zaziel
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I'trêm breit vulaçozão ye spalla eiátlin nelöffnes pieqi aummit su berwegr'ra'ao.

Green

Friday, Oct. 11, 2002 -
Apóslâmin ida corbalanyrtne 'lsão rohl'daathiém vá nença iroyssÿrd.

This explains everything.

~

I'm at the green waste management center, sweeping the last of the pine needles out of the big dump truck, when the Fiend pages me. (I resisted the cajolery* of the twenty-first century as long as I could, but I finally broke down and acquired a pager and a cell phone, like the rest of the sheep.) I call him back after the truck is clean.

"You comin' home soon?" asks my beloved.

"Pretty soon, " I say, "I have to drop off the truck. I was gonna stop at Trader Joe's on the way home--want anything?

"Don't stop," sez the Fiend.

"No? What's up?"

"We are. Or we will be, when you get home. I called to ask you if it's all right if Jer and I get naked and get into bed. We'll wait for you. You won't miss anything. We're just going to kiss and cuddle and be naked together."

Picturing this, I make a small breathing sound that I can only inadequately write as, "Ouwhhh..."

"Is that okay with you?" The Fiend needs to hear that I don't feel left out. This is what Jer has done to us, made our love all new and green, with a sweet and courteous faltering. Which is not to say that, before Jer, our relationship had ripened into a wrinkled and ruddy maturity. At 6 months (or 8 months, if you go back to the first date) the season of love between the Fiend and I is still a blossoming spring. And has become even more tender since our recent crisis. Which, in retrospect, looking at it through the thickening haze of time, has become less of a crisis and more like...well, you know, one of those thangs. What healthy relationship doesn't have its share of fights, eh? None worth fighting for, surely. And the fall-out from this particular quarrel has engendered little more than a little more complaisance, a little more solicitousness for each other. Which is a good thing, don'tcha think? Although the Fiend is especially wary of hurting me again, and sometimes treats me with such a hellishly annoying delicacy that I have to grab him and haul him off to bed, riling him up and inciting him to a bit of sexual roughhousing. To demonstrate that I'm no languishing flower, I suppose. But mainly because it's fun. And afterwards, when we talk, I can use it as an illustration of how a little pain can be useful.

~

*That's a damn good word, ain't it? That one's going into my collection, along with stymie. I'm starting a collection of words like that. Like intaglio and ecru and afrit and ubiquitous. I can't really express what makes these words so damn good. Their quality is clear but ineffable. (Ooh, ineffable's a damn good word too. Gotta put that one on the list.)

Another damn good word is cavort. Thank you, Marn.

I have no idea what I'm going to do on International Cavorting Day, but I hope it will involve rain and complete nudity.

<~>
Apóslâmin ida corbalanç 'lse nesgla ugaró-cham sa cru ogrulho batãoltha alémvásde.

last eleven:

Resurrection - Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Arts and Letters -
Friday, June 17, 2005
Domestic Obsessions -
Tuesday, April 5, 2005
The Kindness of Strangers -
Tuesday, April 5, 2005
Gone -
Saturday, April 2, 2005
Coming Back, Little By Little -
Saturday, April 2, 2005
Effing Around -
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Explicably Yours -
Wednesday, February 9, 2005
Things Too Innumerable To Mention -
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Mr. Armstrong -
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
The Pope in Our Kitchen -
Saturday, October 2, 2004



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Sa r'jião ossível meninonceiv êo poshik mä'änch uscantebatahla oÿr musiu oÿr muiko.
Copyright © 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005 by gcs

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