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2001-08-03 || 3:33 p.m. || jean michel fled the state and now i'm good friends with his mum || dear best friendy jean-michel: i was on the phone with your mum the other night. while you were in your bathroom office punching the keys of your new typewriter (vowels and consonants echoing. hitting tile and mirror and porcelain and leaving inky shadows at point of impact) far far away we were chatting, our words hopping hot and fast up and down the wires running the length of the state of california. it was like we had joined forces, bound by state lines and timelines of the past couple years (1997: michael and scarves and cigarette holders. gin and tonics and suits and the most preposterous stories. 1998: living in the room in the flat that fused us together, siamese twins conjoined at the vital organs, taking turns to breathe. re-assembling. passing parts back and forth. i got tough and cynical. you got more sensitive and stopped peeing in shampoo bottles at parties. 2000: your mum called you 'miserable.' i apologized.) i told her secrets. they just kept falling out of my mouth. about you and how happy you are and the messy kitchen and portland ladies hot for you. about how i miss you very much and am jealous to the core you are having so much fun so far away. we talked very fast, overlapping each other, getting all of our thoughts in, almost to the point of competition: me: 'i love michael.' your mum: 'i love michael too.' and she asked me how i was and it made me so sad. that your mother was asking me about the boy and how it is with you gone. when that has nothing to do with anything, that finally it is all about you and your being happy. and it makes me sadder to think that it has taken your moving to another state to make that happen. (oh i hope you don't mind me posting this. yell at me if you want me to take it down. xo) guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |