heartbreak and identity in winter

This is a dream about London (last week was Italy, revolutions in love and art, and sunny people): I'm getting ready to go buy pints of ale and french cigarettes (oh, but I don't drink, and am quitting smoking these days, so this is kind of an anitthesis to the Italy dream where no one smoked because we didn't want to, because it was a love and art revolution, and we needed to work on our stylish motorcycles, and there was no time, just like in real life), but before I can leave to go out drinking (I don't drink), I get something in my room, and there's this woman I used to know, sitting on my bed, and she's facing away from me, combing her long, black (and curly, yes, it was you) hair. I was happy to see her at 3 in the morning, but she was not so happy to see me. She tells me that she has a new boy and doesn't care how I am, and I tell her that I didn't invite her to comb her hair on my bed at 3 in the morning, and why does everyone tell me she has a new boy, this is just too much, I was trying to be affable.

This was not the heartbreak, though, because something about her was very Oshun-y, with the comb and that sweet way she has of telling me that I'm still in love (with who? this is a complicated question, and not even 8 1/2 projects will answer, but Kassandra knows) and wrong about everything (thank u, Yalorde, one day I will appreciate all this, but not at 3 in the morning), and a way of waking me up way before the light, which it is, and I am, and this is a day, one where things will come to be revealed. Some jobs, some news about jobs, a lot of writing, and some more news.

Something about her was also very not Oshun-y, and very Banshee-y, and this is how she spent the day visiting me. It's a perfect beginning of a day when Death comes calling, or looming, around the men in my family, and in not so subtle ways...some of the destruction is self-imposed, the way some men have of calling their survival into question by testing it, because they want to stay uncommitted to their love with the world (for the record, I love you and I adore you, and I will never leave you, but I know one day you will leave me, that's worth the price of the heartbreak). I would rather be torn up about a new love or an old love or a possibly maybe, than to watch the men I've learned from fall to pieces, but we all have our own ways of falling to pieces.

I was put back together at the side of the river more than once, and I will do it again, but never with the same people, because you are always a different river, and you find new ways of charming me...and at the end of a long stay in a cafe, I find a long, thick black hair in my helmet, I don't know whose it is, but I have suspicions, or rather, wishes, & so I wrap the hair in my gum and swallow it, even if Ana Mendieta is the only one who understands my longing for home, or what home means to me.

Good night, I'm going to Spain, and I don't care what you had for breakfast (oh, but I really do...u know me, I always will...)

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