Reading The Blue Clerk, 144

“Verso 40.1.1”

How does the song go? I could stay there forever. We have been talking about invitation and hospitality and ways spaces can be so because of the energies infused into them by the treads of friends and strangers, promiscuous lusts and open holes. There was, the psychoanalyst said, a feeling of vastness from which we emerged and to which we try to return. The feeling of not needing invitation. Of being with. Being with.

I wished you didn’t want to leave.

Perhaps it is always perverse. To want to be wanted in the game the child plays: the delight of going forth and returning, the sense of tether. Is that love? Not the holding. Not the staying. The sureness of welcome. 

I could but I didn’t want to leave.

A line from a draft: She is unpicking a seam to a mapping imagination, unmaking nullius to find terra. It came to me asking to be written. It asks to stay so I can hear what it wants, attempt to fathom what it wants. Where it travels. To whom it is addressed. This she and their seam. 

What romanticism.

To ask where softness remains. And to whom it can be extended. This year, I have learned to carry slugs from the plants they are eating to the compost pile, where they can feed on the decomposing matter they love. And what if that is being sentimental? It cannot be that soft boys are only a lost object. (I am imprinted. And that is fine.) He spoke about the vastness of the ocean. It cannot be the same for us. Perhaps the desert can offer a different vastness. 

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