april

Zeus is finer than Socrates

Nah, I’m not one of those people above, except when I was 19 and carried a fat old Sigmund Freud book with the cover positioned outward for people to see. Now I don’t like people looking at the covers of my books actually. On the train I don’t let passengers see what I’m reading, unless it’s Mean-Spirited Tales – yuk yuk.

Reading the Dialogues of Plato, well, half of it, made me feel spiritual. Socrates talked about that energy underneath the flesh. He talked of denying weaknesses of the flesh. Can scholars of Socrates out there tell me how he knew so confidently that after you die you go to a better place?

Socrates also says “In the name of Zeus!” I love that and I’m waiting for the perfect opportunity to say it. Other than that I got dizzy reading it and had to give it up after five months because – I don’t know if you know this but knowing this makes the knowing of the dialogues knowable – Mr. Socrates talks in circles, which is why the book made me dizzy.

Normally I might be able to handle it but I have too much going on between my ears now and that interferes with my ability to concentrate on books like this. Between reading that book I read three other books, including the proof copy of my own book – I tried – I tried to read this book. It was a library book that I kept having to check out over and over since I couldn’t read it in one shot. I finally returned it yesterday.

This is embarrassing but I wrote a post about not being able to read this book in April – APRIL! So I’m off to read the next thing. I’m reading An Arsonist’s Guide to Writers’ Homes in New England, by Brock Clarke. I tried reading this Arsonist book on the train but looked like a lunatic because it made me el oh el it was so damn funny. It’s well-written too. I hope it stays this way. I hate when a book is promising in the beginning then leaves you hanging. Ta ta!

He took a shower first — came out wearing a towel. “Do you want something to wear to bed?” I say. “No, that’s fine,” he said in his Swedish accent. He has something in his bag to put on, I think, and go in to take my shower. After, I put on ‘sleeping’ gear and came out into the room. He was in bed with the blanket over him. There was an electrical storm. Very romantic. Loud thunder, lightening bolts, heavy rain. I have a nice view, so I pulled the blinds up all the way so that we could see the storm. He was my friend’s cousin from Sweden, biracial, six foot two or three, handsome, lean, tone. My friend lived on the floor below.

This guy and I had spent the day together, and he decided to stay with me overnight instead of at his cousin’s. Just because. He was seven years younger than I was. He was enchanted by being in the U.S., by the prospect of getting to know an American woman by eating dinner with her and sleeping in her bed. I thought, “Well, he’s European. I think that they sleep platonically with people because they’re more sophisticated.” So I climbed in the bed, inches away from him, and we marveled at the storm and talked.

Fifteen or so minutes later, he got up to go to the bathroom. The storm was raging and the lightening flashed throughout my apartment. He came out of the bathroom and was illuminated. He was naked. And hung. I didn’t know he was naked. Fuck, me. But did we, do anything? Noooo. What, was I trying to prove how pro-gressive I could be?

What if it was the “Swedish” way to wait for the maiden to make the first move and I didn’t do it! What if his etiquette prescribed that the hostess should make the first move, and I didn’t do it! Ohhh, the pain, when I think of this today… All that thunder and lightening! What could have been!

Yes, I am “dumb ass.” Oh, I want this to happen now…I want it to happen now. All these years later and this dawns on me today, April 5^th, 2012. Eighteen years later. But it’s too late. I’m old now. I’m old now. This opportunity will never present itself again…