Man, I just want to write..............

I am so sick of filters.

I just want to talk about my Universe, have it out there.

How does everything convolute so quickly???

Yes, I've lost a job and two Friends because of what I didn't "lock" here....
But that shouldn't stop me.
It was a job I didn't need to be at anymore, and those Friends?
They didn't need Me anymore.

And frankly, that was a long long long time ago.
I'm a bit more savvy now than I was, once.

*sighs and laughs*

How many years here? In this place? When did I start this odd "writing experiment?"

*clicks to profile, pages down*

Just before midnight on June 13th 2001.
Wow.

Lot of stories been told on this page.
I will own up to every single one.

3,019 entries now.

16,812 comments have been made.... on my stories.
That's what I wanted.
A talking journal.

I have shelves of books of pages that go back to 1978.
But this was the first page, that talked back.

I loved that about this place.
I have shut that part of this place....off.

I've been slowly learning to insulate myself.
Closet myself.
And that is not why I came here.

I came here to write.
To do what I do not WANT to do, but MUST do.

FList culture, odd experiences...
I closed the book that was always meant to be open.

I need to learn why I need this Place, again.

Examine that part of myself, closely.

This is where it should all go, and it has become a conversation with
individuals.
It was once just a conversation with myself.

It is supposed to be a conversation with myself.

Wow, I just remembered to put my glasses on.
I didn't need them when I started this project.

(*rubs eyes beneath and blinks, adjusts them on her nose* Good to See.)

*laughter*
I've gone blind and my hands have curled up in pain...
since I started this project.

The Blinky Box, the shiny blue screen....the keys.
This place has even changed my body.

I may never finish THE BOOK.
But even Charles has finally acknowledged that my journal is not a waste of time.

I have not been giving it time.

I have not been giving myself any time at all.

THIS....*HOWLS WITH LAUGHTER*
is not MYSPACE.

I was here two years or more before I learned the word BLOG.

It was just....

You know I used to call the journal I was carrying in my bag at the time my
"Live Journal" because after it went on the shelf it fell into the realm of THE HUNGER.

I wasn't going to read it, I was just saving it.
I still only go back when I must........to read anything.
Almost 30 years of words.

But when you must?
It is good to know you can.
When you question yourself, when you wonder what you used to be like....
I can read her.

I am confused, impressed, and ashamed of her....
But she is there, all written down.

I had a dream night before last.
I have been afraid to write it down.

I woke with a smile.
All the world was lifted from me................
I had 30 seconds of BLISS.
Awake.

I am sitting here crying, again. Now.

Steven. Steven Jason Sherer. Steven931.

I've only had two dreams where he was there.
This was the most....................................

This was the most.

He, my mind, He was now, the age he would be now.
He came to tell me he wasn't dead.
How does a mind do that? How was I able to DO that??????

His face, His eyes.
My Steven.
He told me it was all a mistake, he had to run.
Something about a free couch???

*sick sad laughter*

I wasn't angry, I grabbed him--held him hugged him held him.
You HAVE to call Michael, I don't know where he is--Steven you don't KNOW
that NIGHT, we....we.....YOU have to CALL him!!!???

It was all a lie.
I hadn't gone to the funeral, I hadn't SEEN him buried.
It wasn't real, none of it had been real.

He was.
He still was.

He was standing in front of me, laughing.
Alive.

I woke up.
7 years of ache GONE.
I didn't hurt anywhere...............for 30 seconds.

Then.
I hurt everywhere--FRESH.
New.

The wound opened.
I rolled over...Ben was laying there.
I told him as best I could, my dream.

I told him briefly, I told him shortly.
He didn't move.
I didn't want him to.

I curled up in my own pillows and sobbed.
Loudly.

Then quieted myself...untouched, unheld.

In the dream, Steven was wearing Ben's new shoes.
Bought at a skate shop in town off MLK at the cusp of Guadalupe.
Last week.

They would have been friends.

They would have a lot to talk about.

Steven showed up with nothing but a duffle bag and a bike box,
when he moved into 24 Flats in October of 1994.
Us closing a promise, made in 1990 in the LA Basin.

His bike cost more than any scooter I have ever ridden.
He would take it apart every night, come home covered in mud.
Detail the bike.

I was not his lover.
I just loved him.
We lived together.
We bought a used couch at St Vincent's.

*crying like a girl*




For a few moments......I got to see him again.
I got to BE with him again.

The Sisters are kind....sometimes.

Skate boards and bikes............men you cannot hold on to.
Men you shouldn't hold on to.

I can only love them.

There.
There.
I'm writing again.

*raises a cold vial to The Sisters*


For a few moments........nothing hurt.