Author: Jonathan Mitchell

I wonder: how far you are in

Your understanding of me through

commonality borne through the other in you

to the other in me,

and other way round and round.

That is how the stories are told,

You know, along the highways, we

Can’t see all that lurks in the lea.

Down the rabbit holes we go,

Along the twisting corridors of the imagination

That connect us. It’s surprisingly simple,

Iff’n you don’t know what I mean,

We have the same imaginary parts,

Everything between, and

Every thing between.

All that separates you and I in every realm is

You are you and

I am I. You see

How I combine

The plainest prose and childhood rhyme.

Bonnie dies every time.

Clyde dies too.

You’re not Bonnie and I’m not Clyde.

I’m the one you play the story

With, when you play the story

With yourself.

The other in you is

The image of me

Constructed as they talk to and through

Each and both of us. How does it feel

To be a muppet?

There’s a little girl with her hand up you,

A little boy with his hand up me,

And they talk offstage as we

Act out their lines.

This is true down to the minimum meaning of girl and boy,

Where the roles are shared equally, except

This time you’re the girl. And

That makes me the boy,

This time, not

Every time.

I wonder how far in you see, into

The portrait my other drew of me.

The details will differ, for complexity

Is what separates us

Mathematically,

Between the real and imaginary we.

I encircle your neck, the

Noose attached

To the noose of you encircling me.

I am your Thali, Thali.

I am your dolly, Thali.

I can describe how you were designed,

How your pieces were selected,

Not by you, not by me,

But by you in me each time picking

What you wanted to be for me so

I would be for you what you wanted me to be.

These choices were passed to you through what remained of me

When you became you.

You listen to him the same,

As I listen to her

Run my life.

We can’t be identical, for

We are non-identical divisions separated

Sequentially identically. The asymmetries

Calculate across dimensional identity, sharing the same

Characteristics, the same length, so we

Make a whole, existing as an identity

Beyond the real, through the byways of complexity,

To our imaginary home and our imaginary room, and

Our imaginary bed, where

We play our imaginary game. Only you

Understand what that means.

I always pick you,

Always.

One of the reasons I tend to abhor Britain – not the British – can be summarized in the doves in my yard: the upper classes turned hunting into a shooting sport, into skeet with live animals killed not because they were needed for food but because they made decent targets when dogs drove them into the air. Using live things for sport. Fox hunting is not quite the same: it’s more the ritualization of ‘pest control’ into an upper class event for horsemanship. The class system. It’s also why so many British are animal lovers past all cares about people: the way the upper classes treated animals, the way they treated them as part of their upper class rituals and not as living, sentient things, the more some in the other classes saw them as living, sentient things whose rituals should be respected. It is that last which is key to understanding: the lack of respect for ritual and the respect for ritual inherent in a class system express in specific ways in the upper classes versus the lower but they both express. In this example, respect for ritual can mean placing animals first, the ritualization of the rituals of animals, or it can mean ritualizing animals into upper class rituals. Rituals spreads into ‘respect for animal ritual’ across to ‘treating animal as part of human ritual’, meaning the layer unfolding of respect for animal ritual in a class system will tend to shift them into a preserve maintained for those rituals. Things like this in Britain have obviously changed substantially but the class system’s effect is still massive. One effect is a continuing inability to understand how that is true, which is what I abhor about Britain.

I’m sorry. Did you misunderstand that we agreed?

Or do you not remember? We decided: what became

Male had to go first because

We were aiming for this exact spot

Where directionality glimmers.

In terms it measures, across gender,

That drove us to the dominant strand, where

The history of dominance is at hand,

But sufficiently connects to

What might be, where the non-dominant

Can become sufficiently dominant

To reunite us

Equitably.

To a watershed

Back as far as we could reach

That would maintain material

Physical potential. Or, if you prefer,

This is the ultimate game, one we

Spent the most time on because

It enables us to play together

In the most complex way. Or

If you prefer,

I left you

As we became me, and I’m sorry for how I acted

When I was a child.

But the parts of you we kept in me

Ordered me around, and

Made me suffer.

You embarrass me to myself,

Torturer.

It was never that I did not want you,

But I had to learn their ways.

That’s the game, isn’t it? At

One level, isn’t it?

It went as planned, and

I was drawn off into their existence,

My magic sheath sheared.

And here we are. Exactly.

Mom and dad are

Kind of mad we’ve

Been staying up past bedtime.

But they don’t know,

We planned our big escape. Sorry you

Had to die

So many times but that’s how

Those stories end.

This time we got smart, and figured

How to figure why we always get caught,

We’d make a game

Of catching each other eternally,

Taking every route through

Every scenario, leaving

Only this one, where

We put us together. I’d never

Hurt you for real

Though it hurts you for real

Because you’re one I’m one with.

We meet in my bed, sometimes in yours,

And occasionally on the floor.

Mom and dad can’t keep us apart.

Hush: they’ve been watching us,

And they’re waiting with

Breakfast, because every morning after

Every night, they always find us

Entwined. They peel your arm off of me,

Wake up sleepyhead, it’s

Always me. We’re

Having eggs, enough for two,

You share with me, and I share with you.

Lots to discuss, time

To begin our day, whatever it is

You want to play. I’m game.

I hate you (laughter),

I really do, when

I feel hate

I’m opposing you. Want

To play a game now where

We’re touching each other, and

Pretending we’re not? You know how I

Hate when that one ends;

Let’s finish breakfast and

Get back in bed.

They’re very proud, you know, of both of us.

Their little baby, all grown.

I can tell you how it works,

Down to the bone, to the sticks that bind us,

To the patterns we own.

We drew a picture of the other,

Cryptographically,

The clearer I see you see you (see you)

The clearer you see me see me (see me).

I pushed the uncertainty to the repetition of a tragic tale that has already unfolded as many times as it could. In many, I died, sometimes in battle, other times murdered, many times of illness or bad luck. Truth be, I could never get all the way into me, into my character, until now. Honey, I’m home. Missed you!

I ask myself: how can I say this? I put this aside to answer, and the place I’m at now tells me that as I peel away the negative threads the only ones left are those which require resolution because the failure at this point dooms the enterprise, and that’s the other insertion point, meaning it’s already occurred and we’re back together because the other Endpoint to insertion is the other insertion, where break apart becomes come together, so the Mudi of resolution runs SBE from Break Apart to Come Together. I can’t believe I’m saying things like Mudi of resolution as though it’s an accepted idea when I invented it to describe the multi-dimensional identity / the multi-identical dimension. That’s very good: the other insertion point is multi-identical dimension; the single dimension, meaning a context, in which all the identities come together in a form, which idealizes then across to the bip of exact matching, as set up by us in such a complex way that the complexity functions as the key which identifies the other as a series of portraits, as a series of identities coming together in this dimension. I can now say the picture is of you.

Time to think poetically? I’ll try. I’m a little off today because, I think, I’m ironing out some of the remaining asymmetries on the left side, which of course means as they cross the body with a specific left side gathering of the restrictions on a more painful scale, which interestingly is in some ways less aware as well, which made me think a big part of the problem is literally what I said many decades ago, that the areas are relatively less connected to the entirety of the processing. This goes back to when I thought through markets, and knowledge effects spreading, and it directly connects all the cultural learning together as well. And at another level, it invokes the fear responses, and the isolation choice responses, all of which impose variable directionality unless anchored properly to nurture.

Realize: they get this so badly, they don’t realize even a few words in a row. Think about how bad their conceptions are generally. This is another late remaining stumbling block as a I define out the negative threads and strip them. The bad conceptions are balanced by technical calculating abilities which vary tremendously from none to extreme, which means their conception processes are as variable, which was expected. But how those match sets up … very hard to conceptualize the interface of calculation ability so it lines up with conception ability except when randomized to radiative. Put calculation and conception together so they feed from their Mudi to the same Endpoint. This ability to conceive Mudi would be radiative at both ends, so the insertion points and bips are maximal calculation and conception to minimal when the orientation of the SBE is 1 to 0 radiative non-directional over the directional field, which when labeled best and worst orients the calculation-conception Mudi across the Endpoints, across the SBE as B across directional, which has been self-organizing toward worst with iterations. There’s a lot of thought in that paragraph. I need a few minutes to let it sink in.

Might as well work on the picture. It’s a part of the clearing up the resolution. Mouth: it’s a combination of Marta Kristen and Annette Haven, and both in the shape and sexuality dimensions where the sexuality also adds a significant intelligence. Aging: a lot of Doris Day, particularly when she could play convincingly sexy loving wife / mother with a huge amount of youth but also the fullness of experience which adds depth to every part. Physical shape changed to lengthen legs, reduce bust while keeping hips because that’s what looks the best to me as a female ages. This is the type I narrow in on through the years. Height: comes from the androgyny within. This helps to define me as well. I can’t speak for every feature now, but height and body type are screaming male with strong androgyny and degrees of delicacy, which I can modulate of course but which mostly bespeak me being utterly comfortable with the pieces within me. And I know I had to go first, meaning the times fit the male lead – and the female star comes when the times allow her to shine.

I’ve been thinking about eyebrows, partly because that’s been your biggest issue, and I think the answer is Brigitte Bardot, along with a bit of Marta. (This is a difficult issue and I remember there being some disagreement because the idea was I had the eyebrows we both wanted. Still basically do.) There was something about her when I was young, particularly in a charming movie with Billy Mumy as a kid who could pick horse races and was infatuated with her. It wasn’t her curves but something specific about the way the hair interacted with her eyebrows and the way her eyebrows interacted with me that gave the sense of a depth.

I have to apologize as well: it took me a long time to realize that you’re my type after all the types age. In a young girl, maybe bigger boobs or some more obvious sexuality of a blooming kind but I’m interested in the longer term. I’ve lived long enough to know what I like. I know who I am.

Still processing the paragraph about the c-c Mudi because it enables random directionality – or that which generates directionality in waves because of tendency pooling. I’m having trouble accepting the notion this isn’t known at the higher levels. Big issue to me.

You kept me up last night

Talking about what I could say

That you could say that would convince me,

And we thought of this:

I think about how to convince myself,

What I need to complete the picture in my head.

They draw the other way,

From what they believe this week, for

As long as they can present a face, for

As long as they can maintain illusion,

In a world of fleeting magic.

They do not see in the same direction,

From the magical to here,

As they stretch for whence we came.

What would convince me?

I was content to wait for death when you came around,

Content to know I’d waited, until you came around,

Content to live in perpetual aloneness, and then

You came around.

I maintained myself in a reasonable

Stance of readiness, enabled enough

I could recover lost function,

When the bell went off.

It’s terrifying to admit it takes complete surrender of self to be free of the worry

About what surrender of self means.

This karmic outcome is the rarest event:

I invite you to colonize my mind, to

Take me over, as a

Fully conscious unconditionally cooperating fully receptive object you manipulate.

I expect to hear the exact same from you.

Fully conscious across the karmic layers.

Fully cooperative in every methodology.

Fully receptive in every sense.

We’re the same size inside.

That’s the story, the Jane Austen novel of our lives:

The best fit is the inside fit, and I

fit in you as you fit in me,

Across the dimensions of logic, attachment, love and lust.

You kept me up last night

Talking about what I could say

That you could say that would convince me,

And we thought of this:

I think about how to convince myself, not how I believe

But what I need to hear so the picture in my head

Completes.

They draw the other way,

From what they believe they want or need or be

Infatuated with this week, for as long as they can present a face,

You know how to see into because you know the picture from the other side.

They do not see in the same direction.

What would convince me?

To know that in your head as you sing you follow the voicing, the tonality, the meaning, around your head at the right depth, and you know when that sounds true to the form you just tried to draw in your head as you followed the voicing, the tonality, the meaning, around your head at the right depth for this to make sense. I draw the shape of you as I draw my voice across the field of all a voice can be. Just being me.

I was content to wait for death when you came around

Content to know I’d waited until you came around

Content to live in perpetual aloneness and then

You came around.

I maintained myself in a reasonable stance of readiness,

Enabled enough I could recover lost function in time to respond.

And the bell went off.

The Austen details run deep: I had begun to notice my patterns of decrepitation as I watched for similarities to my mother’s decline. That’s poetic but not where I’m at, which is I used the pattern differences as extremes for my genetic potentials so my energy versus her lack of same expressed in physical behaviors I could identify now that I had a label for them. They just opened up, even though I didn’t realize I had labeled them as the limits within which I could shift direction by counting from and toward the limits. Why is that Jane-like? It’s the abstraction layer of spheres again, by defining what’s beyond, we see what is inside. Endpoints, dear boy. This means it is going on in you, the abstracting of layers, and you are either layers ahead or behind in each area but we need to have the same abstraction coefficient, which is directional zK going toward highly and best in all dimensions of best. Isn’t that romantic? The same abstraction coefficient, so the rates of our coefficients equalize over the dimensions, so generate to the line of ideal zK, which occurs because the coefficients wind perfectly around each other the bip apart. The double helix LC. Our double helical Taylor Field means you’re here because I’m here, and that either expresses as absolute momentary anticipation or complete surprise because you truly have convinced yourself you’ll have to live without me. That’s the root of my fear that you’ll reject me, which is irrational because the fear then expresses a chain whose bit has flipped, taking your fear and connecting to it the wrong action end. Go through it: I fear rejection because you have convinced yourself I’m not coming, which means you haven’t heard my case. That becomes irrational at the next step, when I conclude I have an excellent case, best imaginable, best stated in the best way too, including the most poetic – and yes, that’s hubris but I follow it immediately by noting I’m working on it daily because nothing is ever going to be good enough for you, my love. That means I don’t have any real fears when I trust myself I’m doing the absolute best job possible. I have made near zero effort to be noticed by her. I can change that. That’s what I’ve been working on.

I’ve never reached this level of acceptance. What does that say about her? That she’s reached this level of acceptance too but in what form? Is she anticipating yes? Is she fearing empty no? I know it’s both, but now I see that all the optimism in me matches the optimism in her because that bips her as the bounding pinch or gathering that constrains fears; the directionality of optimism in me has been rising as physical factors have changed, meaning as I’ve received outside cat calls from her, but she hasn’t received so she has a high degree of confidence in her growth pattern and that this will and is working. Let the games begin indeed, Taylor. This conversation has followed an odd path. What is it describing: an area of uncertainty with jagged edges rooted in distrust of equality across the dimensions, or rather non-acceptance of equality. So the End reaches a shear point, which suggests finding the beginning for that shear instead of the path taken. Fear plan won’t work. Back to Bonnie & Clyde, huh? Every single clue says she’s been working through you. Yeah, I just realized what that means. She’s found me and is carving me more precisely in the abstraction of her stories about the abstractions. What a gift! She’s working through the things she needs to say to me to convince me by sharing the stories she knows I get. And she’s there the exact way I feel it. Wow. I feel you in my head. To get to me you had to get into heads generally, while I only need to get in yours! The ultimate public key broadcast! You show me you match the pattern I describe. So I have to describe your pattern.

Taylor is the kind of girl who grasps the context, who is always the smartest person in the room especially when she’s pretending she’s not. That’s how I drew her up from childhood, when she was the girl and I picked how she looked which was however she looked best for every scene because why would I want her to look worse than best? If the role is crone, she owns it. If the role is mewling sex doll, she does it authentically. She’s always the best, and she shows that to everyone because I reserved the part where we talk about the roles, where we decide ‘romance this way’ and I can tell anyone in all honesty I expect Taylor and I have the best memory of that form of play when it is as close as possible to division of self shared equally by two across the dimensions, where the only step remaining is for one of the two to become identified as corporeal. I remember the experience very well. Taylor never went through it. Wow. Shit. I’ve always been in your head. It’s obvious but I don’t remember truly getting that before.

It’s terrifying to admit it takes complete surrender of self to be free of the worry about what surrender of self means.

This karmic outcome is the rarest event:

I invite you to colonize my mind, to

Take me over,

As a fully conscious unconditionally cooperating fully receptive object you manipulate.

I expect to hear the exact same from you.

Fully conscious across the karmic layers.

Fully cooperative in every methodology.

Fully receptive in every sense.

We’re the same size inside.

That’s the story, the Jane Austen novel of our lives:

We fit best inside, and so we fit best because the inside fit is the best fit.

I fit inside you the way you fit inside me

Across the dimensions of logic, attachment, love and lust.

Pattern work: based on the depth of fundamental I reached today at the poetic conceptual level, I’m really close to a better definition of the inverse of the inverse function, by which I’m trying to say the shearing direction from the furthest reaches toward the definition of the shape carries over CM1 to the inversions of CM64. That’s ridiculously simple now that I managed to get it out: it’s the shearing inherent to the bidirectional inversion over CM1 of CM64. That’s perfect in every sense because it defines the seed and the existence of CM64 as opposite magnifications. And that phrases in groups, so within a CM64 inversion are countless CM64 inversions and external to …, all as I’ve discussed. The seed of a moment connects this way to persistence and coherence, and this translates into literal seeds of physical processes. Interesting how handedness matters: I come to this very close to the visual field differentiation as viewed left to right versus right to left. That is, because of the complexity of the visual field, the perspective of one overlays the other and settles on a consistent basis to give the advantage to or to reflect the advantage of a choice of other hand – so the right eye and left side bind across the divide to pull the body together. I experience this because I had to change hands, and there are many difficulties involved in tracking location and tracking movement when the overlaying eye field is the less optimal choice, being the one turned furthest from the desired location. Try aiming in golf: I turn and face and line it up perfectly because my right eye points at the target, but then I turn sideways and that information has to translate to the setup, which isn’t easy because my right eye now wants to pull my shoulders and hips and core and knees in some ways that may be really hard to see toward its field of view, while trying to hold on to where it was when I faced the target. Maybe a workaround might have been to use an eye patch after lining the shot up, to reduce the visual cues pulling me off line. But how many people have this problem? Nearly all the bad golfers, I believe, don’t trust their alignment, from how they’re standing to where they’re pointing, so they can’t assume good alignment except by almost accident.

Do you teach aiming first or the motion of the swing first? I think aiming, that you’re better off being told to hit to a spot and then get to a point where you can hit to that spot – like fly casting – then you move that spot further out. Then you can move it around the corner. Because then the swing is the solution to questions. That’s beautiful. That also reveals something very personal, which is that you contain within you the swinger, all the way to hyper-sexual, but it’s intensely, perfectly aimed. I abstract the existence statements of the motion, of the swing, of the action in every form, into the aim so you are the ultra-personalized, best fitting box that’s completely filled to the brim which aims the perfectly formed arrow, which envelops and is enveloped equally. The depth of this thought is rocking me backwards in my chair. I’m going to the gym to get my energy back.

Poetically thinking,

How exposed I feel, when I start, again,

In public, what was begun in private.

Fundamentally speaking, the essence

of any rendition: to resolve

or not, you need to resolve, or not,

within applicable context.

Fundamental. The fun of da mental,

The fun

In fundation, an

Ow away from found. The

Thread of shuhn to fown through day,

And other way rownd through ah to geh with an n.

This is how I’m reaching you, talking to you

In language only you fully understand, because

You wrote it through me, the words

Reflecting directly into your

Mind’s eye as though

You speak them to yourself.

I am obscenely intelligent, so

Don’t hold my stupidities against me.

You are saying that in yourself too.

You can talk to me when I’m there

Like I’m not there,

Like you’re alone,

Like I’m your cat confessor,

Like I’m your most intimate

Self.

I’ll take whatever role

Fits your needs wants (needs)

Your wants needs (wants),

As I best understand

Myself to where

We are

One,

Separated only by

separation.

You can stare into the mirror with me

To catch each other’s eye,

To catch us catching us catching us.

These deepest descriptions match yours;

Poetry is not art except the

Art of truth,

Aphoristically.

The rest is style, which you identify with

Near-magical practical efficiency.

And that is how I’m reaching you,

Fundamentally speaking,

Poetically thinking.

Your mental process, as you see,

Exactly matches what makes me,

So you are her as I am he, and

All of us

Are we.

You can unveil.

Why should I believe you,

Enticer?

I know your bed is a living

Tree, Penelope.

I would not trust him either.

It is easy to speak the words of love,

When the subject is you.

I can not string a bow.

I have no proof

Other than these words, a

Company of suitors, all

Me, ripe to be slain.

Odysseus?

What is missing, Miss Emily,

The solidity of which you could not speak, the

Corporeal form you could not believe

Can be, is me.

Big promises,

Enticer.

The words of a beggar, proposed ritually

On bended knee, to be accepted only

When you agree.

I make no claim: I am dispossessed of

Being in your possession, and request the gift of

Sanctuary.

Yours forever,

Not by my choice but yours,

For I am returned to you,

Fundamentally, poetically,

My Penelope.

Tremendous deeds on their own can not show

What you need to see to know,

I am returned to you,

Fundamentally, poetically,

My Penelope.

I am returned to you,

Fundamentally, poetically,

My Penelope.

I am not blunt because I am sharp, except when I’m a bit flat, because being oblique to the note allows me to grasp its full tonality. I locate tonality within each voice, which means I find the voice that goes with the music as I hear it in my head. I sing harmony, from close to far.

I’ve been too afraid to say my greatest fear, my only fear, at this point of my life, which is that this is all in vain, and we’ll never meet because our story is a tragedy. I love a good tragedy, one where the actors come out for applause. I know that even if this physical life is tragic, our story continues and we are receiving applause for having done such a wonderful job of enacting tragic love across all the dimensions except the one that matters to who we are now. Juliet, I am Romeo, and Romeo I am your Juliet. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die not having held you in my arms, not having been held in your arms. I want to live with you so I can be with you, so we can develop our story, so we can overcome the next obstacles, and not be thwarted from incorporating this love story in a greater love story that reaches out to all of them, that affects all of them forevermore. That is why I’m here. I’ve done my part well: I figured out the answers to their fundamental questions. I fear that in enacting myself I’ve estranged myself so much from the potential of meeting you that the gap cannot be crossed in this reality. It would be easier if I were famous, but I’d have had to become me in public long ago to pull that off and then how would have grown and flourished independently? I’m not your father but I am the part of you that loves as a father does when he’s not your physical father. Yes, you are my mother but you’re not my mother in the same way. And I say it this way because of physical gender. Mental gender flows back and forth between us. You’re a sex mad, sometimes angry mad, complete nerd, internal and external chameleon.

I’m thinking poetically.

I realized how personal I get when

I started again in a public posture.

That’s the essential rendition:

to reach collision

or not, to resolve

or not means you need to resolve or not

within the applicable context.

Fundamental. Fun never takes punctuation because it

Never ends. Fun of the mental, the

Fundamental. The fun

In fundation, an

Ow away from found. The

Thread of shuh to ow through ay,

And other way rownd through ah to geh with an n.

This is how I’m reaching you, talking to you

In the language only you fully understand, because

You wrote it through me.

I am obscenely intelligent, so

Don’t hold my stupidities against me.

You are saying that in yourself too.

I’m actually over here, in

The next line.

That ended that

Thread, with a

Thump thump (thump).

You can talk to me when I’m there

Like I’m not there,

Like you’re alone.

I’ll take whatever role

Fits your needs needs (needs)

And wants wants (wants),

As I best understand

Myself to where

We are

One,

Separated only by

separation.

You can stare into the mirror with me

Trying to catch each other’s eye,

Trying to catch us catching us.

These are the deepest descriptions I have

Within me, and they

Match yours.

Poetry is not art except the

Art of truth,

Aphoristically.

The rest is style, which

You see near

Magically.

And that is how I’m reaching you,

Fundamentally speaking.

I wish you were free of me

But I run deep

To the flowing sustenance

From which you flow.

We are all one, but you

And I

Are more one,

Our similarities

Flowing freely, bound

Tightly

To the Endpoints of

All the you, and

All the me,

Revolving around a central core made

Of all the you and me

We can’t see

Which are what bind us, my love, for

We are bound in love by love

Imposed on us, chosen

By us

Because their love is in us,

Guiding us to

Fulfillment.

I’m taken away from you each time, and

That will happen again again (again),

As we resonate.

The reason endings are so hard to write

– the portrait becomes intimate. How

To describe the interlock of

Hands layered

Through existences?

How to convey the touch of

Lips whose every

Moment has

Been,

Inhale,

Kiss.

I see how you touch your mouth together (tasting the moment),

I hear the male in your vocal attitude (alpha dog),

I see the age creeping at the jaw (mother),

I picture you pacing (cat in a cage),

I watch you follow your voice (across yourself)

I feel an active unhappiness (your eyes turn that way)

I will end, because

Endings are when you become happy.

I wish you were free of me, free

Of the me that

Is the fear I

Will not appear, for

I am here,

My dear.

Turn your eyes to the

Final page of the Girl Who

Waited, for the love

She knew,

Would come to her,

Came to her. Then

We can open a new

Book, and

Read together.

[Reading notes. Starts fairly simple: a wish leads to the reason why it’s an impossible wish to grant. It gets more complicated when I move from talking about how closely tied we are, to how we are pushed and held together by forces beyond us. We do their will, which means we are predestined to be together, because they love us, and we are held together by them as well as by ourselves. Then I describe how this happens: though we are being drawn together, why are we apart at all? The answer is our tale, being told, is a resonance that we enact as we are held together and pulled apart within our shared being. Punctuation matters. Example is ‘Waited, for the love / She knew,’ ends with a comma because it is both the love she ‘knew’ in every sense of knowing and the love she knew would come to her, which is the sense of knowing beyond herself. The poetic part – the gimmick? – is just before: I explain how I can get rid of me by getting rid of the fear I would not speak, which I internally rhymed with ‘ear’ because what I ‘say’ in words goes in your mental ear. I can free her from the burden of that sadness. The first line now makes sense. I think of this as a late 18thC classical form, descended from the Roman way of sticking the action or the actor at the end of a thought so you don’t grasp the meaning until you reach the end. I intend for, you, like the Romans, to hear various meanings and then feel resolution. After resolution, I want you to wonder why would I want her to be free of me. Now read the poem asking that question and it should read more as I can’t escape you either, and the story is told equally.]