Comments Posted By Fox Hedgehog
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I could only stop in quick yesterday, and I thought it’d be quiet in the house. It wasn’t. There were people I’d never seen meeting in the dining room, the accountant in the foyer was on the phone for the better part of an hour, there was constant booming footfall on the various stairways. I wanted to run up and see you, but I didn’t want to talk if we couldn’t talk alone and at length. When it was dark, as the accountant left through the kitchen with a box of files never to be completed, you came down for coffee and found me listening to PNK FME. “You’re here for a couple hours, then?” you said, and I wanted to say yes, but I had to cross the river. Perhaps I imagined the deflation in your hunched height, your voice. “Good to see you,” you said, bounding back up the back stairs. The next time I heard you speak, it was into your cell phone.
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 01.18.2019 @ 5:29 am
You have a preoccupation, a question, about how things are transformed in writing. I don’t have that question. “If we run out of topics to talk about in the spring,” you said, “let’s talk about transformation in the Ovid sense.”
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 01.12.2019 @ 10:53 am
Sending an email, for you, is probably something like loading the dishwasher – a chore that must be done with a certain amount of enthusiasm to get it right, but a chore nonetheless, nothing more important than that. How many thousands of emails do you have to send a day, to people in every part of the globe? How much thought do you give to each one? How much thought did you give to the little note you sent me? I am by no means prone to reading too much into things, but it’s hard not to delve deeper into your tiny extraneous kindnesses. You said you’re glad the magnetism of the city isn’t so strong that it’s keeping me from coming back, you told me to get to the airport early. You said you want to make this season much more meaningful than just an echo of last season. I take stock of all these things you said, and I can’t help but wonder –
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 01.08.2019 @ 4:53 pm
Do you still have a cassette player somewhere? Every time I come into your fluorescent office after dark, you’re playing music on your iPhone. The last time I saw you, it was Lana del Rey, from her Born to Die era. Subtextually, it was a perfect choice. Were you aware? Or would Freud have a field day with our moment?
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 01.07.2019 @ 9:07 pm
Recently, you’ve been in my dreams. Last night, I came into the house, and you were in your office as usual, and I hovered in your doorway as usual, but we had to maintain physical contact after that, it was an imperative, you came downstairs just to hold my hand, I could feel the sweat between your fingers, and we only let go to change where we sat in the room. When we couldn’t hold hands, I put my hand on your knee. There was suddenly a crowd, and you played police officer, trying your hardest to kick them all out even though you’re all wire, no sinew, and your yelling contains no belligerence.
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 12.30.2018 @ 9:51 pm
Rain in Berlin. Out in the twinkly-lit streets, on a search for champagne. The wine in every shop is sold out. You end up tracing wet graffiti with your fingertips, slow, just to delay going back.
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 12.24.2018 @ 11:59 am
The gingerbread house I live in started to melt at the sugar seams last night. I lay in bed missing you, and as I missed you, my body temperature spiked to mythic heights, and the icing that held my room together began to drip, drip, drip –
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 12.23.2018 @ 10:00 am
What do you eat at home? I want to roast a whole duck for you with rainbow peppercorns and butter and grapefruit, serve it with crispy Brussels sprouts tossed in olive oil and Meyer lemon and parmiggiano-reggiano. After dinner, you can live your life in my vast reading chair, and end it in my bed, depending on the way the planet spins. I want to make a French toast scramble with coffee for your breakfast.
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 12.21.2018 @ 10:00 am
Safe from harm, the beveled turn-of-the-century windows dark, every naphtha lamp turned on, songstresses crooning in the background until our conversation takes precedence. I could talk to you all night, every night.
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 12.18.2018 @ 8:27 pm
If you were capable of having another woman, and I doubt you are, would you look my way? Can I be “other” to you, or am I too much a part of your mind already, too much part of your workday, for you to see me as anything other than (at most) a piece missing from you that you never knew?
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 12.14.2018 @ 8:41 pm
Thinking of you is not an occasional occurrence. It’s constant, but non-intrusive. Sometimes I try to imagine your life outside of the house where we work away our days. Sometimes I try to imagine who your kids are, who their mother is. Sometimes I try to imagine your wife, whom you only spend the entire night with.
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 12.13.2018 @ 6:09 pm
“I’m going to stop drinking espresso now,” you said, covering the mouth of your mug. It was already dark out, and you’d been expounding on a philosophy of yours a bit more after you sensed, in our last conversation, that I withdrew from it. What you’ll never know is that your ideas weren’t the thing I withdrew from.
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 12.09.2018 @ 2:50 pm
With one comment after too many beers, he became one of the builders of the pedestal I put you on. With one comment of your own, you demolished the entire marble pillar, and it felt like a tragedy. But now that both of us are standing on the serpentine ground, the crystal-rich pavement, eye-to-eye as much as our respective heights allow, laughing at the darkness we spin into jokes, love no longer feels like a distant possibility, purview of the sky. Love feels like it could belong on the ground, with us.
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 12.08.2018 @ 9:53 am
With the pedestal down, we can find pleasure in a reality without barriers, related to another world where we didn’t meet in a hierarchy. “When we come back, we can exchange stories,” you said as you slipped out into the snowy night.
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 12.06.2018 @ 9:09 pm
This isn’t fun at all, this disillusionment with you. Is it momentary or permanent? Will I miss you, as I have missed you, when I’m gone for the amount of time I’m gone? Will we speak tomorrow to find everything changed once more?
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 12.05.2018 @ 4:16 pm
It used to be that I’d wake up on mornings like this, when I’d have to go to work later, and be immediately happy. Happy only because there was a possibility that you and I could talk for an hour. That was my oasis in the week. Now, that oasis has drained.
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 12.04.2018 @ 8:07 am
How much can you hear through the floorboards of the house? Could you hear me laughing when talking with other people? Can you hear my thoughts? The pedestal that propped you up seems to have fallen, and now I can think of your name without adoring you on high.
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 12.03.2018 @ 1:18 pm
Is the barrier between us an invisible gold band? Is it a paper hierarchy that places me at the bottom and you at the top? Is it your inability to be vulnerable without challenging the person you’re being vulnerable to?
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 11.30.2018 @ 3:08 pm
It seems that I’m wired to enjoy talking to you for ever and ever, hours on end. If only there wasn’t constant work to be done. If only I could know for sure whether your conversational enjoyment had more depths, more heats, than can be obviously seen. If only I could know for sure that I show up in your dreams.
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 11.29.2018 @ 4:10 pm
The sky is invisible above this snowstorm, thunder and lightning somehow coming through the solid white air. With the sky invisible, it’s hard to remember that the planets are steering us, somehow. Celestial bodies moving our flesh-and-bone bodies into orbit.
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 11.25.2018 @ 12:38 pm
You probably don’t miss me, miss our improvised conversations, miss the ground floor lamplight and fluorescent computer screens that cast bright shadows on our faces, you probably don’t miss me on the weeks when we don’t see each other. But I miss you. I do.
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 11.23.2018 @ 1:04 pm
Am I just silverware to you? Another element of your everyday – even though I’m not there every day – that you come in contact with, don’t care to remember? Because to remember the silverware at a meal is to realize the meal itself is unmemorable.
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 11.19.2018 @ 9:56 pm
Please don’t let me break the spell between us. All alone in a house from a time apart, the only light spilling out the door of your office.
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 11.16.2018 @ 4:19 am
When you come down the back stairs, it always sounds like you’re falling. I missed that crash while you were away. The heavy metal door creaks open, and you go into the kitchen with a sheet of paper, ostensibly to copy it. Then, you see me at the computer, and I pretend I don’t see you, as you sneak in to see if I’m alone. I am. We talk, but not as deeply as I wish we could, because someone else comes down. When we’re not alone, you run back up the stairs without copying anything.
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 11.13.2018 @ 7:03 pm
I can’t sleep with a nightlight, it needs to be totally dark, the comforter pulled over my head. I wonder about you, whether you sleep at all, or just drink coffee from ten pm to three am and then find yourself too close to going into the office. Come stay with me so I can see.
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 11.09.2018 @ 7:54 am
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I realized my dream of us in a motel room isn’t what I thought it was. It isn’t an erotic desire, or a desire to break the rules, or a desire to wet my dry spell. It’s a desire for you to show me what you’ve never shown anyone: your secrets, your work, in ink.
» Posted By Fox Hedgehog On 11.08.2018 @ 4:38 pm