Martyrs Made of Crisco

Like a puppy in an oven,
Our attraction to each other died a slow, roasting death.
yes, it was doused with paint, yes it's nose was melted to the glass.
For a second, I felt as helpless.
But then, I imagined a martyr.
And guess who that martyr was? The puppy.

These situations, where one person is attracted to another intellectually and sexually, these cosmopolitan things are about as substantial as a bag of gas. The only thing is time.
What happened with John Brewer? How did someone I liked so much go so wrong, and I for him, in the span of an hour?
I guess when that thing that divides you is as fundamental to your selfhood as, say religion and politics, it can turn rather ugly rather quick. The knives come out.
The knives always come out.

Why don't we put the knives away, people? It sounds naive, but really. When can we put the knives away?

I feel an urge to write the same email to Brian and John Brewer. They both work inthe same office. They are diametric opposites. And I had strange relationships with both of them. But I want to say thank you. I want to stay friends with them. I want to LOVE them.

Why, why, why in Seattle, do people do this? They simply raze their fondness for someone lickety-split-- there's a cruelness, a coldness, a calculating way to the daters out here. To the people out here. It happened with two of my close friends. Who moved here. They now thrive here. I guess it's because they were built for this place. They were able to carry knives with them all the way.

I can't carry knives. I'm a down-home person who wants to talk about it. I'm warm, I'm earthy, I'm into a person forever. Even if you're wrong for me. I'll still want to laugh with you, and love you, and have a barbecue. I'll want to drink beer on the back of a pickup truck with you. I'll want to count on you-- and let you know you can count on me. These things, these are un- presumptuous things, when you think about it. Yes you can know me. Yes you can know my family. Yes you can be a big, fat, heaping part of my self, like crisco in a cherry pie.

But this don't happen here. Not from my experience. Not yet. Maybe it takes time. But the "Seattle freeze" the hypothesis that dating and friendship making here is murder, not for the faint of heart, seems a noble-little flame, emanating from a scared, naked person on a waterfront pier. Don't be scared, whoever you are-- I'm listening.