Nov 19 2008
platonic intimacy
He called me and said “Aside from my need to make love to you, I want to see you. You in your room?” He means, I want to talk.
I have to just confess that there is something about you that makes me feel incredibly sexual. Not like I want you, or we should be together at this instant. There’s something very chemical happening. This metamorphosis you put me under as you lighten the mood with, “there’s ten minutes till I leave, I can think of something great for us to do,” or “you looked pretty incredible at the meeting tonight.”
You know, and I know that you are so incredibly in love and so incredibly taken that there’s no way you would do anything so incredible as to break an impenetrable woman’s heart. I admire her, and you, so much for the way your love holds her in the highest regard, and the way that you can be so loose about it.
What a strange triangle we have here. I wonder if things would be different if we were all very very single and very very inexperienced, but that would take all the fun out of it.
You’re so cute when you say you prefer egg nog to beer and that you think the word that describes me best is the same one we apply to my hair: windblown.
Like there’s an uncanny system to every random thing I do in my life.
We can talk about anything, when it’s you and I flirting about our knowledge, our education and our complete loathing for the current state of journalism.
But for the most part, people don’t know we have these intimate moments. This platonic and intimate thing going on. We’re very hush hush.
I’d say, “What would the state of contemporary art be like if we didn’t have the hallucinogenic and mind altering power of drug substances?”
And then we can talk about how much we respect drugs, but mostly that other people do them. Not us, but that we can reap the benefits of their literate trips when they describe in some abstract artistic form.
I can say “Is it weird that I don’t have a routine when I wake up in the morning?”
And you can say how full of shit I am, how one of these days, my days, must have began the same.
I mean, you let me get away with almost nothing. We’re such curious friends that way.
You can say “she’s got this childlike quality that makes men want to fuck her” and you know what? I do not judge you.
I think your honesty adds to the intimacy of these late night conversations on my bed.
“It’s safe here, friend, in my bed,” I laugh.
“That’s what I hear,” you say. Oh, your wit.
If you were any other man, I’d kick you out for implying any such thing. But you’re so special this way. I like our platonic thing.
