Matte Black

I always forgot the end of Sweet Charity, you know, Shirley Maclaine returns to the dance hall and round it goes again. Dizzy, light headed, I turn to where my Boo should be and ask again how it ends. We are in the elevator and she is squeezing my cheeks and counting my eyes. Everything in its right place. Except for sweet ol’ Charity Valentine. Stuck in a lift with a corpse and headed down. At the Lowest we aren’t in a movie anymore and Boo can’t tell me why because there is foam coming out of his nose and mouth. He has died. Viscera shifts into a scream but the breath doesn’t come, only the horror of the hollow.
When we first started living together I would lie awake at night and hold him and cry for joy, balled in relief, that here was The One and he thought so too. The hearts, when they could be heard, were like mad popping corn filling a room, covering the giggling boys in cruchy tid-bits, in jokes, cutesy voices, much lust and not a hint of what was to come. We had thought about it of course, as we all do. Thinking of Camus and Focault and how to gouge out the watching eyes of heathens that saw only debauch and foul play.
It ended very, very, very badly for us. Though Matthew had made a movie style exit, all Marylin Monroe. Naked and smiling. Handsome, with a chin and his upturned nose. Silent under the gutteral keening wail that came from everywhere in me. Leaving me behind in an energetic vehical I feel was meant for me, or at least big enough for two.
When we kissed it caused a home for us. A temple of flesh and bone and hair and cocks and bellies and hearts and teeths and little foots, all ours.
All mine.
MY BOO.
I didn’t lock the gate. I left him in a hot car with the window up. I didn’t keep him locked away safe from harm and life, which often I’m afraid are the same thing. If I had known I would have. (No no no no no no no.no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no) Am I crying now for what was? I weep and gnash and rally agianst the Matty shaped wound, but I cry for the future, what could have been.
I, his all powerful talisman held tight against the nothings and the somethings. We knew us well. I doubt you did. I know you won’t now.
Ever. There is a pit full of bile and diseased gut, it holds me to this life like a vicious dog savages the proverbial inner child that probably never was.
Matthew was a secret made of stars, to read the future in, to spell visions across a mad sky. A gentleman unnoticed by many, particularly the ones who knew him longest. A tricky pixie round and warm and furry, rolling on ,my way and fucking chuffed to be doing so. Sex. Let me write that again. Sex. Triple X from Go to Woah.
It was a lengthy circling of each other like we were sharks and a baby seal was our intention. Though, instead of swimming from up below and marking that night with a red splash. We headed further from shore and closer to sure and lay barely moving in the cool dark currents tangled up in visions of Angler fish lights, avoiding the others to vibrate in the deep space of a whale song. Adding our own noise in strange syncopated blue notes that played games with harmonics that the future men on the stars cried with joy to hear. Reassured that on the illest planet, there was still Love.
Real
Unadulterated
Unwavering
Stupid
Passionate
Brave
Innocent
Enthusiastic
Original
Total raving shining,
LOVE.
It was ours. It’s echo stills rings out loud enough for some of the land dwellers to bemoan the volume of our revellery. Some of them dance though, buoyed up by that mystery tune ringing in the tolling bells of the waves
I miss that song but remember the words.
The tune and how to play it however have slipped my mind.
The instrument alone sailing now beneath the soil.
Frequency unleashed.
Oblique strategy via Eno
In a dark place,
or a large room quietly
Leaked disbelief on the kitchen floor
Next to the space where the chair was
In the now empty kitchen.
In the cavity where
They tore the heart of the house out,
Still beating.
Sweating with paper trails,
Grunting in the idiotic phenomes
Of common troglodytes.
Lazy criminals,
Blinded by the poor I.Q of the idiot.
The Christian fathers are at it again,
Throw them to the liars.
Boys tending altars of dead gods,
Eating flesh and drinking blood,
make smile the parent,
who would not have him tread the boards.
Boy, bookless and loveless,
no noise no music and no words,
who still because of lion heart
lay dreaming of the day that he could be with me,
though he yet knew me not
and I who still lays here dreaming for the days he was.
Later I shall let you know about the first kiss,
The first real one after a thousand dead mouths,
Told in touch that we were us for real.
When that first morning broke we were still staring at each other. Oblivious to all but the potential.
We were prescision contructed in a garden rather than a factory.
We bloomed just out of season for the poor others to marvel at.
The Emporers temple garden
a carpet of bruising blossom, staining both soul and sole.
Stripped bare the trees now whips that flay,
during a time where even the passing of time strips skin from bone.
They miss you truly too.
You will always be darling and pure.
Boo Bear
I will always love you.
Papa bear. xo