This piece is about my wife Kitty.
Makes sense, since there she is! in the middle! To the right a bit.
I met my wife and then forgot her for a year because I had shock treatment.
When I met her again, she moved in three days later.
I married her six weeks after that.
Five years of happiness and
it is still so strange to know
that my heart is full.
Even now I forget in the morning and then I smell her sweetness and I roll over and I try and find her under the complicated gordian know she makes of the covers and then I see her and
everything
well.
everything is alright.
I mean f***ing wow.
I am so spectacularly lucky that I am STATISTICALLY AGOG.
Happiness.
Happiness?
Yes.
Woah.
The shock treatment was to stop me from dying from the raging madness in my own hands.
The strangest thing about such strange a thing and the terror the fright of going under is

that it worked.
Still, I forgot her and I almost missed the most exquisitely unlikely wonder, the most subsuming blessing that I have known
in all of my life.
We beat it all.
The social partition, the hell in the wall, the communal division, the derisive and absolute separation of one from another.
We found each other’s hands and lips and lives.
She is a jewel a living ember a babbling brook of the sweetest water
Any man
Has ever tasted

In all of this world in all of the worlds that there might be she is a GIFT she is a genius with a nice bottom,
Who is endlessly kind

In bizarre dances of language and stance, exclamation, the supreme limits of communication sped and foiled by tongues and mouths. By fingers stretched and clasped.
We whirl in this ordered ballet, turning to each other in that sacrosanct craving, the ultimate supreme desire. Share ourselves, hope and wish and hope again for that ultimate touch of minds – she sees what I see, he shares my world.
They love me.
I am immersed in him, she is incomplete and a piece of her dies each time the bind of lust and trust beguiling each of our eyes fails for a throat clutching slipping moment… when our eyes unlock it damages me. And the most beautiful thing in the universe is that it wounds her, too.
We long for spiritual union, not communication. Each time we open our mouths or softly sing to another, each time we touch the face of a lover, hold a child that sobs and clings to us.
This desire, above all, rules us. It dictates to us, rises from our vertebrae and curls in our chests, and as our hands shake with love, with desire and overwhelming need, our will is subsumed with this aching and crushing yearning.
And I did not even have to ask.
She knew.
I knew.
I did not have to ask…
Share with me. Open the depths, the dark places in your deepest bones, let me see your implicit and fixed love. I worship your psyche, your thought, your bitterness, your hate, your foolishness ineptitude and failure.
Affirmation and liberty, by pooled hastening reciprocation. Freedom from ourselves in the ultimate fastening between minds.
It decrees and declares to us, this need. It is one of the most essential and inescapable truths that doom us to what we are.
Ah… we are fated to it, this is what is there for us, ultimately, in the darkest and most honest hours of the slow negredo (deepest black) hours before dawn.

Personally. Ah. Yes. Well I believe that the most pleasurable thing in life is to sleep with (I mean sleep here, not sex, though that vies and precludes my selection. A lot) someone you love. Feel their somnolence seep into you. Colour your dreams with them as you hold them, as they coil their bodies against us.
There is some kind of blessed sleep, comfort and deep ease that it engenders.
As our dreaming essences spiral above us and, perhaps, intertwine.
Waking with a lover’s arms heavy against you.
No-one is as beautiful at any other time than when they sleep.

“Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care
The death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath
Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,
Chief nourisher in life’s feast.”
~William Shakespeare, Macbeth

“In Sleep we lie all naked and alone, in Sleep we are united at the heart of night and darkness, and we are strange and beautiful asleep; for we are dying the darkness and we know no death.”
— Thomas Wolfe

We need to eat this time, suck it into us. Even as it steals our time and slips us into fantastic, impossibly complex visions and sounds. In dreams…
We must cultivate its strangeness and hold it to us.
She is a dream to me.
that unification of healing, indelible stamp of the extraordinary, the odd. And the inexplicable.

The world scale, the aegis of Gods, the auspices of humanity, the sweet and simple, infinitely complex and bitter, love between two people.
What else to attempt, what else to find? How are we to begin the chant of living without knowing that this is, ultimately, what we seek?
But I have met her. I have met her and I loved her from the first night when we caught each other's thoughts and she knew what I meant and I knew her, I knew her, I knew what she meant...
even though both of us are mad. Bipolar cursed with the jester and the weeping fool.
So what happened?
Well.
I met her and I married her six weeks later.
Best f***ing decision I have ever made.
And it was easy.