final thoughts for the night.

and i wont, wont believe its bad to rest on some laurels; ones that reassure, that arent really here or there for your ego but just shower you with potentialities,

the laurels of fruition - both picked & dropped figs, if you will, the ones you chose & the ones you chose to let fall, because what matters is that they were there;

its not about the choices youve made, the accomplishments youve alphabetized, the whos-who of your life, but rather the true judges of worth, the acquaintances you secretly loved, the lovers you never really did, the ones you never had to say anything to, is really what i mean, the ones who know ex officio what they need to, and ignore (in the pointed sense, as in ignorant) what they dont, and it was - ha, i hate this phrase, and im glad at least that if i must use it im trying to break its context - what it was; the doors you opened, or found unlocked, or pried at long enough with stiff enough a crowbar, or enough of that awful metaphor.

the laurels that exist in maybe the surest, purest sense of laurels, the ones that exist almost strictly because their nature is mutable, because they could have been so many other things, that each action was only one among many, chosen maybe for a reason and maybe not, /it was what it was/, and could have been both more or less, and just because it wasnt doesnt mean you cant see its possibilities, see what it could be in different contexts, now, today, soon, even, if youre lucky, then;

and those, i think, are the only laurels i need right now, not the positive i-was-this, -did-this, -had-this, because translating them is always a gamble - /not the same river, not the same man/ - can i really recreate that, something like that? am i that person, would i ever, could i ever,...? so what i need is the malleable laurels of mistakes, things not perfectly executed, whose potential hasnt been used and beaten and drank and sweated through, yellowed;

and the rest is good, clean, whole-bought-paid-for and im pretty proud of it, sometimes, even if i see its face everywhere these days, moving in khakis and a yankees cap - ok, probably not that - but in what i seek, in others and myself, i believe its possibility; - faith! fucking faith! how precious, dire! -; as i said to ka:

some sort of sacrosanct integrity, worthiness, and utter love-ability that i feel like a lesser human being for not being able to cope with let alone act upon

this is what im after, this is what im thinking when the sweaty, striped kids around me sway to whatever it is theyre swaying to these days, this is what doesnt just follow me around but pulls me, thanks mr beer oh-physics i mean pushes me, everything from getting orange juice to seeing h move in with boy to everything im jealous of to every graffiti'd wall to everything i have to say and no one to say it to, the laurels, my laurels :

can i have you?
can i keep you?

and of course the corollary, can i become what i respect and keep the differences, the reserve, the reason i maybe hesitate, because that, too, is integrally me? that i dont trust, because these are all possibilities, unknowns, unassureds, and isnt it silly to rely on a maybe for assurance?, for reassurance, but how i must! how i trust in possibility, how i trust in the things i hope for, how i trust in the wishes i hesitate, rationally, to believe, how i trust in some other perception that grants me the positivity it is impossible to gain on ones own, how i trust that...that...that even if its not for me, i can be happy for it, for its being, that i have a god of sorts, that its not me, but it is and its great and there are things deserving of faith and honor and maybe theyre hidden under well-fitted jeans and a too-small t-shirt and the occasional more or less silly aspiration god, isnt it beautiful, isnt this capacity, these capacities, these loves, beautiful?

hell, i like thinking about the things ive done that dont give me knots.

can i have you, can i keep you? i can live like this.