When your lover calls crying to say she has broken up with her other lover and so she can’t go on your sex party date and then you try not to personalize it but you do anyway and say She’s Probably Never Cried Over Me and Damn Why Do I Try So Hard to yourself and drink beer and bitch at your prone houseboy who is polishing your chrome and feel spoiled and take a motorcycle ride and think about fucking up strangers with your boots and fists at a sex party but this has already become a night for feeling not doing so

you decide against the erotic chance of strangers and go to a clothing swap that’s all femme queers and get new outfits and fancy silver boots from a fellow femme homewrecking beast like yourself and wonder if you’ll ever have enough no matter what and decide not to be solitary and weird and tell your lover to come over anyway and put the boots on and a new vintage dress of the palest blue like your last lovers gorgeous eyes that you’ll never again look into with love and lust and wonder for hours like you once did and dance by yourself to stevie nicks and smoke a cigarette even though you swore to quit a dozen times this month and

Think about belonging and jealousy and sex chemicals and dream about being a sex witch and text your date and text your partner and text your bestie and text your crush and wonder if your lovers’ gonna cancel and eat a small snack of peanuts and put on more lipstick and sing along when leonard cohen comes on turning it up because probably everybody does know and answer the doorbell and see your lover’s sad face and feel suddenly stark naked in your bad attitude like anything you think or do is a sad clown show a fucked up circus that should have died decades ago and maybe you don’t understand heartbreak after all though your heart has been smashed and will be smashed again and will rise out of the massive sordid smallness of ruination again and…

You get more beer and sit her down to talk and listen I mean just listen and try to hear her story over all the dumber thoughts like Is This Wrong and Is Now When I Ask Her If We Could Ever Love Each Other and you feel mean because your brain is going rouge I mean traitor I mean rupturing towards truthfulness and you wish you could break her even a little just break her mystery of a heart in the same way but honestly you don’t want to do that instead you know you want to pull her open like an onion of human being and ask the questions Do You Get Scared For No Reason Too and Have You Ever Thought About Loving Me and If Our Relationship Were a Potluck What Would You Bring just stupid questions that access the deep cerebral cortex and might give you a sense of connection over the deep spiritual thing you are lacking

Because there is no god your family is wrong but there is something you call synchronicity and fatefulness out there that draws some events to certain conclusions but then other events like melting polar ice caps and mountain tops being blown off and intimate partner violence have no rationale or excuse or reason for existing so there is no god no plan only feelings and feelings are inaccurate and imprecise so maybe there is only reason but that’s phallic and boring so maybe there is only the shit we make up to keep us from being afraid of the dark alone

And still your lover is sad and it’s not about you and actually you wish she had everything she wanted without pain and the universe is unfair on a cosmic level and no one ever gets what they deserve and more people are hungry that aren’t and only 20% of women come from penetration and you’re still healing from body trauma and you’ve had it relatively easy and its fucked up to have a pussy that doesn’t always work and its fucked up to want love only in your brain and not your body because your body comes on bike rides and motorcycle rides and while screaming and during periods of deep uncertainty fucking inegalitarian shit like power-driven psychodramas get you off and your lovers eyes are watering and this is so very not a power play so

you grab portable fortitude cards because its time to make up a ritual to keep the dark forces aligned with the light ones since all bright lights cast dark shadows you pull protection from academia and protection from the USA and it feels biopolitical even though you are pretty sure you will never truly understand the concept and she pulls protection from heartbreak and protection from puritans then you step away to give her space with her grief and you imagine the state you’d be in if you broke up with the person your heart loves the most who is in fact not even her and you can’t even fathom how deeply you’d cling to the floor and despair and you would not see your lover you would howl at the moon alone but maybe not you just don’t want to know

so you just rearrange some shit on your desk papers really just touching ephemera to stay embodied and you get two sheets of paper warped and yellowing from your abandoned printer and hand one to her and say We’re Gonna Take This Outside To The Moonlight and what you want is to be loved and delighted in but if that is not available you have options that the universe and the goddesses and your ingenuity provide

and you pick a Crayola marker that matches your beautiful vintage dress which fits you like a lovers hand but not any lover you’ve met yet and you debate whether the color matches in tone hue or value and realize that you can’t remember the simplest shit like you know you don’t truly get complicated French social theory and your heart has so many questions like Are You Ok and What The Fuck Is Wrong With Taking Care of Each Other but they are drowned out by a powerful drumbeat that resonates with sadness which you know perfectly intimately well

and by your doorway the elderly cat wails and slowly you think about aging and shut the door and take your marker and write what you already knew you were gonna give to the moon you inscribe Kill Pollyanna and Ask and Courage Despite Fear and your lover is writing writing writing more words than she’s ever spoken pour out of her pen and this is a magical and real moment unspoken but textualized and the limits of our language are the limits of our selves and that’s why words are important everything has a function even if it has no meaning and is that why the mountain tops have to blow off and is that why your junk is sometimes broken numb and sometimes illuminated glowing in late-night hours of fucking your lovers perfect hands or your sweethearts perverted touch or your powerplay psychodramas and as a woman there is access to other knowings and as a radical there is the potential of visionary understanding and as an intellectual there is hope in theory and as a common bitch there is opportunity to make shit up that ends up being important

writing writing to the full hard moon is still happening and you are waiting knowing that all people you create magic with are forever your comrades and that is what is worth dedicating your life to and you are so curious but you respect privacy and time with each person’s demons and so you futz and wait and think Do I Need An Anti-Racist Ally Buddy and Should I Dust My Mirror these things that are important but make no sense in the power of the moment and

Stevie nicks sings on repeat I Have Known This Much Longer Than I’ve Known You and truth becomes Truth and words become valuable but not critical and you draw a moon outside Pollyanna on your paper and your lover finishes her invocation and you stick these papered words together from a high heel tape dispenser and briskly put on a tastefully matching headscarf a la Jackie O and get a clutch purse because big feelings deserve big outfits so the purse matches your silver boots and sparkling vibrating being and the two of your exit the confines of the apartment

exit the building side by side arm in arm your hair barely exposed walking purposefully like a creature from another time and that is your most authentic self someone alien to the pains and tribulations of our petty times and you wonder Why This Person and Why These Feelings and walk the three blocks to the park where the clearing promises moonlight and air to breathe and your boots teeter tall finally in the universes ability to deliver that which is really supposed to be true your giant nature your need to be bigger than that which has been dealt to you or to those you love you are a conduit a small break in the dam of possibility and your role you see clearly  now is to be a diverter of power and reality towards healing and these big truths of hope and belonging and place are available to share freely

Knowing this is not a simple cry for mediation with god but an evening to be in direct communication with all that came before you because there is no writing for what comes next just a few more words that you and your lover will tear up and burn wishing that it was just that simple to make pain and uncertainty and trouble disappear

and there is magic all around you if I do say so myself…