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Friday, September 5th, 2008
10:18 pm

I am grateful for your life. The world is greener under your tread.

I don't know who said it, or to whom. I have a feeling it doesn't even matter.

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Monday, March 3rd, 2008
11:40 pm

Today is Ive and Jariel's anniversary. Many happy years, my loves.

Also, Michael is molting. You would not believe the chaos a bunch of birdfeathers can cause in a household.

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Friday, February 9th, 2007
12:33 pm - tidbits

The word for 'man' is Ive's language is "hikane," with the accent on the I.

This dish sounds very much like something his mother would have hidden a drug in, if she needed to place someone in a compromising position.

Count Nesselrode, the 19th-century Russian diplomat, lived and ate lavishly and had a number of rich dishes dedicated to him. The most famous is Nesselrode pudding, developed by his head chef Mouy. It consists of cream-enriched custard mixed with chestnut puree, candied fruits, currants, raisins and maraschino liqueur. This elegant mixture is often frozen, or made into a pie or dessert sauce.

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Thursday, January 11th, 2007
3:49 pm

I feel a bit bad for never keeping up their journal. I always mean to, but time is always fleeting.

Anyway: Teany vanilla berry hibiscus: this is what Ive would drink if he were five years old and being given summer tea with lunch in the garden at a high white wrought-iron table.

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Sunday, January 29th, 2006
2:25 am - []

They say I am different now than I had been. If so, it is they who have changed me.

She wishes to remember to write the things that are said. "To make them real," she says, pressing her forehead against my shoulder.

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Friday, January 13th, 2006
11:21 pm

it takes only very small things to please [him].

I was walking down the street outside of work, and turned to look up at the tall church-steeple, pealing in the mist. The moon was visible only as a pale outline above it; further down the road, light rose into the air. I felt him turn and look, and keep looking, as if he travelled forward with his gaze, and yet could hold everything absolutely still.

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Tuesday, August 2nd, 2005
8:46 pm - I cannot make you write.

She rousted me out of bed to write a letter, chuckling at my state of undress. I pulled on a bed jacket and swung out my legs, bending to kiss her shoulder. She is bleeding still, from her time down, in slow drops that take days to well and glisten.

She did not speak it, only pointed to the letter and chided me for being asleep. I said to her "You are the one who isolates yourself." She snorted and looked at me, asking how precisely this got the letter written.

I told her: "You hold on to pain because it is the only strong emotion that comes to you of itself. Anything else you feel needs to be built from the ground up, like these tiktoks and mechanics you are so sympathetic toward. It is a natural force, so you mistake it for the truth."

"Are you saying i'm cold-blooded?"

You are. I also say you should put more faith in what you create."

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Sunday, July 24th, 2005
7:06 pm - Parasols.

I have decided that very small children of the just-reliably-ambulatory stage amuse me. It does not seem as if their legs should support them, and yet they do. With great prejudice.

She turns over in her sleep, and mutters about "being chased by hedgehogs." Quite.

current mood: Better for having slept.

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Friday, July 22nd, 2005
4:36 pm

She is having short moments of riding with me today, as we would do with her.

Thus far, she has completely avoided anything useful, and is currently wishing to write extensively about knitting. And also her book.

It is strange when her ears listen in one direction and her eyes face another.

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Tuesday, July 19th, 2005
8:18 am

[He] drew me out of bed, quite gently, and set the book in my hands and her knitting. He was leaving, at last, after hours of watching him sleep, to go and sit over her.

[He] is torn; wishing to stay and draw out our husband's anger, knowing that this needs to be done. But it is day, and she will need watching. Where our husband is, I do not know.

It seems we are obliged to speak for each other.

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5:07 am

She has been put to sleep. As I told him, from this vantage one sees clearly into the mind. It is like this:

A nest of monolithic black serpents, or perhaps only one, knotting and weaving itself into a sphere, in a deep cavern. Through a trick of timing, once in a long while the scales will part to reveal a reason-for-pain as a flash of bright metal thrust into the flesh. Slicing as it travels.

In the quietest voice I have heard, she says: "I wanted to have that kind of hope, with him."

I tire of being a mouthpiece for pain.

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Monday, July 18th, 2005
2:52 pm - Defenses and accounts.

There has been a storm of emotion, now down to receding thunder and rain. I laid her down, and she continued to sift.

Protests, from her bed in my house: how she wishes he would not question everything and demand answers. That she, and they, could live happily if he did not.

I asked her: Do you delude yourself? Would you have preferred to go the rest of your life offering him noises and non-answers?

She moved her hands weakly.

You control many things by minimizing any reaction your heart may have, and then ignoring that.

I am undecided as to if i should enforce rest.

- [ ]

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Thursday, May 12th, 2005
4:16 pm

For the past.. two weeks, it's almost been, there has been a profound disconnect; a seperation between there and here that i've found hard to explain. I described it to Michael as a "blown fuse".. fizzing and sparking, but no circut. It's rare that it happens for more than a few hours or a day. It's been frustrating for all of us, especially as Ive has been away, taking care of Jaiel.

Now, it seems to be healing over. Ive is on his way home, and i see [him] out of the corner of my eye. It is a little better.

Though i have suspicions.

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Friday, April 29th, 2005
4:31 pm

Today, while at lunch, we both (Gabriel and I) saw Ive sitting in the great room, after we had wandered around the Cloisters all morning. He was sketching a cloister-garden (with quince trees, lace maple and dyer's herbs) on a pad in his lap. Tiny pots of watercolors were open on a table by his knee, and he dipped a tiny, delicate brush into one and started to touch color to a small patch of flowers.

He was wearing soft grey pants ("Yoga pants." Gabriel says.) and his feet were bare, bouncing idly.

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Saturday, April 23rd, 2005
4:53 am - the other day.

She said, on the edge of sleep: "Sometimes going to find [him] is like dreaming about walking in museums."

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Thursday, March 3rd, 2005
9:30 pm - On the occasion of an anniversary.

There is no one as all-consuming as you, whom I have loved with more intent; there is no one who could have taught me to put aside that deliberate intensity, and open slowly, with an offering of self, except you.

I cannot give you enough; I cannot help but flower under your hands, under your song.

Simple forms in strange languages.Collapse )

current mood: heart-full.

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Sunday, January 16th, 2005
7:51 am

I find myself in a most difficult positon, and one that I do not know yet precisely how to play. Executed, however, it will be.

It has been perhaps the longest forty hours of our lives. Now I must find my husband and his wife, and bring them home.

current mood: gather us up

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Monday, April 19th, 2004
12:00 am - I have this memory.

My people have a tradition: a simple one, with many parallels here, of a lying in the waters.

A slow bend in a river is found: a shallow spot, though not an eddy. The water must flow straight The one-who-is-cared-foe lies in the water, floating on their backs, accompanied by one or two that they trust completely. They are supported by a hand in the small of their backs, to keep them afloat, to keep them from drifting.

A cloth is wet in the water and passed over their skin: starting from the shoulders and working one's way down to the feet. The face and throat are laved separately, for their hold different tensions. The cloth is wrung, time and again, in the river water. All that clings to their skin follows the river, into the ocean.

I did this for my husband, in the evening: I laid him in the water and bathed him with my own hands. I remember the second vision of his skin emerging pale from the dirt, too long hidden beneath it: of pressing my hands flat upon his chest to crack its chitinous surface, or watching it flake away into the water.

The day, however beautiful, can be poison: let me always be there to cleanse him.

current mood: rarely beheld

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Sunday, November 30th, 2003
6:36 pm

He cherishes both his gifts, and I could have asked for nothing more. A garden, and a wooden ring: they are emblematic of our relationship, our house, our journey together.

OF all the threads I have followed and all the futures I envisioned, I must say that crafting my own wedding-gifts were never foreseen. There is nothing, however, that I would not give him.

I am changed, and yet I am unchanged: each day I grow more into my name.

current mood: hand to heart; clawtips and flesh

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Sunday, October 5th, 2003
12:27 am - theme for thought

I sit here eating a cold nectarine, pressed yesterday into her hands by a fruit-seller. It is ripe in the particular way of fruit hastily snatched from the vine for fear of frost; bereft of the last few hours of sun.

For that, it is sweet still, and wet on my fingers. The garden is green yet, but the tenderest plants restrain their boldness; soon, the fall-bloomers, sturdy enough to withstand a changing season will put them to bed.

In the intervening months, I too have grown and changed; I am not the man who came here, nor the boy I was before. I have since become a mate and a beloved, a protector and a cherished thing. My house, my life is shared; my bed warmed, my arms filled. The outward season is changing, and there are many things that need change, but my life, my heart-at-home, is complete.

There is a safe place to play warm, silent games; a refuge from the far more dangerous ones I must play with the world. I have love to give, and am loved in return. It is not a circumstance I could have forseen, but I am grateful for it nonetheless.

current mood: new patterns and old.

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