09 – Ipanema Graca

 

And you my little Ipanema Graca? Thinking of me…So afraid that I would come back in a “JIffy”.
Porra Conchita! Nema sono ti.

“I never died”, said he.
“I never die”, said he.

For all the heroes going out, how many were boxed, shipped back, expired in their floating miasma of choked off dreams and tears – a menace to navigation, a pollutant to love and affairs of the heart: and all the family back home gets is the memorial flag. Scores of candidates must expire for one or even two to win, you said.

Always a merry shrug: “Save me from this place, adore my body, explore me until I melt away, Fall into this sky so blue”. Sunrise in this bed was a mystical event & incase I should forget, lest I get killed accidentally when my survival instincts back-fire, I know you would follow me thru’ the Gates of Hell.

Our jealous quarrels: Over my dead body – I said.
Yes here we go into a 3 part digression already. Talking of a subject deteriorated into two other disconnected states. We rush – Jealously. Sinking in exposition, as in quicksand.

Well things deteriorate right enough. Everything is deteriorated. Deterioration everywhere. I know this is not what it used to be. But us? we lead on party to party, el supremo disco, and no one ever to contest the fact: that we may be crazy, but we cannot be stopped, especially La Dona Contessa del Conchita Isis.

I think your theories are crazy. But not crazy enough to be true: How can we live amongst so many wonders and not be overwhelmed by the sheer mystery of existence? Our knowledge is so small and our conceit so great

I was never at a want for words. Too much to say, that was my complaint: every thing to get said, and all at once, or I will forget it. Already I forget half of what I have written, or half of what I was in a mind to write. Pen cannot keep up.

“A man with a watch Knows what time it is. A man with two watches is never sure.
The same thing applies to women…”
                        In my Fathers House::
Tu m’as Eu – we’ve been screwed!

I make mad side notes. Notes of notes for further pages. Your love made a fool of me – as my love of you made you make a fool of yourself on as many occasions. Oh those long close winters next to your supine stealth, smooth as steel, soft a ssssilk and as supple as leather. I think we got arrested more times for “public indecency” they called it, than when we were apprehended fucking in public. Usually with bystanders cheering us on.