leaves evaporated, stopped midtwist. back to the tendency to sit next to the window and peruse the passersby, the clouds, the drynesses.

I made chicken noodle soup yesterday, with chicken cooked and chopped, with carrots and celery, with noodles, and onions. a tad of spice, but no rosmary, which is a shame. the noodles, the mexican kind that get fatter and fatter and never stop chicken saturating. it was nice and wintery and i've been lusting for soup and hydration, lip licks, and scarves of all shades and styrations, saturations. it snowed a bitty bit. it did that for the bike. perhaps it is time for hot chocolate, rummy rumming. and she:

exquisite when she snows, so white thickened and everywhere, something sleek to fall back on, to stretch angellic and scribe an outline of body, a version or rendition, a tried fictional negative possible when she is exquisite, when she is snow, when she exquisitely snows and I can see the fat condensed flakes of our unspoken, drifting and settling. all along the outline of her, she is fleeced, trimmed with white, and it hurts equally to not speak or to speak sometimes, because there’s always what’s made with motion and what’s made when she snows, and what’s made with the stories we lie ourselves into, and sometimes when a word is spoken, there’s no plucking it back, no catching it like dandelion fluff and holding it sweatingly until the right wish comes, and then releasing it again, because an unreleased wish is a nonwish, a flake held to melting, and I want to say it again. but when she snows, the words melt here, or they melt then. and it’s not when she rains; it’s not sunlight or light shining bone thin through flesh; it’s not how much she’s capable of weathering, or weathering in; it’s when she snows. something falling inside her frozen but warmer than wind. something shaped and shapable both, because each snow piece has form, each its own, even as it rises down from clouds. but part of this form are unattached hydrogens or oxygens that crystalline in the damp desire, will clutch the tentacled ends of each other when shoved into place, and up rise homes and houses, up rise snow creatures with carroted nostrils, up rise the forts and walls and hurtling pellets, any new form brought to, or maybe brought out. formed and forming, amenable to her being and our making, or anyone making. yet, it could just be a given: she is exquisite when she snows.

friday night, I went out dancing, and it was okay partially because I went with a couple of friends who turned out to be good dancers, the kind that boogieshake and close their eyes when the beat is just right. but I’m not too fond of the places we went to dance, I have to say. I think I’ve just about given up on there actually being a solid queer scene in Chicago. we went to the Closet, which is just a little hidey-hole pub for chatting it up. nothing sucky, but nothing interesting… no pool table or dancing really, just a bunch of couples talking with each other in tight little circles. and then we went to Spin afterwards, which was so horrible I thought I’d pass out. it was “shower night,” where they have this contest involving a shower and music for gay boys. granted, they had nice bodies, but it wasn’t worth it, and the host kept shushing us, like you can shush a crowd. basically porno for folks who can’t dance to watch, and I wanted dancing, full energy sweat beating rubbed up next to and under the chins of and hot and the smell of people who put on perfume and then washed it all off in the deluge of their vigor. but this didn’t happen and by one o’clock the place was a practical trickle, and here’s a deal:

if anyone in this city can take me someplace that really really has good music, you know, great dj’s (house, electronic, hip hop are all fine with me), queer or straight, naughty or nice, I will buy you a drink or two if the place really rocks.

because friday I just ended up wandering home and taking the long walk at three a.m. just to be moving in the remnants of a fast-walking autumn. and yesterday, I stayed in and watched a good movie (born into brothels) and drank rum and make chicken soup and thought about exquisite snow and looked forward to the next gathering of friends who I don’t see enough.

anyhow…