First off, it's OK to use his whole name. My friend Mike, is unnnnnnnnnnnlllliiiiiiiissssssstttteeeeed (all caps and loads of exclamation points).
Our first meeting was (as HE remembers it, i don't recall ((in our intimate friend circle, I call Mike "the elephant memory - the archivist))...) on the grassy quad of Reed Hall Dormitory in Athens, Georgia USA circa 1889.
I confess, I'm a junkie for people's first impression/memory of me, mich, moi.
Mike says I was walking across the Quad to Baldwin Hall and he was walking back with his friend dave byrd (who could be killed in iraq for all i know. he was r.o.t.c. to pay for college, and he CHANGED because of this. it killed any slight slight chance of his being a poet... that and being from Hinesville, Georgia.). They were friends from high school. mike was on a visit. (I later learned he had yearned all his seething smiths-filled, pixies, filled, shayna sinnrich ((the town's one jewish family. he was a judge he was.)).
Mike is gay, so it was an odd and bloodforeverbond kinship. Shayne lived briefly in wilmington. she went rather mad. got in the middle of kent and i (yes, i did delicately delicately lovingly try to make her understand to cool her heart that he really wasn't over me yet and that she would get hurt as he would use her because he knew the fascination i had with her beauty, style, aura, artistness ((she went to prestigious atlanta school of the arts as a painter. her work was/is brilliant. i loved shayna and was JEOLOUS green-monstered towards her.) she went months later (after I had left them and moved with mark, my future husband for those of you catching up, with our tribal move of north carolinan's rachel and rich.) through a plate glass window. she now works in an office at her dad's place. she's on lots of medication and has cracked. she's gone later-period zelda/sylvia. mike (last I heard. mike and I only talk about once a year now and that is enough. all we get is good and we have lived eighteen years as family, waxing and waning is good. or more accurately. we love each other. we are family. we do what we do and each other can change the relationship at any time.)
I love him. we have soooo many catchphrases - "memes" i've recently learned they're called.
"i'll be light blaq."
"that hole ain't gonna dig itself grandma."
we have songs that we love in common and both - when we love a song - have admitted that we play it nearly twenty times in two days, or more!
anyhoo, short story long:
we have a phrase that I think I coined:
"sayin' it and doin' it are three different things sugar."
black for mourning.
still, i have trust.
i must be very strong to be only going this crazy. believe it or not, this writing helps me focus and clear my thoughts. i'm writing slowly to pass time slowly and will shortly go chain smoke my remaining cigarettes, and if I still need more nicotine before I head off to my women's group at six forty-five perimedus meridas - then i shall fuck well walk to the fucking cigarette dealer and pass the fucking beautiful seashore and
fuck fuck fuck fuck him.
for saying it and NOT doing it.
bitterly, i must confess i feel this is a second time in a row such a thing/mann has come into my sphere. all this and i must suffer because i believe words and believe in that unnameable
jesus christ mary goddess assistez-moi si te plait.
Mike and My favorite going out to music (well the longest running one) - Our band we played before we would walk out the door to show the town our fabulousness and know that you don't care because you have friends and they are walking right beside you. - ?
was the Pixies.
more specifically, "Le Le Love You" (although of course, "Hey" and "No. 13" were big ones too.
P.S. Mike wrote on this happyrobot site (at my urgent urging because i LOVE his writing) for a spell. You can look him up as "Grey Green Gospel". agape.