a something, to fill the request

a handful of solitary figures in dark forests in dark woodcuts or daugerrotypes
my husbands-wives bound to me across time
all of us in the same poorly lit room
scribbling
but filling the same empty chamber, unaccompanied, ecstatic
the room bulging with our solitude
we write one word over and over again, it's always in a language everyone has forgot

If I ever find forever, I will share it with you.

"Hello, darling," she says and looks me straight in the face. I blink.

"You look different," I say. "My nails are longer and your hair looks more mussed than it should be and your cadence flows sweetly where my voice sounds like a zipper being opened and closed. You're wearing that dress I don't want to wear and I'm wearing the one you won't wear ever. You're in the circle and I'm standing in front of the crowd. You've been rubbing your temples and I've been twirling my hair. But we're both wearing sunglasses. I'm lost. I'm confused - what exactly is going on here?"

Today I run smack dab into myself and we recognize each other immediately. We exchange bows, baos, and to-do lists. "Oh" we both murmur "that's you then" and can think of nothing more to say. We both saddle up for our days. A parting shot, "I like your necklace" or "Nice tights." We can't be best friends but we can learn to live with each other. We will pass each other in hallways, on the CTA, in cafes and we will nod to each other every time. There's no ignoring one another.

Culture of excellence, culture of hugs, culture of the upside down, culture of fog and wandering, culture of specificity, culture of no no no no thank you, culture of apology, culture of mourning, culture of why don't you call anymore, culture of leading to follow, culture of following to lead, culture of living in your head imagining your body doesn't exist, culture of living in your body imagining your head doesn't exist, culture of needing people, culture of lists, culture of winging it, culture of washing our hair, culture of playing the same three albums for three months, culture of knowing about persona.

Hi, me. Do you know when it's time to take over?

Fanfare for Ms. E. F. C

Meine Dame Und Herren und everything in-between or beyond that spectrum,

I give you Em Le Fay
Erstwhile Englishwoman in the County of Fyfe (after the Thane thereof)
Scholar and Soon-to-be Asset Manager
Cross-Atlantic Nomad
All-Around Encyclopedia of Minutiae
Former Co-President of the Dramatic Society
Receiver of a Glass of White Wine
and
my friend, Former Citizen of My Heart

Quoth the Economics Student, "It's not like I'm going to be happy anyway, so I might as well do a job that makes me a good deal of money. Then I can retire and do what I like." Quoth the Follower of Dr. Johnson and Adam Smith, "It's hard to do a thing you love, why ruin it? Get out, while you can." Quoth she, "No one around me has got their head screwed on right."

I give you Em Le Fay
Wearer of Sensible Winter Coats and Good Jeans
Attendant of Assessment Pools
(which I gather are rather like group auditions)
Applicant to the Financial Giant J.P. Morgan Stanley
Half of Matt and Emma
Recaller of the Tiny Details of the Political Machinations of the Alma Mater
(and Extensive Recounter thereof)
Drinker of Blue Drinks
Giver of Earfuls
Former Partner-In-Crime

I can't really remember half the people she mentions in conversation. My mind is going is my excuse. That time I puked so hard vessels burst in my eyes cleared away most of 2004-2005. Don't mind me, I'm listening.

She says, "You know, [insert favorite teacher here] once told me that she was worried about you. Sort of unsure of where you would end up. Of who you'd be." I open my mouth to speak as this is news to me, but these days it's hard to get a word in edgewise. The last time we saw each other, she was but two days out of the removal of her wisdom teeth and still talked my ear off for nigh on seven turnings of the hour. I think, "We're not all that different, you and me, scrabbling for happiness on this unhappy plain."

I think, "Remember the evening when we were at school late and no one was around and it was pouring (like it is tonight) and we ran out onto the field made of ASTROTURF and dumped cans of Coke onto their precious and expensive lacrosse/field hockey pitch in an act of nascent radical violence? Before we knew those words? And how we howled in the night and ran giggling back inside to the stares of our less-bedraggled classmates and winked at each other for the offense we had committed? Do you remember? Well, do you?"

Exit Em Le Fay
Helena to my Hermia
Shylock to my Bassanio
One Half of a Pair of Strange Little Girls
Citizen of My Heart

BAO!

accidentally stoned on an incidental rock

hullo world, i'm ready.
well, never-ready-but-ready-enough-anytime.

my days have been slipping by in smoke, rhythm, and gusts of cold wind. i confess: i have been in the reg. no, no, i take it back, wait: i was only there to print enough pages to make people wait awkwardly while i answer my cell phone unavoidably, talking in short bursts of reception in the quiet 1st floor. so where does the time go? how to patch together a rhythm of holes and gaps?

crisis averted then,
leli might add peanut butter. (or cheese? and.) i say chili powder, always.
i'm living on apples and bread and free cookies and when there's a meal it's an excellent meal.

maybe tomorrow i will theorize something. i would like to theorize a very nice rock.

for now, we play and we dream and we play