Monday, October 22, 2012

blood in yonkers

I have no reason for writing this. No social or entertainment justification...a minor historical one at best. Yet write i do - for no other reason than that i gave my card to a human named Annie today, and i want the top entry on this blog to be something that might make her want to know me. I don't know whether my dreams and declarations would make her smile or frown. I barely know what would make her smile at all. Yet i dream of being one of those things.
And blood is flowing in Yonkers.
Yesterday, as i was on my street returning home by bike, i passed two young humans in an argument that had escalated past rationality. One of them was coming out the door of the house across from where i live; the other was in the walkway leading to the door. They moved back and forth in aggressive shouting. One of them was bleeding from a wound he'd just received. One of them had his penis out, and some of the threats involved penises. There was some sort of paternity issue being argued (not from whence they sprang, but of that which issued from them). The smaller male walked away, while the larger went back in. I went inside. A few minutes later, i looked back out and four police cars had arrived. The smaller male was nowhere in sight. The larger one was lying on the lawn, facedown, not moving. Crime scene tape was being put up. A housemate told me they were brothers who had grown up in that house.
Today, blood flowed from my own face. I was bitten by a dog i take care of. He and his owner moved in a few weeks ago, and she spends long hours at work. She warns everyone to be extremely careful around him, as he's attacked many people, because he was abused by his previous owners. This dog and i have bonded very much. He loves contact. We've cuddled. He's twelve. He's perhaps the most quirky canine i've ever met. He poops into bushes or onto constructions, rather than open ground. Everyone who meets him assumes he's a puppy. He is profoundly frolicsome, and loves to roughhouse, mock-biting your hands as you gently try to land touches on him. Today i learned that i have to let him initiate the play. He was resting on my bed, and i jumped on, slapping my hands down and resting my head on him. Then, blood. My mustache absorbed some of the chomp.
That's why there was a wound on my face, Annie. Perhaps you're as nervous around me as i am around you, and didn't fully notice it, obscured as it is by my mustache.
I dream of holding you.
I dream of loving you.

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