country. And we fell asleep in each otherâs arms with the window blowing cool winter air into the room and the sleep was strongly horrible with the jumps and turns of bodies on small mattress ⦠we woke several times each during the night and in the morning after six hours of half sleep we rose at seven and he sat on the edge of the mattress whispering into my ear and nibbling and smooch in my throat and I asked him if he had difficulty sleeping and he said, Yeah but I understand it is because we are not used to sleeping together and the bed is small and much later he sheepishly said that it was the first time in a year or years that anyone has slept with him overnight in that room ⦠he jumped up and so did I hustling on our clothes and rubbing each otherâs backs and shoulders and warming up to the day ⦠the first light of dawn creeping over the roofs and behind the heavy gray curtain of imminent rain.
He took from the window ledge over the courtyard six flights up from the street a tiny package with butter and a half stick of this French bread loaf and we spread butter over it and drank coffee heated from a small stove or hot plate and it tasted like food from the banquets of Monarchs but EVEN BETTER! I loved him madly for a moment where that sense wells up under your throat and spreads like liquor through the systemâuhah! We got our stuff together and split from the house in the dawning streets and hustled past the early walkers ⦠few out at that hour ⦠swept into the car and rode the streets toward the St. George district to pick up my things patting each other on the knees and bellies and all excited about the country common to the senses ⦠fall leaves skittering the streets in tiny tornadoes and drifts and turns and posters flapping and a car or two rumbling over the cobblestones and really itâs that time of the morning where everything has that fictional sense of otherworldliness and foreign scope of noninhabitation ⦠the worldâs woes wrapped on the edge of night waiting to be freed by movements in the street of the general population and a strong sun thatâll illuminate it all to the eye of head and mind. He waited in a cafe down the block from the rue Laferriére apartment while I went up and downed a couple of cups of hot coffee and brushed my teeth and ate a couple slices of bread and snatched up some clothes and necessities for the trip, journals, etc. I talked with Pat for a little while, a necessary talk concerning some personal stuff she needed to reflect on and then rushed out of the house and into the waiting auto and we were off. We stopped somewhere outside of Paris for gas and then for coffee and small rolls for energy and continued on ⦠transcription of the resulting conversations from the ride is almost impossible âcause of their drift from regular conversations I grapple with in America trying to convey a thought or series of spontaneous sensesâand then trying to translate what is not known or understood in the two languages and then thereâre the word-flights and tangents one goes on to describe the sense of a word ⦠damn just sittinâ here typetakkinâ with two fingers in a flush and rush to get it all down before I fall across these fuckinâ keys to bemoan the fact that Iâm an open vessel right now of all the erotic and natural sensations and babblings and pulls to the unknown ⦠a frightful and exhilarating sense where all is bared and I come face to face on common ground with a sense of my own spirit and life and man there is absolutely no avoiding it ⦠it looks ya in the eye and puts a firm hand on your shoulder and says, Kid, this is it ⦠continue and step headlong into chance ⦠shit ⦠the chance to love so entirely that you merge in some sense with another head and yet that chance of being open to another knock in the head and heart if it falls through ⦠even in
He took from the window ledge over the courtyard six flights up from the street a tiny package with butter and a half stick of this French bread loaf and we spread butter over it and drank coffee heated from a small stove or hot plate and it tasted like food from the banquets of Monarchs but EVEN BETTER! I loved him madly for a moment where that sense wells up under your throat and spreads like liquor through the systemâuhah! We got our stuff together and split from the house in the dawning streets and hustled past the early walkers ⦠few out at that hour ⦠swept into the car and rode the streets toward the St. George district to pick up my things patting each other on the knees and bellies and all excited about the country common to the senses ⦠fall leaves skittering the streets in tiny tornadoes and drifts and turns and posters flapping and a car or two rumbling over the cobblestones and really itâs that time of the morning where everything has that fictional sense of otherworldliness and foreign scope of noninhabitation ⦠the worldâs woes wrapped on the edge of night waiting to be freed by movements in the street of the general population and a strong sun thatâll illuminate it all to the eye of head and mind. He waited in a cafe down the block from the rue Laferriére apartment while I went up and downed a couple of cups of hot coffee and brushed my teeth and ate a couple slices of bread and snatched up some clothes and necessities for the trip, journals, etc. I talked with Pat for a little while, a necessary talk concerning some personal stuff she needed to reflect on and then rushed out of the house and into the waiting auto and we were off. We stopped somewhere outside of Paris for gas and then for coffee and small rolls for energy and continued on ⦠transcription of the resulting conversations from the ride is almost impossible âcause of their drift from regular conversations I grapple with in America trying to convey a thought or series of spontaneous sensesâand then trying to translate what is not known or understood in the two languages and then thereâre the word-flights and tangents one goes on to describe the sense of a word ⦠damn just sittinâ here typetakkinâ with two fingers in a flush and rush to get it all down before I fall across these fuckinâ keys to bemoan the fact that Iâm an open vessel right now of all the erotic and natural sensations and babblings and pulls to the unknown ⦠a frightful and exhilarating sense where all is bared and I come face to face on common ground with a sense of my own spirit and life and man there is absolutely no avoiding it ⦠it looks ya in the eye and puts a firm hand on your shoulder and says, Kid, this is it ⦠continue and step headlong into chance ⦠shit ⦠the chance to love so entirely that you merge in some sense with another head and yet that chance of being open to another knock in the head and heart if it falls through ⦠even in
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