erupted in light. Kiss him and I kiss the full of him and the dust of him. Touch him where he is firm and my hand passes through into empty space. Love him and I love this man, this body. Love him and I love star-dust and light.
Walk with me. Walk the 6,000,000,000,000 miles of travelled light, single year's journey of illumination, ship miles under the glowing keel. In the long frost the sky brightens and the rim of the earth is pierced by sharp stars. After the leaf-fall the star-fall, the winter shedding of too much light. Walk the seen and unseen. What can be rendered visible and what cannot.
The wind up at dusk and the leaves in squalls and the birds flying into the wind-backed leaves so that in the lost light I could not say where the leaves stopped and the birds began. I try to distinguish but at crucial moments the space between carefully separated objects collapses and I too am whirled up against my will into the dervish of matter. The difficulty is that every firm step I win out of chaos is a firm step towards... more chaos. I throw a rope bridge, haul myself across the gap, and huddled on a little outcrop, safe for now, observe the view. What is the view? Another gap, another stretch of water.
The wind at dusk. We were to be the lightest of things, he and I, lifting each other up above the heaviness of life. It was because we knew that gravity is always part of the equation that we tried to defeat it. Lighter than light in the atmosphere of our love.
It was a volatile experiment, soon snared by the ordinariness we set out to resist. Our alchemical transformations, like those of the alchemists before us, became more and more weighed down by the baseness of normal life. Lies, secrets, silences, common currency of deceit.
Say alchemy to most people and they will say, 'Turn metal into gold.' Yet what Paracelsus and the alchemists wanted was to make themselves the living gold. The treasure without moth or rust, spirit (pneuma) unalloyed.
Say theoretical physics to most people five hundred years from now and perhaps they will say, 'Bombs and destruction.' How to explain that what we saw, briefly, dimly, was a new heaven and a new earth?
Is crassness bound to win? To live differently, to love differently, to think differently, or to try to. Is the danger of beauty so great that it is better to live without it (The Standard Model)? Or to fall into her arms fire to fire? There is no discovery without risk and what you risk reveals what you value. Inside the horror of Nagasaki and Hiroshima lies the beauty of Einstein's E = MC 2 .
A man slow of speech and gentle of person. What patterns do the numbers make, breaking and beginning in the waters of his spirit?
And you? Now that I have discovered you? Beautiful, dangerous, unleashed. Still I try to hold you, knowing that your body is faced with knives.
When Jove began to notice me I was puppy-dog glad. Like dogs everywhere I was assured that my man was the best man and love is enough.
'Come out for a walk?'
Woof.
'Like some dinner?'
Woof.
'Sit on my knee.'
Woof.
I resisted him as all abandoned strays do a new home; for at least two days. Even while I was mouthing 'no' my heart was yapping 'yes'.
It had been the same with my father. His interest in me pendulumed from hot intensity to cool indifference. Weeks together would be followed by months apart. Then he would woo me again and each time I was determined to resist. He knew that. He waited. So did Jove.
I thought he made me fully human. I did not think of us as one man and his dog.
When Jove clipped me to him he widened his view. With a dog you can go places you cannot go alone. At his side I was access and envy (What a showpiece. Where did you find her?). At my side he was young and sexy (Will you marry him?). He told me he and his wife were getting a divorce. If I had turned into a dog he had always been a dark horse.
When I asked him for explanations he said, 'I need
Walk with me. Walk the 6,000,000,000,000 miles of travelled light, single year's journey of illumination, ship miles under the glowing keel. In the long frost the sky brightens and the rim of the earth is pierced by sharp stars. After the leaf-fall the star-fall, the winter shedding of too much light. Walk the seen and unseen. What can be rendered visible and what cannot.
The wind up at dusk and the leaves in squalls and the birds flying into the wind-backed leaves so that in the lost light I could not say where the leaves stopped and the birds began. I try to distinguish but at crucial moments the space between carefully separated objects collapses and I too am whirled up against my will into the dervish of matter. The difficulty is that every firm step I win out of chaos is a firm step towards... more chaos. I throw a rope bridge, haul myself across the gap, and huddled on a little outcrop, safe for now, observe the view. What is the view? Another gap, another stretch of water.
The wind at dusk. We were to be the lightest of things, he and I, lifting each other up above the heaviness of life. It was because we knew that gravity is always part of the equation that we tried to defeat it. Lighter than light in the atmosphere of our love.
It was a volatile experiment, soon snared by the ordinariness we set out to resist. Our alchemical transformations, like those of the alchemists before us, became more and more weighed down by the baseness of normal life. Lies, secrets, silences, common currency of deceit.
Say alchemy to most people and they will say, 'Turn metal into gold.' Yet what Paracelsus and the alchemists wanted was to make themselves the living gold. The treasure without moth or rust, spirit (pneuma) unalloyed.
Say theoretical physics to most people five hundred years from now and perhaps they will say, 'Bombs and destruction.' How to explain that what we saw, briefly, dimly, was a new heaven and a new earth?
Is crassness bound to win? To live differently, to love differently, to think differently, or to try to. Is the danger of beauty so great that it is better to live without it (The Standard Model)? Or to fall into her arms fire to fire? There is no discovery without risk and what you risk reveals what you value. Inside the horror of Nagasaki and Hiroshima lies the beauty of Einstein's E = MC 2 .
A man slow of speech and gentle of person. What patterns do the numbers make, breaking and beginning in the waters of his spirit?
And you? Now that I have discovered you? Beautiful, dangerous, unleashed. Still I try to hold you, knowing that your body is faced with knives.
When Jove began to notice me I was puppy-dog glad. Like dogs everywhere I was assured that my man was the best man and love is enough.
'Come out for a walk?'
Woof.
'Like some dinner?'
Woof.
'Sit on my knee.'
Woof.
I resisted him as all abandoned strays do a new home; for at least two days. Even while I was mouthing 'no' my heart was yapping 'yes'.
It had been the same with my father. His interest in me pendulumed from hot intensity to cool indifference. Weeks together would be followed by months apart. Then he would woo me again and each time I was determined to resist. He knew that. He waited. So did Jove.
I thought he made me fully human. I did not think of us as one man and his dog.
When Jove clipped me to him he widened his view. With a dog you can go places you cannot go alone. At his side I was access and envy (What a showpiece. Where did you find her?). At my side he was young and sexy (Will you marry him?). He told me he and his wife were getting a divorce. If I had turned into a dog he had always been a dark horse.
When I asked him for explanations he said, 'I need
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