REUPTAKE >>> MVD + 47 yrs “I thought we were friends“
Hard to put into words what I feel and think about, now that I’ve moved halfway around the globe — “gone south” in a big way ( not funny really ).
Sunday in Montevideo, August 2023: It’s rained some, but not nearly enough. We need soaking, pouring rain for a couple of months to even begin to fix this drought. I brought the DRY here with me, I guess; years ago I thought I could make it rain, too.
Why would it always pour rain in HOU-TX when the pure meth would hit? The sky burst into tears; try to wash away the... crimes against Nature, not just ours, but of so many there. Angels’ tears.
That morning in June 1976 pulling up to Cherryhurst to get some fits for the “98 per: guaranteed-white-an-outa-site” that Bill N. just made. He was as good a cook as any when he wanted to be.
I’d still ask for “26-ana-half-gauge” feeling almost cool about it. The sky opened up. It rained fourteen inches in four hours. An unusual day at an unusual time in an unusual life. So what? That story later, maybe. A bit long for casual reading.
Now, Sunday morning just short of half a century later, “I must confess myself to be a bit disappointed...” said Valdemort reawakened.
Do I link to the WaPo article on “Grey Divorce” to talk about gay divorce? How can I be divorced if I never married? ANYWAY, where is the pink middle of the GREY GAY spectrum: bipolar betwixt “joined at the hip / matching towels and tombstones” and everybody fucks anybody, call it “OPEN”? Either end, it’s still taking down the game — lock on target, take good aim. Isolation and solitude feels the same whether I SLEEP ALONE OR NOT, even in a new language. Often felt like this for me: Major Tom’s birthday call in space, prerecorded, played months later.
