i've decided not to meet my first one.


he's turned out to be a fucking poet and knee caps me in how he writes things like this:

"I don't have really vivid memories of those times, but what I do remember is how captivated I was with you and your beauty. Any hurt I felt was part of life's lessons, and I had no bad feelings towards you that lasted long."


magical realism is true, you all. it's true when you do the rain dances and go beyond merely speaking in tongue when you live in tongue.


fish fly and love doesn't always have to be this beat down just to pay the fucking rent. get holy on yourselves, you all. it feels good.


so i won't meet my first one because there's no point in it. he's even more passionate than before and he's married with kids and a regular job and you just don't touch people like that. they really go insane when they remember other sides.


gotta keep it in the family of other artists.


that's why i mind fuck now.


because i'm also beyond being someone's interesting story for around the barbecue. you can only have at me once. james is the only one who ever returned, and that's because we weren't done and he wasn't mine in the first place.


james is dating. he likes the first one and she likes him back.


when you do the rain dances to live in tongue, you fuck up, reconnoiter and go back out... and you know you hit right when it gets easy like this.


this is also why i'm relaxing into whatever is. because i've been here before. this was just a lot of beatings in between the up-nods when i was doing right. but i do believe in magical realism. i LIVE it. i've lived according to a board of directors within me. i often do things i don't agree with for years at a time. it's hell and i feel very insane because i have the dickens of a time defending myself sometimes and can only shrug.


but i do the rain dances and when i live in tongue, i am as safe as if my entire life was covered in bubble wrap. i haven't made my life up. not a thing. and it's like a faery tale and i'm always okay.


sometimes i watch my own life like a movie and wonder what the fuck i'm gonna do next.


but it's not "me." i feel like i'm living for a bunch of people or an "idea." like i'm in service of something bigger. and i recently lost that sense of purpose. but i realize that just like i have to learn new "languages" to understand my father, or men like him and james, then i have to figure maybe i am restricting how my purpose appears and shows itself to me?


maybe there are no images for how it will have to be because just like people, no one way is like anyone else's way.


so i am living my purpose. and i am sharing my insane rain dances so that you can see how easy it is to lose your fucking mind when you live this way. you'll miss grant deadlines and jerk off until 6am until you have blisters. fuck. the blisters i've had. i couldn't even CONFESS to anyone how i'd wince and wail whenever i lowered myself into a scalding hot bath full of mineral salts.


sometimes i'd run upstairs to stand up at the edge of my bed and use the hitachi for six quickies and run back outside.


whoever i've become doesn't need to fuck with people needlessly. so i will be grateful for the chance to say sorry to my first man.


i wanted to pop my cherry ever since i was age 10. it took me two years to find and decide it would be with him. and it took 3 "ladies in waiting" to prepare me for my first time. he had to pass muster with lisa. i wanted only to please him and never let him know i was his first.


i've always hated being a tourist. that's why i can make myself invisible and submerge myself into yours to learn about it.


this is what it is to be mixed or float between the classes. to read what's being said between the atoms and politely pretend there's not a knife sticking out of your eye socket.


as many of you know, i've never succeeded at the polite part even though i went to fucking charm school.


so i feel like i have passed another test of not renting myself out for others' interesting life moments. this shit was always for real for me.


james likes this new girl a lot. his head is elsewhere. says "she's as cute as a button." for james, that's gushing. this time he's ready. last time he dated, he still wanted a wild gal he could hope to tame. we all have our weaknesses that're like stepping on the business ends of rakes. they're the hottest ones, but you really should stop trying that at home.


and so i said, "well, good thing you had some amazing blow jobs at the end."


he snapped up his head and said, "the end?"


"yes. you have a particular woman in your head, and you don't want to be the kind of man who can have one woman in your head and another on your body. you want to be the kind of man who wants your body to only be for one woman."


and he stared straight ahead at the tv for a moment and then he quietly said, "...you're right."


and i was newly inspired, too. i want to be the kind of woman who was like the one who started with my first man. i prepared my body and women told me stories and tips and encouraged me and helped me and they even listened in the apartment below on the first two nights and mornings when the bed springs were so loud.


but i got hip and we started on the floor the third night and from then on floors were the most passionate places for me. you could never fall anywhere but up.


do futons count? no. not when you've had the entire floor and no boundaries.


and i haven't had sex on the floor that much because it overtakes me in so many ways.
i always get taken over. the floor always breaks both our boundaries and i haven't wanted to give myself up too much.


i always wanted to be able to be free to run.


and so now james is dating and i feel a little relief, but sadness, too. everything really is going to be different from now on. it has to be.


nothing stays in stasis that is alive and living its full potential for adventure, life, creativity, and love.


so i am turning away visitors of all kinds because i must focus and save my energy.
i feel i've been tested and gifted with the best.


i feel free because my first was the only man i wanted to apologize to for leaving worse than i left him.


he had no idea the preparation that went into my being with him.


you all rarely do.


at least the kind that counts.


that's because we're too skittish to maintain eye contact, focus, and see the truth and be overtaken by the details. the art. the heart. the truth. the beauty.


fuck. the beauty will cripple you at times.


and no one can take this away from me, or give it to me.


i do the rain dances, however hard the hail may be.


i live in tongue.


and so i can only see pretty things.
nothing can be mundane.


i don't need to live in nostalgia. my past informs my present and future, but it was never the good old days. when you live like this, there are no good old days because you always insist they get better even when they suck, because at least they are INTERESTING.


i don't want to talk about old days. i told that to lisa, too. i said let's not be the kind of friends who only talk about old times and let's make new times and adventures.


it's sometimes hard to thank the gifts for appearing as elegantly as they do.
we want to smear more out of them as if getting a chance to apologize and tell the truth to your first man,
whose last name you would never have remembered if you even knew it because back then i was twelve and we didn't even use phones as we were still on tin cans at that age.


so i'm grateful i get to say sorry and move forward onto the next love affair. the first one i have as a fully attentive woman now that the girl has died and is a cackling monster under the bed.


i feel like many people. i'm never bored. and no one has names. they just have interests. voices. personalities and preferences.


a couple, no a FEW, are smarter than me, and i usually learn their lessons in a year or more. some are eerily long and transcend time.


don't listen to me. told you i was insane. and if so, thank heavens. i love living a magical realism life. if i wrote down my life as it was, it'd sound like horrible fiction. so i leave a whole lot out because i know what's there already snaps necks.


fuck. it snaps MINE.


anyhow, so i've said thank you and written long letters and see even more magic in some of the answers i now see.


so, no.


i don't want a quickie affair. they are mundane and not worth the grooming involved beforehand.


i'm not a dancing bear. i'm not your monkey.


i'm the fucking future. 


x