I’m reading Patti Smith’s memoirs, Just Kids and I’m so taken with the story about her relationship with  Robert Mapplethorpe. They seem like fictional characters from a novel, so unique, lovable and legendary. Do such love/friendship stories still exist?…If you haven’t read it, what are you waiting for??
In bed - The kiss by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, circa 1892. 
Yes. There was that person. I wonder if he remembers me as much as I remember him. 
The way they were: Daniel Day-Lewis & Isabelle Adjani, when they were happily together. (Didn’t they look perfect? It’s painful to behold such beauty LOL! It’s good to know that there’s a person with the genes of these 2 in the world.)
You You were that first guy, the one whose sight broke me into a million pieces. It only took one look from you for me to remain undone and confused for the rest of the day, wondering why things were the way they were. You were that first broken heart. It’s weird, though, because you never did get to use my heart. You mocked it and you threw it away, only one more out of dozens of other hearts like it, meaningless and anonymous. I guess it’s not necessary to know the contents of a heart in order to break it. The scar is still here, it’s invisible but it hurts and stings from time to time. You were the friend in whom I trusted, the one whom I believed could become something else before I realized that I was reading the signs all wrong.  You were my mindmate, not my soulmate. That weird-looking dude with a bit of John Nash and a dash of Peter Pan thrown in, the one who could be such a gentleman and such an idiot at any given time, without even realizing it. You broke my mind and heart into a puzzle and I now know that you never noticed. The pieces of the puzzle are still mixed up and I’m afraid there’s a missing piece. The one you stepped on, the one who got stuck to that piece of gum on the sole of your sneaker, which left with you until you realized and you took it off and threw it in tome garbage bin. All that remains of you now is fog, smoke, a light chill, a soft brush of wings against my fingertips, a suggestion of light, shadow, shape, all those things I thought were real but aren’t really there. 

You

You were that first guy, the one whose sight broke me into a million pieces. It only took one look from you for me to remain undone and confused for the rest of the day, wondering why things were the way they were.

You were that first broken heart. It’s weird, though, because you never did get to use my heart. You mocked it and you threw it away, only one more out of dozens of other hearts like it, meaningless and anonymous. I guess it’s not necessary to know the contents of a heart in order to break it. The scar is still here, it’s invisible but it hurts and stings from time to time.

You were the friend in whom I trusted, the one whom I believed could become something else before I realized that I was reading the signs all wrong. 

You were my mindmate, not my soulmate. That weird-looking dude with a bit of John Nash and a dash of Peter Pan thrown in, the one who could be such a gentleman and such an idiot at any given time, without even realizing it. You broke my mind and heart into a puzzle and I now know that you never noticed. The pieces of the puzzle are still mixed up and I’m afraid there’s a missing piece. The one you stepped on, the one who got stuck to that piece of gum on the sole of your sneaker, which left with you until you realized and you took it off and threw it in tome garbage bin.

All that remains of you now is fog, smoke, a light chill, a soft brush of wings against my fingertips, a suggestion of light, shadow, shape, all those things I thought were real but aren’t really there. 

Talking book - My small tribute to Lou Reed Because the world needs more balls. The world needs more people who experience life at its fullest. Lou always says what he thinks, feels what he says and means what he sings. Congruency is a rare quality. Here’s to you, Lou. I wish I had a talking book that told me how to act and look A talking book that contained keys to past and present memories A talking book that said your name so if you were gone, you’d still remain More than a picture on a shelf in imagination I could touch I wish I had a talking book filled with buttons you could push Containing looks and sights, your touch your feel, your breath, your sounds, your sighs How much I’d bluster to ask it why one must live and one must die I wish I had a talking book by my side so I could look And touch and feel and dream, a look much bigger than a talking book A taste of loving future and past is that so much to really ask In this one moment’s time and space can our love really be replaced By a talking book (Talking Book written by Lou Reed, from the musical Time Rocker, 1996)

Talking book - My small tribute to Lou Reed

Because the world needs more balls. The world needs more people who experience life at its fullest. Lou always says what he thinks, feels what he says and means what he sings. Congruency is a rare quality. Here’s to you, Lou.

"Love lost" by Michael Grieve

I wish I had a talking book
that told me how to act and look
A talking book that contained keys
to past and present memories

A talking book that said your name
so if you were gone, you’d still remain
More than a picture on a shelf
in imagination I could touch

No Love Lost

I wish I had a talking book
filled with buttons you could push
Containing looks and sights, your touch
your feel, your breath, your sounds, your sighs

How much I’d bluster to ask it why
one must live and one must die

I wish I had a talking book
by my side so I could look
And touch and feel and dream, a look
much bigger than a talking book
A taste of loving future and past
is that so much to really ask
In this one moment’s time and space
can our love really be replaced
By a talking book

(Talking Book written by Lou Reed, from the musical Time Rocker, 1996)

“She paused. ‘I love you’, she said.(Die for me.) ‘And I you’, he answered. (I am already dying, but I will die for you.) ‘I have loved you like no other man’, she said. (Die for me.) ‘You have been the love of my life’, he replied. (My life is almost gone, but what remains I give up for you.) ‘Let me stay,’ she said. ‘Give me up. That will end it all’. Again, in her voice, the note of suprise at what she was allowing herself to say, to offer, to feel. ‘It’s too late for that’, he said.”