March 14, 2015

Oddly unquiet night. Exhausted from it.

Hugely appreciative crowd at the theater last night. I’m no longer going to try to critique my own performance, for there’s no way to do it.

Z’s affection is thrilling and surprising, though I’m not sure how to respond. Saying back to him the things he has said to me seems, however sincere, lacking in imagination. He has gone past the point I normally thinking of as the threshold of the physical, and yet the physical is clearly not what he wants. This displays my limitations, for I have dismissed the Platonic as being something I would not entertain until the Erotic was fulfilled. One sits and listens, hoping for some Muse of friendship to put eloquence into the mouth. One seeks for the deed that would make eloquence unnecessary.

It is wrong and cruel of God to insist on His own time. He has so much of it, we so little. The long stretches of peace between us will always end (or at least have always ended) with betrayal and cruelty. And peace is not joy, is not victory. It is me for the moment looking the other way.