Wednesday, June 27, 2007


Do I love you because you're beautiful,
Or are you beautiful because I love you?
Am I making believe I see in you
A man too perfect to be really true?

Do I want you because you're wonderful,
Or are you wonderful because I want you?
Are you the sweet invention of a lover's dream
Or are you really as wonderful as you seem?

[apologies to Oscar Hammerstein,
who surely was NOT thinking about the Goat]

Well, that is the question, isn't it?

Am I looking at a grey, or even a black, field with glasses so relentlessly rose-colored that I can see nothing but the positive? I don't think so, but I would be easier at heart if I had spent more time, maybe even a
LOT more time, in the same room with the Goat without being either stoned or drunk or...
otherwise occupied.

What do I really know about this guy? and what is the
RBF not telling me -- though of course he had to let me know that he was "not telling me" something? How gay -- and yes, I use the word advisedly, as in "catty queen" -- is that?

I don't blame him exactly, but I sure as hell do notice...

I think that I have come around to deciding that it might be premature to pull up stakes and move to a part of the state where the only person I know is someone who may or may not be
there for me in six months...

So I guess the prospect is just living for the occasional weekend, and seeing if it isn't possible to figure out where we are through a fog of wine and dope.

Dope. I can't believe I'm smoking again after more than 30 years. It makes me feel old, and that is an issue that the
Goat is positively allergic to...

He is older, of course, and once I'm over sixty, I may feel differently myself. But there does seem to be a level of denial in his behavior that bodes less than completely well, and kind of reminds me of someone else...

Crazy things that the
Goat and Isis have in common:

Denial of facts that might force reevaluation of current assumptions...

An abnormal interest in grilling meat outside on hibachis,
though at least it tastes less of lighter fluid when the
Goat does it...

A concern for harmony at the expense of truth...

A passionate nature...

A devastating easiness on the eyes [at least on mine]...

I couldn't remember what color the Goat's eyes were, so I thought I would take another look at the picture I took of him a month or so ago, to find out. First, his eyes were so shadowed it was almost impossible to tell -- I think brown, but I'll check on Friday -- and secondly, I realized how completely nuts I am over his appearance.

[See "Goat Wars," below.]

What on earth does he see in me? Unless it's the cherry-picking, first-guy-in, "guess what I made him do" thing, which I'd rather not have to contemplate. If I didn't know how often men have said "I love you" without meaning anything more than "Now, please," -- and it's basically most of human history, right? -- I would take refuge behind those words and listen to no doubts at all.

Actually, that is pretty much what I am doing; I just know it's short-sighted and potentially mind-bogglingly stupid. But I trust him. If I didn't, I could never have said Those Words, myself. So, I'm either incredibly lucky or incredibly stupid.

Your pick, at this point.
But don't tell me.

Hang in there, guys.
There are bigger things in life than are going on in mine, questions of life and death and the meaning that might derive from them...

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