just let me know so i can schedule you in. i will schedule some time with you, it will be there marked with an apostrophe (!) in the palm pilot of my daily meanderings. scratch that. there are no meanderings. no time for meanderings. time is straight, here's the arrow, i and my artificial constraints, time, am these days going straight forward, usually when i am backwards.

hitherto in my meanderings, first is 12 and then is 1. i was pre-pre-Greenwich; not even solar time can explain, and 1972 was before i was born, your standard, but long after, my standard, accept it. but right now, i have a schedule, and on it, you will be marked, with an apostrophe (!), as a pause in the schedule, and everything will slow down on either side of the meeting, until it comes to a complete stop directly in the center of our meeting, and during that time i will be completely illegible to you, but you will be pretending otherwise and forget the imaginary nature of pretense. you will underestimate me, inevitably, right at that moment of noTime, and like a giraffe with only one spot, i will bask in this misunderstanding because why not.

i will schedule you in only if you let me know. one possible way you might let me know is by looking up at me and exuding potential threats. they will not be verbalized, heaven save us from clear articulations (anything that will result in mistranslating or misunderstanding or missed missing).

i will pick you up and smell you, you will not mention it. i will bend down and re-organize you to make you look smaller, you will not mention it. i will soak you in a blend of water and something eco-friendly, you will bubble occasionally. i will understand you are waiting for me through this dance we do, and then i will schedule you in, and there will be the moment, and it will be the moment of pause where you in turn misunderstand me and i will listen to the music and let myself be misunderstood because that's all i can do anymore, just move from one of your moments to the other, one second to the next, not backwards like before, not all at once like before (all the nightmares i had as a child, and still have as an adult are about time and what it means for us, how our dimensions defer our understanding, and how when we reach out into the new dimension we are covered down bedded sucked to a standstill driven to eternity like a herd to a cliff and then fall and fall and fall landing nowhen), and i will run my hands over you eventually because you will be marked in my schedule-without-meanderings.

i will cover you in liquid, i will enter only partway into the liquid with you, i will be protected and plastic-wrapped. i will scrub you, and smooth you and unblemish you clean. i will be the Jesus H. Christ of your world, and will remove all our sin from your surface and pores. you will misunderstand me, i won't misunderstand you, i will be annoyed but accepting, i will look up at the sky through the window, i will think through my schedule, the one where i marked you ('), the schedule that runs me forwards when that's not my direction of choice. i will contemplate deep deep heavy things. things is one of those words, interpret it as you will. and you will. (inevitably you will understand me).

before you misunderstand again, yet again, yet again, always projecting your oneview as the only means of assessing. before i don't articulate it again for you because why bother when discard is the last refuge of self-awareness (?), before this time when i use embodied to always maneuver around what i understand about you, what i have come to understand not misunderstand about your way of seeing, and dash around charmingly and with a face i've learned to hide within which is very different from being within, this hiding, this accepting misunderstood in order to charm and dash and meet and move forward, but before this time when i rub my long fingers along your surface and make you pure again, i will go dancing.

it will happen yesterday, and i will wear make-up and i will pull my hair back to highlight my high cheekbones and hope nobody notices the little nearbeard. i will wear something sexy that taunts everyone, just about everyone because if little else at least i can taunt. at least i can rub up against and pull away from and let that moment be exactly what it is, a pause with noTime, and the before and after will be rendered meaningless by the way my body keeps moving, the way the music enters joints and muscles and little pockets of nearmisses and each sadness drops away earnestly until it is me, my body, your body, our body, not necessarily in that order. the music will play, you will raise your arms, you will bend your elbows, you will twist at the waist, you will dip on your knees, thrusting, and hipcurving, the beat, we will all hit the beat simultaneously, and then one of us will go for another beat, i will go for the third, and you will go for the fourth, and so on ad infinitum until we meet back up again, which we will.

it will be a delicious pause.

and then i will schedule you in, but you have to let me know somehow. just eyeball me from your perched places, just let me know i will (indeed) starve to death if i don't wash you, dry you, put you away, pull you out later, move backwards, sdrawkcab (allways). it will be our dirty little secret, the understood part.