So back to my limp cock...I began to realize what was happening as I lulled myself to sleep with a few tears of pity meanwhile wrapped up in Ramona...” It’s a sad lumberjack who can’t climb a fallen tree” I had stoicism and tenacity and a partially broken spirit...I had misplaced my detailed notes on hara-kiri and the implications of my junkyard reproductive system had me in the sweats...until I remembered Tanya...Tanya was a svelte and beautiful lawyer whom I had seen a couple times only a month prior in The city by the bay...she had been the on and off lover of a friend of mine, a friend whom I could not figure out, a lawyer with a smooth charm but no discernable openings into his character, a friend that I knew only so well...this frustrated me. He possessed an antique virtue that drove women crazy--but what drove these same women to the brink of hostile lust was his seeing indifference to their beauty or charm...he had a beautiful and grotesque nose, and the angles of Agamemnon framed his face...one just could not crack his shell...conversation after conversation revolved around art or poetry, both master subjects of his, or some kind of lawyer politics, always interesting, but never about him or his larceny...was he a knight or a jester...what was really there?
So I had met Tanya a few different times and I could never figure the two of them together...like a dying consumptive room, there was no hints of smoke from the friction or combustion, no orange terribly sweet romance...just the dull familiarity of a shared past...not that it was any of my business...but I had always been interested in the possibility of fifty demerits with her...I had even told my ex-wife of her pale and flappered demure...her 1930’s elegance...and the ex had something for the lawyer and even suggested a swap with merciless abandon...and I had given it a moment of thought, holding my hand to my bad heart and mulling it over...but it never did happen...so this, see, that you understand...
However, the incident in question and one most relevant to my current problem with Ramona, began on a night I had read some poems along with T.M. Ballardo and the insane Vinnie Bend at a café in Frisco, a fundraising event for the campaign of said lawyer friend, who was running for city council...I carried them trembling along a few chosen verses and I could see Tanya in the audience taking in the poet while sipping a glass of merlot, with her business attire that could look so sexy, her smart black Argentinean eye...meanwhile people were crowding around the television to see the incoming returns , all the wheezy bourgeois and the retinue of bohemian private incomed artists...it was a crew of luminaries of the underground, mixed with staple lawyers with grey window-payned suits and stripes of pin...most of them had been dipped in honey and fed to the lesbians...After T.M. had spiked our soft drinks with vodka and we had a few sheets in the wind I bumped up against her and we had some pleasantries exchanged along with some blue and some rose and a surprising color appeared and it was red, a savored dark red energy in which her phone # was subtly placed in glided gold letters and which were copied down on clean white paper and handed to me for a possible future encounter...So that’s where it started...
I called her a week later, and I had been thinking about her and how repressed her sexual drive seemed to be, which was instant and lasting curiosity and possibility, for underneath there laid a driving insanity to fuck, or at least one could hope there would be that...maybe it wasn’t that she seemed repressed, but that she was altogether consumed at all times in holding back her tremendous desire to copulate furiously and repeatedly...I think it was this...this that was drawing her towards me...and she must have been thinking something along the same lines, like a baseless fabric of concentric circles, each with a different position, tiny photos of the myriad ways in which we could come together in the great genital organization, the super weather system of the Bay intra-uterine life...
-Michael Price
