19. Possibilities

...you know, when you're walking down a busy pulsing night street with colours and noise and voices and laughter and maybe drunken slurs -or is it too early for that. no, it's never too late - and people like packs, hooting and howling down the street, and girls with their sqealing and squeaking and high-pitched dirty flirtation, the cow eyes full of insinuations that will get you high or plunge your self-image real low, between us there is only limitless possibility, that's what he said to me as we ambled down the street, elbowing through people, beer in one hand, cigarette in other, and for a moment, i look around, take this scene in, and i see eyes and smiles, yes, the possibility is here, and i hear music pouring out from doors and windows, the night is still young, and there is definitely possibility, it's definitely in the music, but when i think of the many alternatives and i'm still relatively somber which makes me kinda depressed, it's weird, on one hand the music and his eyes lifting me up, and then, something bad in me, going terribly haywire, like a wrong connection somewhere, like the wrong chemicals are excreted and they're taking everything over, so even the brightest swirling lights, even his hand on my nape, even his lips on my neck, even the alcohol rushing through my veins, even the music making my ears bleed, it's all translated into pain and hopelessness, because, after all, What are the possibilities? I ask, and he smiles, squeezes his fingers around my sweaty neck, and says, You must have faith in the poison, which was a phrase that had so impressed me, and i was like, oh, profound, and wanted to know everything about it, but he was all mystique, and then someone told me it was a poet who said that, so I never believed what he said to me ever again, and i sat in a corner and said to him, like completely serious:"I love you and all, but I know what my possibilities are."

And with his fingers, he tries to turn my frown into a smile. And I say, Fuck off. I say, "I love you but you don't love me back, except some fucked-up concept you have of lust which you might misinterpret as love, and that's totally okay with me by the way, and this is one possibility." I say, "by the end of the night someone will come to you and ask you how much, and i'll have to go to some grubby hotel room with him, wishing i'm being taken nobly to my death, and this is another posiibility." I say, "and someday someone will play along my death wish, and he'll like seriously murder me, not just pretend he does until he gets off, and this is a third possibility." I say, "But all I really want to do is to disappear. I don't know. I want to disappear so bad. I don't even know what this means."

And he says, "well, that's the longest i've ever heard you talk."

"Do you like it?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know. I don't think so. let's keep things simple."

So, i know, you know, i know the possibilities are choosing between lust and death, and everyone just wants to stay as safe as possible behind whatever monstrosity they impose, unaffected, it's just dangerous to intersect with other people, except for some brief physical contact maybe, however intense it only grazes the surface of things, and this is the only possibility. Fucking and fucked, i'll leave the grubby room untouched, unpossessed, inaccessible, a mystery, a wonder to some poor bugger, and come back to you, to our room, and find you high in our bed, untouched, unpossessed, inaccessible, a mystery, a wonder.

And this is the only possibility.