Meditations in an Emergency by Frank OāHara
Ā Am I to become profligate as if I were a blonde? Or religious as if I were French?
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Each time my heart is broken it makes me feel more adventurous (and how the same names keep recurring on that interminable list!), but one of these days thereāll be nothing left with which to venture forth.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Why should I share you? Why donāt you get rid of someone else for a change?
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā I am the least difficult of men. All I want is boundless love.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Even trees understand me! Good heavens, I lie under them, too, donāt I? Iām just like a pile of leaves.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā However, I have never clogged myself with the praises of pastoral life, nor with nostalgia for an innocent past of perverted acts in pastures. No. One need never leave the confines of New York to get all the greenery one wishesāI canāt even enjoy a blade of grass unless I know thereās a subway handy, or a record store or some other sign that people do not totally regret life. It is more important to affirm the least sincere; the clouds get enough attention as it is and even they continue to pass. Do they know what theyāre missing? Uh huh.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā My eyes are vague blue, like the sky, and change all the time; they are indiscriminate but fleeting, entirely specific and disloyal, so that no one trusts me. I am always looking away. Or again at something after it has given me up. It makes me restless and that makes me unhappy, but I cannot keep them still. If only I had grey, green, black, brown, yellow eyes; I would stay at home and do something. Itās not that I am curious. On the contrary, I am bored but itās my duty to be attentive, I am needed by things as the sky must be above the earth. And lately, so great has their anxiety become, I can spare myself little sleep.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Now there is only one man I love to kiss when he is unshaven. Heterosexuality! you are inexorably approaching. (How discourage her?)
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā St. Serapion, I wrap myself in the robes of your whiteness which is like midnight in Dostoevsky. How am I to become a legend, my dear? Iāve tried love, but that hides you in the bosom of another and I am always springing forth from it like the lotusāthe ecstasy of always bursting forth! (but one must not be distracted by it!) or like a hyacinth, āto keep the filth of life away,ā yes, there, even in the heart, where the filth is pumped in and courses and slanders and pollutes and determines. I will my will, though I may become famous for a mysterious vacancy in that department, that greenhouse.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Destroy yourself, if you donāt know!
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā It is easy to be beautiful; it is difficult to appear so. I admire you, beloved, for the trap youāve set. Itās like a final chapter no one reads because the plot is over.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āFanny Brown is run awayāscampered off with a Cornet of Horse; I do love that little Minx, & hope She may be happy, thoā She has vexed me by this Exploit a little too. āPoor silly Cecchina! or F:B: as we used to call her. āI wish She had a good Whipping and 10,000 pounds.ā āMrs. Thrale.
Ā Ā Ā Iāve got to get out of here. I choose a piece of shawl and my dirtiest suntans. Iāll be back, Iāll re-emerge, defeated, from the valley; you donāt want me to go where you go, so I go where you donāt want me to. Itās only afternoon, thereās a lot ahead. There wonāt be any mail downstairs. Turning, I spit in the lock and the knob turns.
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