I wrote two days ago that I missed an old friend, with whom I had a brief (in the overall landscape of one's life, I guess you could call it brief) bizarre tizzy of overwhelming and unexpected emotion, various and sundry intense feelings experienced on mute, and one wild rollercoaster ride of things experienced but never said, gravities experienced but held apart, euphoric highs and lows of the transcendental, shamanic sort, the kind of mad euphoria that separates you from pain, maddens you with immortality, etcetera etcetera. The kind of induced high you get from some drugs that makes you think you can bleed and not die, that makes you stare at the expanding circle and giggle. The kind of rollercoaster that makes you worry you may puke or go off the tracks, a final glorious blaze of wild life.

These days I realize that friendship might not have escaped us and wish I could induce it back into life, like a little plant gone brown--almost, still green at the center--in the corner of my room.

And yesterday I saw him again. Like magic.

I am wondering if my writing these words is not an inductive way of creating reality...

or am I just being superstitious?

:)

I mean, I wrote about car accidents, and I got into one two days later.

--still alive......


-michele.