Posted by: facetothewind | February 12, 2003

Love Dreams, Suddenly

To: Fenton Johnson
Subject: Love Dreams
Date: Feb. 12, 2003


Only recently have I begun to entertain thoughts about engineering my own death. I haven’t felt particularly suicidal, but just keenly aware of the limitations and pain of life itself. I think you’ve heard me speak of it…the world having more sharp corners than warm hands.

Fenton, it’s at this point that the love dreams started happening. I’m also noticing that I started reading your book a few pages a day. I also have started flirting with a boy who works at a café downtown. I feel so old next to him. We were in a self-defense workshop recently and were partnered together to practice things like how to pinch off the wind-pipe of an attacker. I quivered when he touched my wind pipe, my pressure points behind the ears where he could press his fingers into .my brain and kill me.

Interestingly, I also saw a piece of artwork recently, that touched me more significantly than any other piece of artwork since seeing Renoir’s “On the Terrace” in person. I’m attaching it for you.

As dawn threw back the covers of my latest love dream, I found myself grabbing at them…trying to savor one last glimpse of the man’s face before it became replaced with the cold reality of my daily life.

Last night’s love dream was a series of vignettes painted in rich hues from the inside out, that I can’t help but be saddened by its loss as I sit here in the cool glow of my computer. My lover lighting incense at the kitchen table and crawling into bed with me…Feeling the life pulsing so close to the surface in his thin body next to me…Standing naked in a field of flowers with him…Watching him leaving on a bus, I kiss my fingers and hold them into the open window above his head. We touch fingers and smile until the bus lurches forward breaking the touch.

Who is this man? As I tried to see his face. Whenever I strain to see it, it morphs. First it becomes that familiar, goateed look of San Francisco, then it turns into a Eurasian face, then to a marble-skinned boy next door face.

I’m puzzled what this all means. As I’ve mentioned to you, romance is troublesome for me. It causes me great pain and worry to be in love. Fear of losing myself consumes me and I hide and protect myself.


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