may have seemed.

I’d rather run through bullets than sit down to write yet when it’s done (even when it’s weird) I generally like it.

I think that solidly qualifies me as being insane.

 

Tonight Kyle sits with me,

“Holds my hand”

To be there quietly while I write what needs to be writ for the blog.
And sort out my fears.
One by one.


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