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Monday, March 28, 2005


Is that right? I am doing it correctly, to my knowledge, but if I am not, please correct me gently. I scare easily. It is always my first time here and I hang one foot behind me for a fast escape. You intimidate me. May you always be there and I here. No hugs, no kisses, none of that, thank you. This sheet shall always separate us, and I for one am thankful for that. The confrontation of meaning sifted through your histories is far too complex and intimidating for me. May the sheet be shield and sword alike. My foot itches. The night is black but comfortable, the trees low and the moon high. Let me speak to you now through this sheet, like the little black square in the confessional of my youth with the priest in silhouette behind it. His gentle droning voice was the voice of God, even if I recognised it. Sometimes it would have a French inflection, others a guttural German sound, and then the humble Hungarian. Like bees in the swarm of human speech, we would enter, mumble secretly, leave and kneel to say our Hail Marys and Our Fathers. My father tongue fought with my mother tongue like a snake's tongue in one mouth. I can't stop scratching my heel now. Song is in the stars and the street is cool with rain. My feet feel the earth through generations of business and politics, digging back into the naked world. I must go. May you always be there and I here.

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