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Therefore Therefore
by Abigail George
2022-01-09 09:19:43
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Therefore, there is wisdom and truth in beauty. The conversation was heavy, so I went for a long walk on the beach, and wished I could find myself vulnerable, meeting the will of the divine wave.

I have lovers. I am pregnant. I have a husband, but he is gay, and I'm bisexual, and the child was conceived when both of us had too much to drink, and Blake was reading Rilke, and I was washing the breakfast rises, listening to Mahler. And I thought of the waves, the sea, the panting dog, the teenagers in their bikinis, how I was never brave like them, how I never had their graceful limbs, how nobody loved me when I was at that wonderland-age.

there01_400_01Yes, I smoke marijuana, and still have a death wish, and still have spells of despair, and deep hardship, and sometimes I swear I feel too much, and think too much, and obey very little, or not at all, and when I submit, I submit everything, everything, everything.

"Aren't you too old? Too old to play the piano, Geraldine."

"It makes me happy, and sane, and overwhelmed, Blake. I just want to forget."

"Yes, Geraldine, you I suppose are right after all, that there is wisdom and truth in everything. Are you happy about the child?"

"I'm elated, euphoric, and excited, and you Blake? What about the man you are seeing, seeking, searching for to love you back?"

"I'm not seeing him anymore. I choose you, our Iife, our child, our children."

There is wisdom and truth in beauty, there is a holy madness in prayer, love is in the air, sir is waiting for me at the airport. You are gone. Wisdom is gone. My teeth are gone. My mother and father are gone. I'm still good. Mishka doesn't love me, but it doesn't matter to me anymore. Nobody loves me. Nobody loves me. Dance with me under the moonlight, kiss me under the moonlight, Julian, undertake for me in the underworld Vincent. Let us dance, Michael, like the king-branches of an autumn tree enfold me, communicate winter to me, praise and worship spring, you're a vision. I'm a visionary, I'm milk-fed, I'm dead to the world, going the way of the pangolin. 

My lover smells like incense-burning, patchouli, my lover does not love me, I am just a means to an end, an African end, an American experience. The burning bush comes to me. Moses and Aaron and Miriam comes to me, comes to meet me. You three are so amazing, so generous, so gifted, so giving. I have lost my lover Kenneth. He has returned to Swaziland, his children do not misbehave. They feed their ginger biscuits to the chickens. Yes, you will even find chickens in the city, the city is my companion, and all I long for these days is companionship. I kissed a girl, but she's not tall. I kissed a girl, but she didn't want to love me back. I kissed a girl, fondled her breasts, felt the warmth of her breath on my cheek, and she made love to me, and I made love to her. I made her spaghetti, I made her lasagna, I made her merigues, and she wrote novels. Semi-autobiographical novels, and I would force her to read them to me, searching for her love in those words, and I would instruct her reading in much the same way I would instruct her lovemaking, but all I wanted was to love, and to be loved in return. June was kind, and sad. 

Winter is always sad. The women I sleep with are sad. I'm looking for something, I am looking for someone to make this untold suffering, this majestic pain to go away, so, so I put it in my educated pocket for a rainy day, willing the pain to paint my soul, willing Reuben to love me, willing Carrington to love me, willing Joey, and Benjamin, and Ziggy, and Davy, and Jones to love me, but I'm Elise calling on the phone, and I'm put on hold, or chased away, always remembering the wife and children they are devoted to today, yesterday, and tomorrow. I am a heterosexual woman, part of a gay couple, I kiss her, I kiss her, I kiss her eyes, but I want to submit, and obey. I need a man's love, the flame, his lamp, his Kilimanjaro, but all I see is her smile, the smoke from her cigarette, her books, her moving boxes, her lingerie, her stockings, her underwear, her soap, her perfumeas if she never wants to let me go. Amy tells me that she loves me, Judith wants me to marry her, Annette wants us to live together, she wants togetherness, companionship, children. Caroline is gentle, and gentleman, visual, artist, photographer. She says things to me that turns me on.

Take it off. Take it all off. Here, let me help you with your buttons. I promise I won't hurt you, I promise you that I won't abuse you, I promise you I won't stay the night. And I love her. Yes, I love Caroline, but I love my divine husband Blake even more, and the child I am carrying in my belly. I see her face in front of me, Caroline's face, Hannah's wedding, another ex-lover, another ex-girlfriend. Touch me, it's so easy to leave me. Don't you want peace, Gerald. Here, inside your heart you have a bright light, thunder in your heart, lightning in yourself, your superego. Say you love me, say something. Say anything, but don't tell me the truth, don't tell me the inevitable. That you want to go back to loverboy-Blake.

I came here to forget, I wanted to tell her. In your arms, I forget. In your opinion, games, eyes, psychology I forget about being educated by a man about what a woman's needs are. My body, I wanted to tell her, would always belong to her, but she wanted me to tell her that we would spend eternity together, that I would love her for a lifetime, but I was madly in love with my husband Blake.

Abigail George has two books in the Ovi Bookshelves,
"All about my mother" & "Brother Wolf and Sister Wren"
Download them, NOW for FREE HERE!



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