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Love Letter Day X: preponderance for light to show you where I am.
On this damp evening of which you will learn about in about 12 hours, I am converting rage to love to rage to love back and forth. The rage is an outlet of professionalism. I’m tired of people talking to me like I’m a bad guy. You have only ever talked to me like a good guy. Love is the charged output of extreme emotion. I am a vacuum and the feeling of ionized rage has the potential to break the universe, while neon is pure love. I hold your heart because it trusts me. Trust me.
I went on a trip to Toronto by myself to cut off the release of negative energy, but I needed to let electricity run through my body nonetheless. This body, which I proceeded to bang up in all ways but that one. I joked, “how funny would it be if sex tourism to Toronto became a thing.” Someone un-ironically said “it is in Montreal.”
I can live on very little sleep if stimulated in exactly the right way. Getting tattooed, browsing used records, rare books; emptying my body of all of its sweat at a disco; nude beaches, long walks through hilly urban landscapes belying the refusal of homeowners to return mother nature to its children. More food than you could possibly imagine. Flowering trees and perfect fucking peonies everywhere. I want to render all of it liquid through my mouth. I can feel my knees choking the air out of your throat when I can feed you.
I return to the hard and steady release of decorum, of slights, of petty remonstrations. But also of real human affection. That is what home is: a place where nuance hatches cardinal emotions, crosshatches greater service to the world, my community, this house. I held my son in my arms through the entirety of dinner tonight. My husband keeps his hand on my leg while we watch TV. It is divine.
I forgot to set auto-replies to my personal email so I think people must be wondering where I’ve been for a week. I feel self-conscious. I’m normally someone with exceptional email etiquette but my body was offline. This included my brain. I apologize. But you knew better. You see the good guy. Trust me.
Neon lights become soft tubes without the constant oscillation of energy. I lay dormant in the transition back to this brick wall where my signal is begging you to step inside the building and see what all of this is advertising. I promise it’s even bigger and brighter than this.