A friend of mine has started writing a beautiful blog, something very personal and brave. He's written about his childhood, his fatherhood, his sorrows and joys, his transition female-to-male. Alone with my computer, I read and feel close to him, as we do when something is written with personal openness and elegance.
Yesterday, we got on an elevator together, he with his cart of books, me with mine. I wanted to say, thank you for what you put out there. I wanted to say, how brave and lovely. Instead, I said, "Ooh, can I see your new tattoo?"
In my own blog, in my novel and the essays I write, I'm not afraid to go very deep, to talk about the fool I so often feel I am, to confess about the baby blanket I held onto for too long. [Way too long.] In person, where words are spoken, not read, is this as close as I can
get to someone? To peer down at the words written on his skin?
Is consciousness perhaps
19 hours ago