I Forgot to Tell You

1.
I read a play – earlier – today. One of the characters said something to another character about how we know each other through information, through details – I’m paraphrasing. I don’t want to get up and go get it

It made me think of you – of our game – and all the things I forgot to tell you

It also made me think of this “play,” and how I’ve forgotten to write it

“oops”

Or rather, how I’ve written it, a few times, and then at some point, usually around seven hundred words in, forget what I’m trying to “ask” slash “say”

(…)

Best Friend One – that’s a fake name by the way – once said that someone once said that all plays should have thesis statements. Which: bugged me

I Write Plays Because I Don’t Know How To Write Thesis Statements !?

That said, the thesis statements of my abandoned “attempts” at “something” basically being: I miss you
And/Or: I’m lonely
And And/Or Or (or maybe just: Also):
Fuck. You

I should dig deeper

“Person 1”
   I was just talking about you

“Person 1”
   Okay

--It’s fine. They’re not listening

“Person 1”
No

“Person 1”
Ha

“Person 1”
No. But ; ) Flattered ; )

“Person 2”
   …

“Person 1”

I have lunch alone with So and So – that’s a fake name by the way – I’m awed by his intelligence, his articulateness, his “story.” Then So and So repeats same said story, same said spiel, ?!verbatim!?, At Dinner

(!?!?!?)

I wonder:

Have I been duped?

By Some “Personal Slash Artistic” “Statement Slash Script”!?

Orrrr:

Are we all just wandering around saying the same shit to different people? On the perpetual “prowl,” so to say, for someone to narrate our lives to

“Person 1”
   You’re supposed to be writing

“Person 1”
I climb the ladder

3.

“Person 1”
   Keep writing

About The Ladder:

“Person 1”
--There’s a ladder in my studio

The last resident, “November” – that’s how they signed the note they left me – said it leads both “literally” and “figuratively” to “nowhere”

I have these dreams about …apartments… where I stumble upon slash discover New Rooms, New Closets, New Bathrooms, Most often, Most Notably: New Floors
Namely: Sun-drenched Attics

The first few times I have this dream it is V Exciting

“?! I DISCOVERED SOMETHING ?!”

However, a few more times, a few years in, this dream, this discovery begins to feel like a trap

“How did I not know this existed?”

And:

“Why haven’t I been living here?”

--There’s a window at the top of the ladder – to the right –
I’m speaking literally
The window looks unto An Attic. Sun-drenched

When I spy the attic, from the ladder, for the first time, I exclaim – internally:

“I’ve been here”

This is The Moment. This is

!!! ThE MeTaPhOr !!!

I climb the ladder. Reach the top, Position my body, Position myself to open The Window

…dramatic pause…

As dreams and “reality” would have it, it won’t: Mother Fucking Open

This – I gather – is what “November” means by leading both “literally” and “figuratively” to “nowhere”

(…)

I stare down at my detritus
A purple wig, some Post-It notes, a bottle of whisky, a tome or two on …Capitalism… – the evidence of my …existence…
You. Occasionally

“Person 1”
– I descend –

I wake you

“Person 1”
   How many pages have you written?

“Person 1”

4.

We stay up – every night. Until four? five?/

“Person 1”
a.m.

The others have “Partners.” The others “Sleep” – whatever that is

We, on the other hand, wait for the sun to rise or whatever, whilst exchanging:

* Information *

On the phone, Best Friend Two – another fake name by the way – asks what you and I talk about for all these hours

What do any of us talk about ever?

Other than, or maybe I mean before: Meyers Briggs, Love Languages, Instagram, Astrology/

“Person 1”
Artistic Statements ?

“Person 1”
You’re a:

“Person 1”
– that’s a/

“Person 1”

            *hawt*

“Person 1”
I’m:

“Person 1”
In a non-monogamous relationship with myself

“Person 2”
I can work with that

“Person 1”
You do

“Person 1”         “Person 2”
You offer to tie you up     I offer to tie you up

I accept           You accept

You tell me what you’re into. Before we even get in-to “It”

“Person 1”
You’re like a dictionary
You name your likes in alphabetical /order

“Person 1”
…

“Person 1”
…

I’m into:

And:

“Person 1”
You wait

– for me to say more –

I want to say:

you

Instead I say:

(…)

which is true

“Person 1”

“Person 1”

“Person 1”
??

“Person 1”
??

“Person 1”
   ...

   I do

(

                  )

“Person 1”
We:

“Person 1”         “Person 2”
Laugh            Fuck

“Person 1”
We use:

“Person 1”         “Person 2”
Protection          Produce

That too          --We do?

“Person 1”
Meanwhile,

You start to call your poems plays/

“Person 1”
I start to “get” poetry

I cut two shirts down middle. You sew them together. We literalize the figurative. We

Twin

We take turns reading random passages from our “Plays”/“Poems”/“Reflections” aloud to each other. We begin each line with:

“Person 1”         “Person 2”

I forgot to tell you

“Person 1”         “Person 2”
--Your turn         --Now you

“Person 1”         “Person 2”

I forgot to tell you

“Person 1”

…dramatic pause two…

A knock on the door

5.

It’s--

“Person 1”         “Person 2”

Whisky           Whisky

“Person 1”         “Person 2”
Coke            “Connie”
(same thing)         (same thing)
oops            – for me –

“Person 1”
– everyone’s asleep –

“Person 1”         “Person 2”

   We Climb:     The Ladder   !
   We Open:      The Window   !!
   We Break Into:     The Attic     !!!

(

                     )

“Person 1”

The next morning:

!Fuck!

– my head –

--Was that a dream?

“Person 1”
   --How did you open it?

I’m referring to:

   – the window –

You reply:

“Person 1”
Which means:

…it’s possible…

I climb: The Ladder. Brace myself, My body, Prepare to lift

ASLKDJFLSKDLKDJF !

One more time:

ASLKDJFLSKDLKDJF !34902$#(*)@#(*$

(…)

It won’t budge. It’s as if:
It Never Happened ?

I try to remember the feeling

I play our game – by myself. Grab an old notebook, Flip to a random page, Close my eyes, Glide my hand across it, Stop, Open my eyes, Read the line beneath my index finger

What is the dark hole you need to reach into?

What is the bright light you need to face?

(…)

I close the notebook

It’s a stupid fucking game

6.

Back “Home,” Back at my “life,” My “apartment.” You back at yours – on the other side of the country

I: Re-acclimate Re-orient Re-adjust
In other words, I: Wash my sheets. Rotate my mattress – something I imagine Virgos do every three to six months in order to improve “performance” and “lifespan,” or rather to prevent leaving an “impression.” Which – according to The Internet – is bad for “alignment”

I lay slash lie – I’m too lazy to google it – on my freshly washed sheets, on my recently rotated (for the first time in years) mattress

I’m not a Virgo, so I stare at the indention next to me:

my twin

7.

Back at “Work.” Zee Zee, also known as Best Friend Three – fake names, plural, you got it – brushes my hair. She likes the strand you bleached. She brushes carefully, really concentrating, one stroke after another, until she declares me “ready” – for Chapstick. Which she then applies ever so attentively to my lips, not so dissimilarly from how you applied lavender lipstick to mine

She looks at me ?deeply? I think:

? She Sees Me ?

Then she looks away. Like I was never even there
--She’s two and a half though, so this probably says more about me and my perceptions than it does about her manner of looking

8.

In case it’s not clear, we haven’t talked in two, three/

“Person 1”
weeks. Or maybe I mean/

“Person 1”
Which: Might explain the form this is taking
Or maybe that’s giving ?me? comma ?you? too much credit. Maybe it’s just that: Talking about – or to – “You” is easier than talking about – or dealing with – “Me”

For someone supposedly wary of Relationships, I seem to be continually drawn towards finding a certain someone to exist In Relation To

On our last night you tell me you ate your twin – Literally – in the womb. I wonder: What parts of each other will we digest, regurgitate

“Person 1”
Am I:
Searching for the literal me in the figurative you

9.

In your absence, I “narrate mysel(f/ves)” to ?Best Friend Four? – I’m still deciding on her name
--We’re on a mini residency slash retreat

She tells me she has the same dream about apartments. That she feels the same, actually I think she says similarly about its “recurrence.” (I later learn: We share the same moon)

When I look into her eyes, they’re heart-shaped. Because we’re falling in love – Figuratively

“oops”

– I should clarify –

By “falling in love” I mean Friend Crush and by “friend crush” I mean words and whisky until four, five

“Person 1”         “Person 2”
six/             six/

“Person 1”
a.m. – a recurring Theme, This time without

“Person 1”
Also, she’s wearing sunglasses. Heart-shaped, Heart-framed

“Person 1”
I realize:
My ?loneliness? predates (me, and) you

10.

I pour myself a glass of whisky – a few drinks slash weeks later. Text you – we’ve resumed “Texting” (Turns out, I’ve missed the literal you)
It’s late but – or maybe So: You call

“Person 1”         “Person 2”

“FaceTime” ?         FaceTime !

“Person 1”
me

“Person 1”
   Hey

We exchange:

“Person 1”         “Person 2”
       * Information *

“Person 1”
I said:

You laugh and say:

“Person 1”
I reply:

(…)

“Person 1”
You ask me to:

“Person 1”
– “Aloud” –

(I’m still working on “The Ending”)

“Person 1”
   “Thesis Statement”

   “Person 2”
(But I’m “a poet” by trade slash “training,” so I’m less fixated on comma Fascinated by the illusion, or rather Delusion, of “Concrete slash Commodified” “Knowledge slash Meaning”)

“Person 1”
   …

“Person 1”

The Next Mo(u)rning,

I remove the Post-Its, Used for plotting this “play” slash “poem,” From my wall
As I: Resign myself, Attempt to: Align myself to
………endlessly beginning………
(I’m interrupted)

The buzzer buzzes. The doorbell dings

Is it:           !FATE!
Or:            ?USPS?
calling…

Downstairs, there’s:    *A package*
waiting...

“Person 1”
Of ?

“Person 1”
With:

“Person 1”         “Person 2”
A Post-It Saying,       A Post-It Saying,

“Person 1”
It’s--

“Person 1”
(“Earth Sign”)

“Person 1”
In an interview, says that she also, or maybe ?often?, feels like

“Person 1”         “Person 2”

“Person 1”

I open the book of poetry

I read