staring_or_not_knowing_who_you_are paste! directly from Pastor Roberlius, 1732, Mission de la Canary, 8th pew, frayed kneelbench, a shoddy notebook, dog-eared and highlighted with vickseed oil… "this is the greatest place on earth staring at postcards." and he wondered "could there be another use for indirect operandi/empty gazes? is all that stuff about kinetic energy more important than i thought?" lambs baaed. goats heaved enormous heaving tablespoons of powdered gasp. there was a sign, a billboard that had your name and scribbles of who-knows-what (fate) and my name. the night before the dream driving in the fog at 75 mph so the windshield seems to be a letterboxed glass container for skim milk with three or four dotted lines through it's bottom. staring at the opening and closing mouths with nothing to add despite considerable churning. staring at blankets with unreal lumps underneath. staring at Flintstone-style birds (blurring their legs in hopes of beating the tide before it comes back to bury the next seaworm, e.g. oceanic prey, mollusks, simply fashioned protein creatures and such, hungry as inferred by that pace and the gnashing and straw/clover footprints of hunters. it looked like a mean contest where the entrants didn’t want to be there as if an emperor was craving some entertainment.). I know medium about staring. You become a Camera Rasa. Ears can stare too. So can fingers. But warmer and shocking. And tongues stare but less blankly than eyes. Stare, attach/detach, stare, relish, evolving into a commotion buff yet knowing little to nothing about epoxy and final products; doughy belches from the fountain, electric cord intact, All That Exists helping out to plug it in, sans adapter. 030106 ... dxl i noticed who you were 030107 ... p! wish we all could've hung out longer 030107 ... jane i stared at you, underneath the sheet that filled like lungs when the fan oscillated by. your eyelids closed, all i could see was your freckles under the warm glow of yellow coming through the fabric over the window that never belonged to you. i did not see your blue eyes this time, but trusted in them. i stared at you & knew you sleeping, knew the years of ink that adorned your skin. i knew the history of shame you lived, the abuse & the sorrow, the toxic substances. the people you trusted, & how they thought nothing of leaving. minutes ticked & i did not hear. i ran my fingers over the tips of your hair, no longer colored unnaturally. you let it grow. i remembered you, the way you mumbled secrets when i held your hand trembling. when i curled up weeping & you rubbed my stomach like the puppy's, your eyes crinkling in the corners when your mouth stayed mostly straight. how you could close me off still twists me into wooden knots. my waters are eternal. forgiving. do_not_exhale_me into one of your undertones. i will stare, & know you. 050808 ... REAListic optimIST left incomunnicado until the only things i can manage to say are stupid and over the top. left to imagine who and where you are, and probably doing a poor job of it. left to make judgements instead of soothe. left on the outside, but the windows are steamed and i can't look in. i'd make hearts in the steam but they are steamed from the inside and i can tell you don't want me to knock. in fact, you've told me you'd give me the phone number several times, but never have. now when you stop by to pick up somethingorother, it makes me feel like i'm being used just to store stuff, although your recent email asked to have access to the headspace i can provide as well. i feel like a commodity to be exploited. the last time i said what was really on my mind, i got a cold stare, and then you broke down on my way out the door. that was the last time we were humans face to face. i miss the way we were in front of the fire as the creek rushed past, babbling about the moonlight trapped inside. i wish it had never come to this, but i'm staring in disbelief. the paradoxes abound profusely. and i must admit to knowing less and less of who you are and to being less and less myself in your presence. i recognize this falling away from before, but only have the one recent memory of being beautiful humans alongside the creek to counter the decay. unexpected death and decay wear away at the vulnerable place in my soul to which i gave you access. it rends my openness, tears at my grace, and shreds my capacity for love and understanding. if i could only shed attachment, i would remain unaffected. but this jellyfish's tentacles don't detatch well. 050808 what's it to you? who go blather from