Wrote a song when I was twenty one or two called Nothing Matters but Love and it included the line “I live in a house of cards/I hope my house doesn’t fall.” We are not pronouns but do not in any way discount the power of pronouns, very little else in language has caused us so much unnecessary grief and anguish. I remember holding your hand walking on the Savanna fifty thousand years ago, we were the ones who discovered that simple joy, hand-holding, it caught on with the species, every time I see a couple holding hands anywhere I thank God for us, our love. Context matters, only an fool or a warmonger denies this. Pan-fried trout with onions and butter, cans of hash tossed in at the last moment. How she coveted gems, and how her covetousness frightened me, yoked in some way to sexuality, and yet how I could not - would not - look away as she showed them to me. What I recreated in order to make amends, an entire life compensating for the dead animals of childhood. How frightened Dad was and how only after his mother visited – shy but happy in the Land of Shades, sent by powers I have yet to know how to name – do I see this. We all want a nice sandwich and somebody to share it with. Nothing ends, you know, if the prisms teach us anything they teach us this.
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