be moved

i have wanted words about that friday P.M.
i have, in fact, written sentences about that friday P.M. in my head as i've been crossing the street, in rainboots as if there were puddles, when in truth the rain has only now just come, just after a sweetest friend has left for a while, and at the totality of that day, i fell asleep before eight o'clock, just fell white-flag asleep. tiffany said it was the first rain, that it makes everyone narcoleptic.
i wrote most easily about that friday A.M., because it could be clearly delivered: two strangers share a table and the reason for the convergence becomes evident when each produces italo calvino's new novel from her pocket. damn, universe.
but what came later that day is not just damn, universe.
but oh-sweet-goddamn-universe-you-left-your-Jell-O-in-the-basement.

culling
winnowing
stirring
noising

as i set this table, there is the cake fork, the grapefruit spoon, the butter knife, the napkin shaped into a paper crane (1,000 of which grant any wish for healing), and these words, bare.

i swear that i cannot make this make sense, so please just go with it. so far it's been another friday. i played a show tonight. my experiences have compounded; i can't not. i'll start with two that came tonight, and then dig in to last week's epiphany.

first,
What To Do If Your Girlfriend Is Exquisitely Beautiful
- again invoke the rules of improvisation, encountering boundlessness, possibility without rule; truth with no axiom; say yes, because yes is water, and a person blooms with love, as does pigment in water, so does a person with plenty of water: filled-out under-eye, not not-hunger, which is thirst, obviously.
- accept valentine from G-d.
- Most Importantly, Sing With Her.

second,
petal-blue, television blue, periwinkle-but-electric blue, computer blue, yves klein blue, blue hour blue.
i saw a blue tonight in the blurry scrap shadow of a flower in a video, that spoke: be moved.

now,
the friday before last. i'll just name it. mi ami / bottom of the hill.
i stood up close, and i meant to move. because these three really know how to bring the glorious noise, it seems to me, full-bodied, whole-souled: each player governed by his own mechanism/temperate zone/mythology. by example on stage is it clear to the breathing audience that as you are there you shall move, or move aside. you gotta show up. it ain't no picture show; they hold space for US ALL to take it/for real/bring it/BE IN.

one of the last songs rang all crazy in these tree-tall tones, up high where bells hang, and violins wake the devoted at their doors to pray before four--sacred frequencies--but with the insistence of fire alarms. grit-richness, melting into the bottom end, sturdy upon which to stand, and so to dance--
and dancing i became a horizon personified to myself, earth busted open at the seams, spilling sun yolk. moving into new places in my body, body moving newly in place. all of a sudden i had a stunning thought.

i have never/but how insane would it be to let go ON PURPOSE (vehemently, deliberately) out of such love as to abandon completely all (pre)tensions of holding on?

the bones of each finger of each hand

bird-in-hand

oh, how i've been brittle in the past, when parting.
oh, how this counterintuition alighted me. so intensely freeing, and scary.

so i do. it is my skeleton now.

then there were those timbres. the clanging and the ritualistic clamor.
the purity and the brashness
the blood on the keys

OMFG

just to move