Granny Lalla's Letters to the Lovelorn

once again, joe dolce's newsletter has brigthened by day. this week, lalla, who he says of:

Lalla Arifa, born in 1335 AD, is still a controversial figure. The Hindus regard her as the reincarnate, whereas the Muslims, a perfect mystic saint. Lalla Arifa was lost in spiritual wonderment; walked about naked; fought against her self; and renounced the world. She was a poet and sang of spiritual and divine bliss. Both Kashmiri Hindus AND Muslims affectionately call her "Mother Lalla" or "Granny Lalla".

his latest weekly has her poetry throughout. he opens with:

I didn't trust it for a moment,
but I drank it anyway,
the wine of my own poetry.

It gave me the daring to take hold
of the darkness and tear it down
and cut it into little pieces.

also: Naked Song of Lalla 7

Unconscious people read the scriptures
like parrots saying Ram, Ram
in their cages

It's all pretend-knowledge.
Read rather, with me, every
living moment as prophecy

lil country song (piano tinkered)

i'm filled with poison
and it's seeping out
from time to time in these lines
and i can offer plenty of reason
for my seething,
but there's never the time

but if you're willing
pull up a chair
i'll put on the kettle
and join you there
and we'll start at the top and work our way down
till we reach solid ground

i know the best medicine
is an honest conversation
and i'm willing to trade
a fair exchange
for your candour in kind
surely you are just as hard
and heartbroken as i am
the elements take no rest
and make no exceptions

but if you're willing
pull up a chair
i'll put on the kettle
and join you there
and we'll start at the top and work our way down
till we reach solid ground

gilbert has fleas

dear jennifer

the most important story is that i am in love (see below). it's very new and shiny still, and so i bite my tongue often, worried i am rash. but.

he reminds me of you sometimes - the writers he references, the way he talks, his pauses and lookings out the window. i can't decide which i like more - the talking for hours (with no thought fully explored or point made, an eyes closed to drop a finger on a map, head in that direction, but being distracted on the way, never reaching any destination on one endless incredible roadtrip through all new territory kind of talking) or the kissing (etc) for hours (i shan't betray anything further in parenthesis).

he is beautiful.
oh my.

it's immensely exciting. but i'm shy of it too, and cautious, and analytical. that said, i'm also trying not to be, because sometimes, you want to just leave things whole, and not dissect. i'm not sure i want to know how this works.

do we ever stop being scared?

what else. i'm unemployed. which is nice. other than the financial doom. i have an immense cold, which is dreadful, and eating away at my unemployed bliss, or rather filling it with snot, sneezes, coughs, naps, and a general big head haze.

i miss you.

susan gives me updates, which i both devour hungrily and savour slowly, somehow, trying to slyly ask more questions each time. but you tell me - tell me tell me tell me things.

i know i just said it, but again, and still, i miss you.

simple equation

look at us
coming to conclusions
with not much
information
gathered, but
maybe it's a simple equation
and merely the
introduction
to each other
is enough
to add it up
so let's not bother
with any other math

and don't bother
to question
how long this will last
nothing good has
ever come to
anyone who asked that

we agree
we both want to
fuck up the least
we ever have
and to fuck up the least
for at least awhile
as long as we both want to
as long as we both can
and too bad
we're both frightened
by the past
and what happened
after that
but it's no matter
how we traveled
just that we landed

how mistaken i've been
but to know him is to love him
and to love him
is to begin again

don't bother
to question
how long this will last
nothing good has
ever come to
anyone who asked that