Returning to thinking of wine and enormous beds, while in them.

I see this sentimental movie trailer and am terrified with the simplicity with which it turns heterosexuality and love inside out. Its a cliche, that things fall apart is also a cliche. Love is never enough, is that a cliche? Do you and I have anything else, other than a reaching for each other? Without that reaching would we know or even want each other.

You are the lover I am likely to perhaps even forget, like the sudden amnesiac patient of Dr. House who doesn't quite understand her life, or how she chose her husband after she loses her memory(why does American pop culture give more interesting paradoxes for love than all serious art films..heh). Would the woman in 'The Beauty of The Husband' not know the man she loved so furiously if she simply forgot him?

I'm drowned in a book about a woman and her words, Chris Kraus and how she loves Dick. She bitches, whines, quotes Hannah Wilke and other artists, reads furiously and rails against a world seemingly made of only men. A conference with Felix Guttari and three other pale European men and their new and much younger girlfriends is one of the hilarious signposts in the book. She is panic ridden in her longing for men, perhaps a bit like me. She reminds me of my bitterness a few years ago, with you I skirt the edges of that bitterness finding that the sweetness of what we have keeps me sometimes from falling in. You are what I wanted all along, always, every moment since I was a genderless child, before I was even a little girl. You are perhaps what I cannot live with.

Doubt is a messiah in a desert carrying a can of water that he has forgotten or doesn't know about. The thirst makes you see things, forget what you have, makes you warble, makes you eloquent and makes you die with what you need by your side.