can't write, more memories
hmmm, I have not written an erotica, if I were I would probably start by reading a lot about mermaids
thinking about hot tubs again
cinnamon, cardamom, root beer, all these things, hot tubs
memories, right
um
he had this way of really respecting want. i would sometimes almost burst with wanting for something. it would always be something i saw. either something in real life, right then and there, like a keychain, or a t-shirt. or it would be something i saw in an advertisement. I would see a picture of a toy, or an advertisement on tv, and the image would stick in my head. I would keep thinking about it.
he would have a special kind of empathy, for that moment. That moment of want. He would notice it. He would want to do something about it. He had this feeling for everybody, even strangers, and then he especially had that feeling for me.
there would be some hope connected to the want. the starry eyed kind of want. the depth of your being connected to the mind connected to the image. like a perfect crystal of desire. completely untarnished, completely uncorrupted. completely not mimetic. there would be purity for the object in itself, for the perfect object. the object would cascade into your being. interacting with the object would create a perfect moment in the soul. there would be a perfect moment of the congruence of the metaphysical and the physical.
He delivered me, I guess that is pretty intimate for a dad. I don’t know
I do not think about my father, in words, most of the time. Just in intense feeling-moods. I do not particularly like talking about my father.
things I wanted: the K’nex big ball factory. Corel Paint. A pythagorean theorem t-shirt. a stuffed animal seal
there were many things i wanted that I didn’t get. “What do you need that stupid shit for.” you know. most things would get that reaction. and there wouldn’t be an amount of debating or whining or asking that would get it for me. it wouldn’t work like that. there couldn’t be any manipulation. it wasn’t intentional on his part. he was just responsive to the purity of the want. the want was connected to the soul, and it was like he was like oh yeah that’s a soul thought, that’s a soul feeling, let me care about that
I’m scared I’d disappointed, him, by growing up. I worked a lot not to lose whatever that pure thing was supposed to be - this site of the pure feelings that we connected over. I liked what they did in the world, and with other people. Even when he seemed to want to uproot me from these feelings, for whatever reasons that I might not understand, maybe not even knowing the uprooting was a real thing that could happen or could possibly happen - I’d make sure they didn’t get uprooted. If I wanted to like my dad it was important for me to keep this thing he liked about me, that he thought was important, that I thought was important too.
we connected over which things were real, in soul space .We had agreement, there, about that, in objective reality, in intersubjective space. we were together.