Letter to Sminz

Just some thoughts as they come to me standing on my balcony blowing smoke in salute to your graceful and oafish presence missed --
Who are the "others" that I presume will judge me for feeling so perfectly comfortable and appropriate wearing eclectic colors, a bright blue hoodie, and boots made for the Appalachia, searching for your hand? Perhaps they are chefs and hostesses at fancy vegan restaurants -- perhaps, more likely, they are my fears.
The manic life I lead--I need--I bleed for--this seems like an ass laughing in the face of my happiness with you ("ridi" + "culo", English to Italian transliteration = "ass laughs"). I loved dressing up and dressing down with you by my side. I am waiting still for one day in coat and tails and silk dresses (oh, but which one of us shall wear the high heels?)
I am waiting already for Lego-man and Lego-woman body suits (perhaps both sitting in lifesize, cardboard port-a-potty toilets). There are many costumes I wish so much to share with you still.
I am missing you like a deck of cards misses its box; like a chopstick misses its twin; like a pot of boiling water misses its lid. No boil. Slow steam -- evaporate. Sense -- maybe no. Free - thanks to you.

Tonight I returned to the free performance at the Judson Church and it was great. Full of performers I know and like and strong, sensory, idea-fueled pieces. The last was a happening, really -- 20 or more people piling up cardboard boxes in the space, along the sides of the space, blocking the entrance/exit. My friend Tin from Singapore was there and we went out after for a Nutella crepe and love stories.

I smoked two cigarettes (=kissing you). I ate a bagel, plantain chips, a salad, a slice of pizza, ginger ale, an apple, half a mocha chocolate chip vegan cookie.

I found 2 "new" pins on my shelf.
I wore my black hat with 2 pins on it, not 1.