Alysse Aallyn

Category: Relationships

  • Inspired Pleasure – the dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

        7PM – Sat 23 July 77

                              Devon and I went for a long walk today, had a great 

    talk.  He told me all about his passionate relationship with

    English girl – asking “Do you really want to know?” I did – I managed to 

    be very hands off.  Said he’d written her “lyrical love-letters” and 

    she is saving money to come to US at Christmas.

                                Bit of a downer to find other people have split 

    minds like me. I told him a little about Ryder and even more about my husband. I had to hope he wouldn’t see it “retaliation” for what he’d told me.  (R would have.) Fantasies can be ugly if they prevent you from experiencing reality.

                                We hugged – he left – I know he thinks I’m too 

    “intense”.  I was stupid enough to read him my peach poem.  On 

    the other hand, if a guy can’t handle my poetry where am I? R only likes poems he knows are about him.

                                Wrote a whiny letter to Avril (who usually can handle 

    whiny letters).  Good today – bike, swimming, plus my walk with D. Long letter to Mom and Dad.

                                Reading Stella Gibbons’ Cold Comfort Farm – 

    can’t stay grumpy – laughing too hard.  Settling into my spaceship – 

    my own body – first day of the rest of my life. Listening to wonderfully crazy modern opera on the radio.

        Sun 24 July 77

        4PM

                                 Wrote 4 pages of A Demon Roused. Horribly

    dissatisfied. Patricia Highsmith on the suspense novel no damn 

    help at all. Everything I’ve ever written pure dunder written by a 

    dunderhead. Restrained myself from calling Ryder to yell at him.

                                Face facts.  Left DC June 4. This coming 

    month has to be gotten through. Feel I my “breakdown” I suffered last spring was a crisis of identity.  Attacked by the writing thing 

    (no money, no approval, no relationships) attacked by the relationship thing (R too critical, wanting to “change” me.)  Starving myself. Long mad midnight walks rampaging thru Chevy Chase with dogs. The ENDLESS  Devon situation only  explicable when seen in this light. 

    (He’s TOO good looking – too much fantasy.)

                              Now about my book. New beginning ALL wrong and

     I couldn’t figure out why. The characters seem alive.

    1. First Person Difficult. My husband always said 
    2. omniscient narrator no longer possible, making 
    3. me want to do it. However, I have to admit you 
    4. need to be somebody – an extra character and that’s a
    5.  bigger pain in the neck.

                                      2)    Scene Problematic. I’ve GOT to get these people out of England.  

            It’s artificial.  How about if I don’t say where it is?  Will the specificity cops come after me?

                                       3)    Format (Suspense novel) rough because I have to be

     the one who knows what’s going on and I want to write my first draft in a narcoleptic state. Means I have to be happy making a huge ness with a million 

    false starts and then write the thing ALL OVER when I know what’s going on. 

    But I feel time running out on me. Goddam it.

                             I should be happy to explore. Why all this pressure?  Two novels unaccepted, why write a fourth?  Am I deliberately trying to drive myself to the 

    brink of insanity? Also I HATE Sunday because the pool is packed, no stores are open, and there’s no mail.

                              Devon and his roommates Blair & Brian drop by and I 

    struggle to appear sane. Hard for me. 

        6PM

                              Called R.  to yell at him. He wasn’t there – thank GOD. 

    Maybe I just want to punish him.  He certainly deserves it. 

                                 1:30 PM Mon 25 July 77

                              Dark night of the soul finally over. Very athletic today – 

    feel deliciously tired. Decide I should go back to Washington no 

    matter what.  My choices are my choices. My happiness can’t be dependent on how people treat me. I plan to use my time to become powerful – to be the person I’m supposed to be.  In the drugstore line I was reading up on the showbiz personalities – nobody interesting before 30 and I have a few years yet.

                              Forget about weight – just follow & learn to love 

    “virtuous routine”. (I’m a size seven – that’s pretty good.) Today it 

    POURED rain –  night baseball Devon wanted to attend out of the 

    question.  He suggested we switch to a movie when he called this am. 

    Still feel stilted with him unfortunately.

                              Assault on library. Planning to ransack the place. 

    Leafed through Helen Hayes (poor woman); enjoying Thurber’s 

    My World and Welcome To It .

        Tues. 26 July 77 9:40 AM

                                Sitting on stonewall in full sunlight in my black bikini 

    waiting for pool to open. Swim and sunbathe till ll:30 when mail comes. 

    After 7 pm I can return – that way I miss the crowds.

                              Exercise, coffee, 3 glasses water. The Regime.

                              I’m down to $4. Embarrassing to be taken out last night 

    by Devon & his roommates. (We saw Star Wars. Childish, but they were into it.) Sent letter to Mom & D asking for stock certificates. They 

    won’t like it.

                              Dinner should have been nice but barbecue very messy. 

    Wore my tightest jeans and my pink French “Trés chic” t-shirt.         Devon surprised me by talking on and on about how beautiful I am.  Started to get stoked  – in fact I was horny as hell. I would have taken the three seminary students on if I could have avoided the interpersonal madness that would result. They all have beautifully athletic bodies. But I’m starting to get a feeling that if I just sit in my deer blind a bit longer Devon will come to me.

                              Every now and then I get a bad “Ryder – flashback”, like some synaptic slipup. What will I think of this years from now? Mirror images ache, then fade.

                                Cold Comfort Farm exactly 100 pages too long (but I 

    think most books are).  Take a long hot Jean Nate bubble bath and read The Thornbirds.

        2:30 PM Wed July 27 – 77

                                Masturbation is the better part of valor. Don’t make 

    decisions ruled by sex. Bike ride combined with cold shower doesn’t work.

    Must husband my wattage (joke). Too bad  sex is 

    such a fast way to get to know someone.

                              First draft of Demon so far bony and spare. Neatly 

    boxed “components” = “write your own novel”.  Trying to exterminate “dead” patches.  Wish I had done this with The Mass at St. Secaire – 

    but in those days I was in the “throw in everything you think of and 

    take it out later” school.  I like constructing this awkward armature better. Lean and mean superior to flagellate and winnow.

                              Will I ever let Ryder see my new body, my new confidence?  

    He will hang on for dear life and I don’t want that.  I want to go back to dancing but Ryder prefers I have neither security NOR money.)  Think I’ll look for a sublet – easier to impress a private owner than a credit union.

    I prefer living alone. Painstaking cultivation of intense privacy in the midst of a crowd has always been my forte.

                                Mom and Dad called – acting all worried. Apologizing

     for giving Ryder my number. I put on a good show of being completely ”over” him but I can see they don’t want me moving back to Washington and prefer Mrs. Duvall’s ski chalet option.  (My cynical side tells me it’s just cheaper.)  I act like I have connections to the literary life in DC and they don’t know any better.

                              Thornbirds is teaching me the great unpleasantness of 

    what publishers define as “a good read”. Contrary to my previous belief unfortunately the Victorian period has not ended. Forced to skip the war, potted history and scenery descriptions just to keep  going. 

                              7:30 PM Finished Thornbirds.  Neither Dane’s death nor Justine’s love affair rang true for me. Uh oh.  Danger signs.  My taste thoroughly out of kilter with the market.

                              Couldn’t swim – 3,000 spectators at some sort of race 

    in the pool. So went to library – checked out twelve books – bio, history murder mysteries. Alec Waugh, Somerset Maugham, Vyvyan Holland, –

    Hugh Walpole. Evelyn Waugh, of course. At this very moment R is 

    doing his very last show of 7:30 Live. Will they have a party or wake? 

     Probably go out drinking at the Shalimar, try to pick up dancers he can hector and assault. Time for me to go walking and see how the other (99%) live.

    HOT PROWL

    Don’t wake up.

    I surveil by night

    Your chiseled torso

    Slacken with exhaustion.

    Touching things that once

    You touched,

    Listing to your apnea –

    I turn away before you turn.

    Making peace with all my choices.

    It’s worth everything;

    Winning in divorce a

    Hard-won superpower:

    Invisibility

        2:45 PM Thurs 28 July 77

                              Loving myself today. I am very tan.  Hair strawberry 

    blond and my stretchmarks look like silk moiré. Any sense of inadequacy must be pounced upon and shored up – work like a beaver at his dam. 

    No worries, few fears. Daddy sent $ which I deposit in my acct. Since I can’t cash a check anywhere I eat what’s here; pickled beets and plain grits. Gallons of water to even it all out. Shake the old body out after 26 years.

                              Decide two people create love – I refuse to do it alone.  

    Reading Ford Madox Ford and grooving on his Violet versus Elsie 

    problems.  Schadenfreude. Years later poor Elsie says,  “I should have ignored everybody and divorced him.”  Alas, Ford is a self-centered fool.  

    Not a simpatico character.  However the period is a favorite with me. Mail hideously dull.  Nothing from Harcourt. Will my “Westerns” editor have thenerve to turn down an author they’ve got 105,000 copies of?  Yes. They’re all a bunch of weenies, frankly. Bike ride.

                              8:45 PM Finished article for the McManus mag about 

    Shadowe – “Island in Common” – 750 words – sent it off with letter.  

    Mission accomplished. Thinking of substituting a night ride for my walk.  

    Triggers fewer yearnings.

                             Ford’s moved to the US and I’m at the end of my tether with him. Tried 

    reading Jane Novak’s Razor Edge of Balance on V. Woolf – but she’s no threat –

    – Lingo Academico virtually impenetrable.

                              Loved reading Fowles on the Fr Lt’s Woman – even though he has a “tin ear” about the Victorians – their “failure” to depict “a man and woman in bed together” ! (How about My Secret Life!!!) He’s the real thing all right even though he launched 1st draft without any research. (It shows.) 

    I’m going to stop freaking out about how little I know London.

                                Full of joy & life & strength & immortality & pep.  Now thinking fondly of DC.  Resist the impulse to call myself a turkey for even MENTIONING living together to R. (I said in my phone message I had to have a house for dogs.)  

    I can see him crying over his beer at the strip club. Insisting his wussdom is independence. I feel and look mighty thin – but refuse the temptation to weigh 

    myself. Size seven is good enough. Took my walk looking indulgently at couples with children thinking, “This too is within my reach.”

                                Mail full of dull rejections NO interest or acceptances. But the UNITY MITFORD I’d ordered came which I’m reading now.  Must write about  sisters someday. It’s a trip.

      11:12 AM Sat 30 Jul 77

                                Going out tonight with Devon to see Annie Hall, that laff riot he hasn’t seen.  This is one of the things I love about life – it’s so unpredictable!  Give these guys space to stew they will eventually DO something. We had a nice phone conversation. I can tell he has “traumatized” himself by thinking he “lured” me fruitlessly here.  I tell him hardly, I’m writing 8 p. a day (of course it will all have to be thrown out) getting a tan and reading piles of books.  (All true.) Too cold & overcast today for pool though and now its raining.

                              Starting to get a feeling D and I will end up in bed. 

    It’s inevitable. How I crave that tight young flesh…Bet you $5. Will 

    wear my faded cerise linen jumpsuit, high heels and Nefertiti necklace. 

    Stoking! 

        4:15 PM Sun 31 July 77 Deck

                                Devon found Annie Hall so painful it took awhile for him to speak.  I was surprised but patient.   I couldn’t have dreamed up a movie more likely to focus all our reservations.  The scene where Annie tells Alvy she misses him made me think of poor Ryder – the separate fragile uniqueness of each human soul – and I could tell Devon was “feeling” his memories too.

                              We sneaked a pizza (a whole pizza) into the theatre 

    so we could come right back here for wine and coffee and more wine – 

    took three hours to get to the point of making love. 

                              In a fairly daring move D opened the buttons of my jumpsuit and stroked my stomach pulling down first one shoulder and then another to play with my breasts. Lovely feeling our bodies surge together. He’s good with his hands and has the most sensitive nipples of any man I’ve been with. At last I suggested we go to bed – the couch was really too uncomfortable. D went down on me – his body is the most gorgeous since the history of time – mountains, valleys, crevasses 

    – it’s like rock climbing making love to this man. He insisted on coming outside me which startled me somewhat, but after asking about my “protection” (IUD) fortunately abandoned this technique the second time.

                              He looks at me in a funny way like he wants to say 

    something but he doesn’t say it. I tried to tell him I’ve learned so much from our 5 year friendship – he seemed unable to take it in. He obviously fears the future and his memory is so bad – after the terrors of his childhood he thinks the whole past is all bad news.  It’s like he’s afraid to remember ANYTHING.  That would be the worst thing for a writer. 

    You dare not fear the past. Rhythms can’t evolve from longing alone.

                              We woke up, grapenuts & coffee, went swimming, sat on deck, watched tennis on TV.  Every time I changed clothes he said “the sight of you naked turns me on” and we made love again.

                              Tomorrow is the first of August – whole new beginning. 

    Try to see myself at 33, with a lawn and a bra and a trash compactor. 

    Freedom is key. No mail. Reading Geo Woodcock’s critical study of Orwell.

                              6:45 PM  Dark as night and pouring rain. Obsessing 

    about  D’s body – can’t get it out of my mind and our 22 hours together.  

    Welcome obsessions; R’s slate cleared. Did I use him? Is he “Brand X?”

     Thinking of all the things I wish I’d said to Devon.  He’s so intellectual yet so impermeable.   Strange delicate kisses – as impossible to get inside his mouth as his mind.  Loud thunder, lightning. 

  • Inspired Pleasure – the dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    6:30 PM 9 Aug 76 – Shalimar

                     Writing carefully so as not to mess up my fresh 

    polish.  Got here early – Fessenden bus much better.  Rick 

    Marl in tonight talking about R’s divorce.  Said I should hear 

    his wife’s side of the story. (He’s met her.) I don’t want to hear 

    his wife’s side of the story – what would I do if I did know it. 

                    Sounds like they should get a divorce – she’s not resisting so 

    obviously she had as many problems with him as he had with her. 

    The fact that he spent so much time here is bad news for any marriage.

                     I was very impressed by his job – a TV news director 

    is a king – he sits in a the control booth with all the camera angles 

    in front of him and tells everyone what to do. I said nothing, but I 

    enjoyed the way they looked at me – very admiringly – where did 

    SHE come from. Little do they know – R won’t tell them. If they 

    dine at the Shalimar, they’ll find out. Fortunately, they’re all good 

    family men – eat lunch out of a cooler then rush home to fix the 

    automatic garage door opener and read a bedtime story to the 

    little ones. 

                     Reading Mortal Wounds and loving it. Fun to compare

     the George Sand period to the Notorious Woman TV series last year. 

    Went on a picnic with R. then saw Robert Shaw in Swashbuckler.

    Ghastly flick. I wasn’t too rude because R liked it. Told him he should 

    have seen Anne of the Thousand Days.

            Sent out 12 poems. But I’m trying to force myself to stop writing 

    poetry and concentrate on novel. There’s no financial point to poetry

     – Alas.

    11:35 am Thurs 12 Aug 76

                     I’d like to write but I must pack for the trip and it junks up my

     head. Mss, 2 ribbons (in case) correctype, The Romantic Egoists, 

    Zelda and Scott Fitzgerald’s Scrapbooks, and the wonderful 

    portrait by Julia Cameron of the two little girls clutching each other 

    which I see as the cover of my book. Sad to see the way Fitzgerald

     tried to force his wishes on the universe – force it to see things – 

    to be – his way.  No wonder he admired the rich – they’re the only 

    ones who sometimes – very infrequently –  get away with that. But 

    they are not enviable nevertheless – it’s always a naked emperor 

    situation.  Zelda’ s constant references to “not having a past” interest 

    me exceedingly – that way madness most definitely lies.  This is what 

    happens to people who insist on “living in the present”; they become amnesiacs.  Idea for a poem.

    F. SCOTT FITZGERALD:

    “To the Spoils Belong the Victor”

    The butler’s name is Gin;

    He never gets the girl.

    The Heart’s Café is terraced –

    Cantilevered exits exalt

    No core. At the Pony Bar

    Payment is upfront;

    Robert Service and Booth Tarkington

    Left prints on ice;

    The service is bad but

    There’s a reason for everything.

    Back at the Alhambra someone who might be Ernest

    Puts the moves on someone

    Who looks like Zelda or possibly it was

    The other way around.

    They never get these stories straight.

    Here’s the one they played last year:

    Sole is déclassé but at least

    There’s always caviar.

    Look on, look down, look it up or read

    The menu.

    Floorshow Tonight: Van Wyck Brooks &

    Edmund Wilson Debate:

    Artist = Self-destructive Sport?

    Or Fad? Or Fate?

                      I guess I’ll need  clothes – so I must do laundry.  I also should 

    clean house for poor A – it’s only fair.  No writing; circumstances militate. 

                     R working very hard to get to the point where he can take a 

    vacation – he didn’t get in till 2:45 AM.

    Shalimar – 3:30 PM –13 Aug 76

                     Was sitting on a box of Lite Beer sipping coffee and 

    reading Miss Read when Carmen warned me that the boss 

    might fire me for reading. Apparently writing he doesn’t mind 

    so much, probably because he can’t imagine anyone keeping 

    it up longer than 10 mins at a time. R. will be here soon, then 

    we hit the bank, pick up my stuff and we’re on the road for the 

    Finger Lakes.  Five hours alone in the car.  I find I have a lot 

    of inhibitions against voicing boundaries in our relationship – 

    mainly because I don’t want to be lied to.  I want to find out 

    how things really are. For example, he spent last night in 

    Gaithersburg with his wife. Now her I’m jealous of, because

     he used to love her, used to think she was a “catch” and 

    was surprised and gratified that she “descended” into 

    marriage with him.  

                     I probably won’t ask him if they had sex because 

    it would be making too much of it. He’s said before he wouldn’t,

     and she definitely wouldn’t. But I can’t believe a woman who 

    knows she’s losing a man might not change in her feelings – 

    just to see what power she has left. I would, if he wanted the 

    divorce and I didn’t. Will I be able to tell just by looking at him? 

    R feels the right to be jealous and possessive over me, which

     I don’t grudge him since I’m naturally monogamous. He feels 

    no discomfort making rules for me. But he should.

    6:00 PM Saturday 14 Aug 76 Finger Lakes

                     Lying on the bed in our tiny TINY two room cabin – 

    with just a curtain separating the rooms – I was going to write 

    here about how much I love my job (I really miss dancing so 

    much when I’m away from it – the ideal thing would be three 

    sets a day for life) – when R came in, threw himself on me,

     tore my clothes off, began kissing my breasts and exploring 

    my tan lines and pressing his beautiful valued body hard hard

     hard into mine – and you know what happened next.  If he turns 

    the fan on high I don’t think the other campers can hear our little 

    yips and screams.  At least I hope not. We spent last night in his

     grandmother’s house in Binghamton, New York. 

                     She bedded us down in separate rooms – he gave me a

     long lecture about how you have to respect the house rules of 

    whoever you’re staying with – and then who do you think showed 

    up in the middle of the night saying he couldn’t sleep. It is ecstatic 

    to have sex almost without moving – this must be what Tantra is like. 

    We were directly over her and the bed creaked so we didn’t move a 

    muscle – absorbed and shed each other like snakes. Wonderful.

                     Next stop was R’s cousins who own the cabins. I don’t know 

    what to say about them – plastic flowers and Sonny James. My state 

    of deep shock probably resembled mental retardation. Some people’s 

    houses are frighteningly ugly. Their clock has eyes,  they keep the 

    plastic on the lampshades. I just sat there while the ethnic and sex 

    jokes filtered around me.  Who could blame R’s first wife for 

    shunning this bunch? 

                     I would not choose them for buddies either. And the fact

     that they are renting us a cabin doesn’t appear to mean we will 

    also get privacy – so I have taken to wearing my glasses. Number 

    one – I don’t see as well – number two – it creates a kind of screen 

    between me and them.

                     The Lake is beautiful – but I don’t need to go in more than 

    twice a day – I also don’t have the patience for the fish-a-thons that 

    absorb the rest of them, dawn till dusk. 

                     Plus one time waterskiing was plenty.  Since dinner is a 

    vast barbecue down at the beach every night and we only have 

    sandwiches for lunch and cereal for breakfast there is not that 

    much to do, thank God. Sadly the dinners are followed by 

    hours of dancing, drinking and fighting.  I go to bed early to read 

    but R stays and plays “peacemaker”. Tonight he says he’s going 

    to let them kill each other and join me. Therefore I can set up my 

    typewriter on the kitchen table and get right to it. People keep 

    coming to bring me coffee and cookies – I think they really 

    want to see a writer “in action” – at the end of this trip I MAY 

    be 20 lbs heavier. The rest of my time is spent sunning and reading.  

                     Unfortunately St. Secaire going VERY badly. Complete

     horseshit, alas.

             I’ve started it four separate times. I think at this point I just 

    have to keep going and hope it’s possible to clean up the mess later.

                       Tuesday 17 Aug 76 7:30 PM

                     Outside a fair number of people, all high as kites, 

    revving their engines and swearing they’re leaving and never 

    coming back. I don’t know if anybody’s actually going to GO 

    or not but I wish they would.  No wonder R had nothing to do 

    with these people for four years – he may conveniently blame 

    his wife but the truth is none of them can stand each other. 

    Pack of wolverines. I’ve been left totally alone and am well 

    out of it – they may have forgotten I am even here. Last night R 

    was so depressed he just lay on the bed exhausted by them. I 

    tried to explain to him about resentment and the resulting succubae 

    and incubi thus created. (Subject of my novel, in fact.) 

                     He said something about “our next 25 years” that just 

    floored me. Even my husband didn’t talk like that.  Remember 

    saying to my father – I would be fine if I could only find a man who

     treated me as well as I treated him. Dad – so ready to take 

    anybody’s part over mine,  said, Has it ever occurred to you at 

    you might be hard to live with?  Such a typical Daddy remark – 

    the more you think about it the worse it gets.  

                     Well, R treats me better than anyone else so far. 

    He’s almost talked me into looking for a new job when I get back – 

    and that’s a lot. But if he wants to introduce me around, can’t lie 

    about what I do, etc etc. (This group – doesn’t know about my job –

     he says they’d eat me – and him – alive. I can scarcely believe 

    they would take the moral high ground with me but I suppose 

    anything’s possible.) 

                  Tried to read a Redbook someone brought – 

    shouldn’t do it.  So depressing.  Could never write like that or 

    be like that. If that’s the standard this whole thing is hopeless. 

    Then I picked up a book by Grace Livingston Hill.  I’m going to 

    include her in my article on female pornographers.

                       R told me he had the impression that if I didn’t have my 

    novel to write I would probably go bananas. I said probably. I tried 

    to prepare him for the very different kind of vacation he’s going to 

    get in Maine – where people very deliberately leave each other alone.

     If somebody sets off down the beach and you wanted also to walk 

    on the beach – you’d turn and go the opposite way. R says in his 

    family that would be grounds for a six-year grudge punctuated by 

    sobbing, screaming and threats of suicide.

    12:10 am

                       Went night fishing with R because he wanted me to.

     Wrote a wonderful poem about Coleridge – just came to me in 

    one piece. Couldn’t really share with R – he doesn’t know who 

    Coleridge is. So I showed him – Haunted Wedding. 

    HAUNTED WEDDING

    The pregnant car disgorges

    Only us. It’s winter.

    Drunk as silver fish

    We beat our gills as light

    As hummingbirds.

    In an amethyst ring

    Of drypoint trees 

    The half-built house

    Gapes and swells

    Its timbers stink of sap.

    Windrill fields occlude

    Our crossing, so you carry me

    High above the thorny osiers.

    We sleep aloft for safety

    Locked and levitating

    In this space of air 

    One season only,

    Unseen by angry outriders;

    Bloodless in our wedding robes

    Like the doubled membranes

    Of the frozen flowers

                     This triggered a fight because he says it wasn’t written 

    for him.  (If he jealously searches my work for other lovers 

    madness is assured.)  He almost talked me into thinking it a 

    bad poem.

                       I feel my mother’s disapproving stare on all of this – “

    don’t ruin what you have by trying to get something else” – as 

    if showing R this poem would  be a deliberate way of hurting him 

    by making him feel inferior – part of her larger accusation that I 

    channel so much energy into writing I’m no good with people and 

    that’s why my relationships suffer.  All I can say is, thank God for 

    my diary.  

                       Writing now with my feet in R’s lap while he plays cards. 

    He strokes my toes from time to time, as if I were a cat. We came in

     from fishing and he just took my pants down – such earthy 

    sexuality has never existed for him. He told me he’s never 

    been so happy.  And as for me? One side of my multi-prismed 

    personality is happy, but some of the other sides are complaining. 

    Difficult to contemplate an existence where I am not mentally alone 

    six hours a day. 

                       One of the reasons I like my job is that it leaves that part 

    of me remarkably intact – dancing is a lot like sleepwalking. If I get 

    another job there’s a strong chance I’ll have to interact with humans. 

    Hell. And we both know how humans can be. Then I might be too 

    exhausted emotionally and battered psychologically to have the 

    energy to write – it’s a serious risk.  Those architects ran roughshod 

    over me. 

  • Inspired Pleasure – The Dance Diary of Alysse Aallyn

                     Fri 16 July 76 – Club Shalimar

                       A & I hung living room paintings today, and the last piece 

    was moved in. Half an hour till my date with Ryder. Will his 

    name mean anything to me in twenty years?  Brought blow dryer,

     change of clothes and unguents sufficient to slap me back into shape 

    after 7 hrs dancing. Idly listening to gossip of Randy 

    (bouncer), Jinx (dancer) and Bobbi (bartender).

                     A and I had pleasant evening last night – wild storm 

    and the power failed. So we went out walking afterwards with 

    dogs & flashlights. Fun looking into people’s houses, seeing 

    them move about with candles. What does the future hold? 

     I worry both that Ryder will be there and that he won’t be there.

     Margery Sharp’s The Faithful Servants has a lot of sweetness.

                       17 July 76

                      Interesting date. I want to write about it but first I have 

    to say today has been a TERRIBLE day – I had to follow ex-stripper 

    named Edie who wore a black lace corset and gloves and carried

     a whip onstage – everything but the donkey, as one of the other 

    dancers remarked. Then I had to listen to loud speculation on 

    how I got the bruise on my ass when it was my turn.

                     But Ryder Arlen. We had a wonderful dinner. He 

    ordered in Italian.  The weirdest thing about him is that he 

    doesn’t like mushrooms. Long dinner, then over to the Gangplank 

    for Irish coffee. He insisted upon carrying me across two puddles – 

    he’s not very big and I was sure he’d get a hernia – but he made it.

                     We got back to Chevy Chase the house looked wonderful – 

    A had obviously slaved for hours. We had her down for a glass of 

    wine, then she went back upstairs. We ended up reading my poetry 

    I didn’t show him the erotic stuff because I didn’t feel the time was right.

     He liked valentine the best – 

    Valentine

    I sent myself in a letter

    Heart-creased

    Like a glove

    Too much folded

    An anecdote

    Too much told

    Dear stranger don’t

    Lose me

    I forgot the rule

    (Hold back a copy)

                       Then we made out for hours. He was deliciously 

    passionate. I said, “You don’t want to end up in bed on the 

    first date, do you?” He said, “You pick the time and the place 

    but I hope it’s inevitable.”

                       I said it was certainly feeling that way but I’d have 

    to get to know him better. I wouldn’t let him take down the 

    top of my dress either.  He left at 2:45 AM. He seems to 

    really care for me – so my worry that I’m just a first experiment 

    after leaving wife seems baseless. He invited me to go crabbing

     tomorrow, then on a four-day cruise sometime in August.

                       Fri 23 July 76 – Tyler St, Chevy Chase, Maryland 

                       R and I have seen each other every day since Fri – 

    I think he’s in love. I could fall if I let myself but something holds me back. 

     I like our relationship now – he drops by the house after work 

    and we’re both in jeans. I think tonight’s the night for sex – 

    first time – I’m nervous but since I love his body I expect 

    to be all right.

                      Adore these slow working mornings. I get up 

    with A (depending on when her first run is – she’s now 

    working courier) to have time to set my hair before leaving 

    at 10. Beautiful walks up Tyler St. Early AM at the Shalimar 

    such a pleasure  – sitting at the bar with my diary balanced 

    on my hipbones, watching the barmaids get ready,  feeling 

    like a character out of Toulouse Lautrec. 

                     Yesterday we met across the street neighbors – 

    one of them is a gorgeous guy named Larry getting a degree

     in Hospital Administration.  Among ourselves we call him 

    “Shoulders” because he has such a gorgeous pair. To see 

    them dimpled with sweat on his way back from a run is to be

     in heaven.  Invited Larry and roommates Garrett and Opal to 

    dinner tomorrow night – if they can come.

    Thurs 22 July 76 – 9:25 Pm

                       God I’m in love. I love his fragile, tense blond body – 

    love holding it. Love looking at his Lorenzo diMedici face. 

    Those blond Italians!  He wouldn’t like to hear me say it – 

    he has a black belt in karate and thinks he’s so tough – but 

    he probably only outweighs me by 20 lbs. Made love all afternoon – 

    he is very skilful – obsessed with my pleasure. Says he doesn’t 

    care if he ever comes – wants to see what gives a woman joy.  

    We fit together exactly  – interlocking puzzle pieces even 

    upside down.  I can feel his feet with my feet – his knees 

    with my knees – it’s like having a mirror body – only with a 

    hard chest and penis. After the first time the relief of the orgasm 

    was so great I wept.  I fell asleep with him inside me.  Wrote 

    a poem about him but don’t know if I want to show him.  If I 

    learned anything from Bruce it’s that people misrepresent. 

    He could be shockable and its early days yet. Today I want 

    to buy a bookcase.

                       Love equals, unfortunately, anxiety attacks – could 

    he possibly love me as much as I love him?  Yesterday walking 

    in the park I expressed fear about him going straight from one 

    serious relationship right into another – but he says he refuses to 

    limit the experience.  Which of course was exactly the right answer.

    The worst part is his trouble with my job. 

                       He says he knows he can’t ask me to quit because

     he can’t support me – I pointed out he wants me to go on the Divers 

    World expedition, and then to Cozumel, and I want to take him to Maine,

     all of which would be impossible if I had a regular job. He says he 

    can deal with it only by avoiding the Shalimar – OK by me as long as 

    I see him outside. He came in today – I got rid of him after a half hour, 

    before my set.

    11:05 AM – Shalimar Tues 27 July 76

                     Feel like throwing out all my diaries. Driveling gush broken 

    up by gushing drivel. But I go right ahead and produce some more.  

    Randy throwing ice and cases of beer, Bobbi cleaning trays, Carmen 

    checking paper towels and me writing. Perfect.

                     We were lying in bed – me and Ryder – I have to lie on his 

    right side because he only has one good ear – and he told me a long 

    purposeless allegory about bullfighting. Can’t tell which of us is the 

    supposed to be the matador. I’m the only one with a poetic license 

    in this relationship.) He said I should just write, and he’s going 

    to see to it.  I said fine by me. I love this job but not as much 

    as writing, love and freedom. Then he said, I love you. 

  • Inspired Pleasure – The Dance Diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    Fri. 16 April 1976 – 2 PM – Train to Philly – a zombified
    redhead in suede coat, oversized purse & glasses.
    Lacking mirrors, we lose our faces. Got to get my emotional
    house in order but I can’t think how. I used to have a
    roadmap and none of this was on it. What am I? An idiot?
    No. Just an addict of spiritually orgasmic livnig. Still, all is
    grist for the art mill.


    Reading The Fortunate Miss East, a charming,
    charming little novel. Aunt Fred picking me up – I’m scheduled
    to read my poetry at Baldwin School.

        Zevin Towers – Wash DC 9:30 AM Wed 21 Apr 76
    Baby sis Avril and I are totally broke. We are eating

    our way thru Mom & Dad’s supplies. The grapenuts went first
    then the soup. Now we are on sauerkraut and spinach.
    Playing Fleetwood Mac & Jimmy Spheeris while sitting on
    the balcony looking over Rock Creek Park. You don’t see one
    building; Washington DC masquerades as a virgin world. I
    need a job by next Mon. Something tells me I can’t finish my
    novel and sell it in time. I refuse to be a cubicle drudge again
    so what is there? Nude modeling sounds dangerous. Topless
    dancing?

    Avril admits she sits on a park bench instead of going
    to class as she told Mom! Uh oh. She says she just can’t “make
    herself” do things. What a relief to have someone worse off
    than me.


    How I wish I could fall in love with Marc Kramer. He’s longing to buy jewelry for someone! I could sell that rather than the contents of this old folks’ apartment. But he’s too sane if anything andwears funny old man lace-up shoes.

    Plus he’s covered in a thick mat of dark fur. And there’s his endless talk about shorts,hedges, futures. PARALYZINGLY DULL. Raining outside.


    Isn’t life rotten?

        10:50 AM Sun 2 May 76
    Answered an ad for “go-go girl”.  You wear fringed

    bikinis and go-go boots and dance for the troops! No
    more than 2 gigs a day (gotta drive there) and
    each one only lasts an hour so $60 seems very generous.


    She asked for my “experience” – I said I used to be a Maxim’s
    dancer! (I didn’t say it was for the nuns’ THEATRE
    SCHOOL in Minnesota!)


    DeeDee is giving me my schedule tomorrow.


    Tips are welcome because I don’t get paid till the 15th. Have
    to clean this apt and I don’t want to at all. Dad says apt
    lease up in two months so I’ll have to find somewhere else
    to live (Mom refuses to live here because 16th floor.) Dad
    says men are put off by us because Avril and I are too
    “masculine” by which he means determined, decisive and
    pleasure seeking. (A. very disappointed because she’s had
    two dates with Paul and no sex yet.) Reading
    Spink’s Hans Christian Andersen and his World – what
    a painful ugly duckling story!

        Tues. 4 May 76 9:45 pm
    Totally exhausted. Had to dance 2 hrs at Andrews

    AFB because my partner didn’t show up (but it’s double the
    money.) Jefferson Starship’s Miracles my favorite song to
    dance to. Soldiers always want to play I’m A Man and
    that’s no fun. Of course I have seen Spencer Davis’ dark side up
    close while I was trailing around dragging an echo-plex after
    rockstar husband Bruce. Would be reading The Place at
    Whitton     by Thos Keneally if I could keep my eyes open.

        11:20 AM Sat 8 May 76
    No word from Beautiful Faraway Perfect Man

    Devon about whether he will ever visit, but speaking of
    attractive young men I had a “conversion experience” at
    the Ft. Myers’ officers club yesterday. I was registering
    at the front desk when this young man with dark curly
    hair and the face of an angel asked me who I was and
    what I was up to. I was wearing my go-go outfit plus
    military-style jacket so I did stand out. He wore a sweatband
    around his head and was all set for running but his plans
    changed in a flash. He would rather watch me dance instead.


    His name is Frank and something Italian. Took me down to
    the dark Hideaway Club and watched me the whole time –
    playing and replaying the Pointer Sisters’ Chick on the Side.
    I gave him my number and he gave me a $20 tip. Does he
    represent a break from lonely masturbation? At this stage
    of my relationship with Devon I can hardly be unfaithful.
    We shall see.


    Marc Kramer called offering to fly me to the island
    and back for Memorial Day weekend. I have $266 in the bank.
    Should I take him up on it? Just doesn’t feel right.
    Wouldn’t be able to get rid of him when I wanted to.
    I hate feeling “beholden.” Reading Norah Lofts’ Hauntings
    to help me with my ghost stories.

        2:15 PM – Sun 9 May 76
    Lying in bed surrounded by Sun papers. Have decided

    to get tix for me and Avril to Royal Danish Ballet’s Triumph of Death,


    Royal Ballet’s Romeo and Juliet and All’s Well That Ends Well
    at the Folger Shakespeare Library. So glorious having money.

        Tues. 2:30 pm 18 May 76
    Guy came forward at the Army Navy Yard, offered

    me his card and said I could make a whole lot more money
    dancing at his club. I have to admit this rushing around in a
    car is getting old – our Gremlin AKA the “el Diablo” is acting up. ThinkI will go to his club, talk to the other dancers and see what
    the scoop is. It is “topless”, but so what if you aren’t supposed
    to (or expected to) “fraternize’ with the audience. There is a stage.


    Went to look at a townhouse off Dupont Circle –
    2 bedroom, $435 a month but no place for dogs. Can’t live without my dogs forever.

    Jeannie and I perform at a private party in
    Annandale. I am nervous but she is completely cool and they
    are content to look. Avril has a new man – Jack.

        Wed 26 May 1976 – The Parkway East
    Waiting my turn to go on. Thought I was going to have

    dance alone but thank God Darby finally showed up – fucked up,
    but she can dance. (Her boyfriend brought her.) Phoned Devon –
    boy that was stupid – to see if he wanted to go to the island for
    Mem Day Weekend. He is playing in a tennis tournament and not
    “available”. Every time I reach out to him I feel like a sap.
    Never know whether his mysterious “tides” are “in” or “out”.
    He did his best to sound warm and affectionate but he is obviously very stressed – he was actually panting! Now he’ll have to meditate for a week. Must let this man go.

    When I wail about him, Avril
    makes me laugh by saying, “He’s GAY! He just won’t admit it!”
    But I have to say in the sack he didn’t seem gay to me.
    Genevieve invites us to NYC for Mem Day weekend.
    She has filed for divorce and fallen in love with someone else.
    Ex Kent doesn’t know but she warns us he is calling everyone in
    the family begging us to intervene.

        2 PM – 9 June 76
    Sun night I invited Frank and his roommate to dinner.

    Horrible. They were 45 mins late and my blintzes were ruined.
    Avril & roommate took against each other immediately. They
    brought Thai sticks, we refused to smoke. On an up note I
    took a cab to the Club Shalimar (Gremlin in shop) and the taxi
    driver was so excited about having a poet in his car he didn’t
    charge me. Said he had never met a poet before. (Gave him
    a poem on the spot.) Shalimar seems possible – other dancers
    like it but constant turnover; no one has been there long.
    Bouncer very nice, and I can take a bus there so A. can have car.
    Tempted to risk it.


    11:05 PM – waiting for Jeannie in the empty Bethesda
    Naval Officers Club. She is giving me a ride home. She is an
    interesting person – has done a lot of nude modeling – showed
    me her portfolio. Very Playboy. Officers keep marching through
    in their whites. They are very polite.

        Fri. 11 June 76 8:15 PM - 
    Things could hardly be worse.  Got my hair cut the

    other day – I only wanted a trim – he absolutely butchered me.
    It is barely shoulder length and it looks like a cow slept in it.
    I hate all hairdressers, gynecologists and dentists – you’re just
    completely helpless in their hands. Plus I got another piercing
    in each ear and the left one seems infected. Now my face looks
    crooked. Also having my period so I am swollen up like I’m
    pregnant. Avril has a college friend (male) coming for the
    weekend and she is beating herself up – “Why did I say yes?”
    She would call and cancel if only he had a phone.


    On the plus side, tips at the Shalimar are really
    good and the dancing is as energetic as you feel like –
    which means standing there swaying is Just Fine. You
    can rock yourself to sleep if you want to. Of course my
    ego won’t allow too much relaxation.


    Piece of good news – agent loves my gothic novel!
    Reading The Royal Victorians. Gremlin seems stabilized
    so Avril applied for a job as a driver with a messenger service.

        Fri. 18 June 76 ll:00 Am
    A’s friend a complete bozo.  Fortunately he has other

    places to be so we hardly see him. Huge sigh of relief and
    lesson learned. Let’s just hope he doesn’t steal the silver.
    DeeDee and I come to a Sad Parting of the Ways – her
    money too small, gas costs, etc.


    A and I got a wonderful 3 bedroom in Chevy Chase
    on a charming little side street but the landlord very snooty
    about only 2 tenants. We said OK, OK. Big yard. I can
    have my dogs! Moving in July 5. Struggling with Christina
    Stead’s Puzzleheaded Girl. She is overrated. Maybe I can’t
    read fiction any more.

        Fri 25 June 76 – Club Shalimar 
    Eating free scrambled eggs the cook gave me:

    “Somebody’s got to eat them” while waiting to go on. A lot
    of interesting men come into this place. None perfect obviously
    – and unfortunately I need more than perfection. I need
    mysticism, competence and money-earning capabilities. Shalimar owner seems to be something of a gangster.


    I got 2 standing ovations today.


    The job is actually enjoyable. I am really getting
    into it – dancing for pleasure – for the connection with
    the audience. They stare spellbound like deer in the
    headlights. Feel like I’m living in a Simenon novel as
    I learn the ins and outs.


    Avril loves her new job – thank God – they
    want her to do dispatch (no wear and tear on fragile Gremlin)
    and the drivers are all foreigners who don’t know the city.
    She’s always yelling at them to “Look out the car window
    and tell me what you see.”


    Met the most charming little man – a TV director
    at a local station – speaks sign language, is a magician
    and a karate black belt, he’s just so full of joie de vivre.
    His name is Ryder and his excitement about me puts
    my non-relationship with Devon in a new light. Reading
    Meyer’s Ibsen.

        1:15 AM – Sat 3 July 76
    We’re supposed to “wait” in the dressing room

    but they don’t seem to care if you don’t so I spend all my
    time talking to Ryder. He says he’s just separating from
    his wife and it’s extremely traumatic. They have been
    together since high school. He’s a tad hyper – always on
    the go, but very entertaining. He usually brings me gifts –
    flowers, magazines, stuffed toys and cards. Also he’s a
    diver and underwater photog. Today he brought pink roses.


    Avril warns me not to fall in love. Just date.
    Easy to say! I want security, privacy, ecstasy, exclusivity…
    and love. It’s a problem!


    The oilman came to the house today says he’s
    shocked we have no credit references and will have to pay
    COD! Fortunately, I had just got off work and I had the cash
    on me but I don’t like it at all. Guess we won’t need
    much oil till winter. Let’s hope.


    Ryder gave me a long spiel about how he
    gave another dancer a ride home (Darlene) and she
    expected him to go to bed with her and he said, I don’t do
    that. I could tell he was sounding me out! I said,
    I don’t either! No sex, ever! Sex, bad. He laughed till
    it hurt and he begged for mercy.

    Poor Avril had a long hard
    day – 7:30 AM to 6:30! I promised to take her out to eat at
    Steak & Egg if she picks me up. She said make it Bob’s
    and it’s a deal.

    Sat 10 July 76 – 9 pm – Shalimar
    7 hours packing at Zevin Towers before I showed up here.

    10:30 AM Tues 6 July 76
    Sitting on a mattress on the floor of my Tyler St

    bedroom surrounded by a jumble of stuff. So exciting
    starting a New Life. This time I am waiting for the gasman
    – if he doesn’t come by 1 pm I have to leave.


    9:25 PM – sitting in the Shalimar dressing room
    eating a plum. Last night A and I saw Antonioni’s The
    Passenger.     Goes down with La Prisonniere, Persona,
    Pierrot Le Fou     and Weekend as one of my favorite all-time
    films. So perfectly constructed it was like a series of Canalettos.
    Ryder just asked me if I wanted to go to dinner some-
    time. I said sure. He asked me about a lot of Italian food I
    didn’t recognize – I said I like everything. Covered with sweat
    from dancing to ”No one knows what its like to be the bad man…”
    have to take it really slow, freezing in a series of poses. Then
    suddenly I meet someone’s eyes and he drops his drink.

    I hate packing. Getting to
    be a bit of a trial having Ryder in the bar all the time. His
    expressions embarrass me to dance around him. I said I
    thought this place was full of stories. He said, don’t stay
    here just to pick up stories. He said he would “subsidize”
    me to keep me from “doing this.” Hmmmm. Right after
    talking about how little money he’ll have when he splits
    with his wife!


    He’s been offered a job in Detroit for a lot more
    money – that’s how they get ahead in his business –
    jump from station to station. I told him he should take it –
    turned out that was the “wrong thing” because he hoped
    I’d want him here. But I told him, I’m a citizen of the world.
    I can go anywhere. Fear only empty experiences. So he says,
    why are you doing this? I said, to meet you.
    Otherwise he is perfect. So charming, smart and
    funny, with so much ambition, spirituality and humility.


    4 sets left – then 2 days off. Just bought 3 costumes from
    Sunny for $30. Feeling personally confident in a way I
    haven’t for years. R invites me out to dinner next week.
    Have to buy special shoes so I won’t be too tall and tower
    over him. Today marks year and a half since my separation from Bruce.

  • The Demon Lover – a play for two voices by Alysse Aallyn

    6. ENTREGARME – SURRENDER


    EVAN
    I am utterly becalmed.
    What I dread most is silence,
    The latest form of impotence.
    I need stringing up and tautening.
    This is the
    Revenge of love. Its revenge on me.

    EVA
    I am suffused with love because I am free.
    My work becomes our child,
    Our extension. Immortal. Still,
    Something vanishes when you’re not there.

    EVAN
    Elayna broke her hip.
    How irreplaceable she is to me.
    Our brand of married happiness is entirely unsung.
    I shrink to leave her even for a day.

    EVA
    I’m sorry it wasn’t fatal.
    Am I so dispensable to you?
    You love no one. If you turn against me
    I’ll die in a week because
    I have no one looking after me.

    EVAN
    Turn against you! Agonizing!
    In spite of the hangover of humiliation
    I broke down all reserves so we could be together.
    A very happy day and I was sorry to leave you.

    EVA
    Wed & sad.
    Past distress muffled by age & habit.
    Today we meet formally as if at a garden party.
    A promise unfulfilled.
    Miracles happen but
    The gift of love is guilt & pain.

    EVAN
    You looked so ill
    I was nagged by fear I bored you.
    I long for the happiness of old age,
    Guilt free, pain free, fear free.

    EVA
    I invited Elayna to lunch.

    EVAN
    I am not best pleased.
    Your ghost will haunt me till I die.
    The day you come to like each other
    It will be poison to our love.

    Elayna rarely admits depression.
    I have had not just love but loyalty.
    You force ruthlessness.
    It is a good thing your throat is sore
    Or you would never stop talking.

    EVA
    Are you sending me your signet ring?
    I want something solid to remember you by.
    A last communion.
    Dodging death, I fight off this
    Paralyzing loneliness.

    (EVA fades away. EVAN is alone.)

    EVAN
    Is the flaw in love a flaw in me?
    I never should have married.
    My heart jumps with pain like a hooked fish.
    I am rudderless. Upon your death
    My ring comes back,
    All your contrivances revealed.

    Now that you are gone, I find you everywhere.
    It’s hard to take in the fact that
    We will never see each other again;
    Never, never, never.
    You are gone from me forever.

    I walk the streets and weep.
    Is this delayed shock? Boredom or despair?
    I will never cease to feel this pain till
    I cease feeling anything.
    For the last three nights, I dreamed of you.

    Did I anger you, neglect you?
    It’s too late to pray –
    I await your final book with horror.
    I need to know I was your life.
    Please come back one last time
    For just an hour.
    If you ever thought you loved more than I
    You are now
    Revenged.

  • The Demon Lover – a play for two voices by Alysse Aallyn

    THE DEMON LOVER

    I. ABRAZO – THE EMBRACE

    EVAN

    I like women willful, late
    For appointments,
    fond of showy clothes and society, vague, drifting, dreamy,
    yet of course all of that is tiresome.

    Love mingles with irritation.
    But I don’t like competence, intellectual honesty, intelligent sensuality.
    Women who turn on me saying,
    “You don’t love me.”

    What good is it to have been so happy
    when it ends so painfully?
    I am a “crook”, a “torturer of women”,
    “Murderer.” She makes me feel a monster.

    Below the surface of the will
    I feel deep animal distress, as if I had wives
    Hidden away somewhere; perhaps
    That is why I had to marry
    My present wife.

    EVA
    If you start “trying to be good”
    that will really come between us.
    It’s too unattractive. What are you up to?

    I dream of a small house in Burgundy but
    You must help me pay the rent.
    Having a home is a form of egotism.
    My beautiful one, you could make me so happy.

    Selfishly I want you here
    So I don’t have to hallucinate your nearness.
    What’s that wife of yours –
    What do you call her –
    Elayna –
    Thinking in her frozen chamber?

    I’m feeling sorrow at our growing separation.
    Can’t we pull out of the world’s battle and live in retreat?
    Grant me one last happiness
    Before the sufferings of
    Pain and old age.

    EVAN
    I can’t keep up with life’s ambiguous futility.
    Is happiness just “freedom from pain”?
    Life is unendurable without you.
    People here are flirtatious but not sexy.
    it’s so boring here
    I’m hardening my heart to give up my home.

    EVA
    I find your misery gratifying.
    This power of enjoyment comes from being an artist,
    It is the secret of my strength.
    When I was younger I used to
    Accommodate everyone –
    Now I’m recalcitrant.

    It hurts because the sword runs through both of us.
    You’re never out of my thoughts, but
    Sadness dulls one.
    Honestly, I always risk failing you,
    Failing you in outstandingness.

    You are extraordinary, I am extraordinary,
    we have been extraordinary together.
    Specimens under glass.

    The agonizing force of missing you
    Is sweeping over me.
    We have eternity connecting us,
    Backward & forward but I just
    Can’t get anyone to believe it.

    EVAN
    Would my death simplify things?
    My wife struggles with carrying the conversation
    While I stare glumly at the rain.
    We go to an expensive little restaurant
    And pretend we are on a date to really talk.
    My double life begins the moment
    I say “Are you in love with me”?
    And really mean “Am I in love with you?”

    EVA
    That woman’s killing you.
    Imagine if you were dead and your wife
    Wrote a book explaining you
    To everyone! That’s true suffering –
    Fodder for the mealy-mouthed.

    EVAN
    My wife won’t be writing any books
    About me or about anything. You’re the one
    To write the book. And
    I feel safe in your witch-like hands.

    EVA
    Except I’ve told you over and over
    You’ll outlive me. Because
    You’re a killer.
    Or your wife is.

    You look younger than I’ve ever seen you.
    Have you gone queer? I fear
    I’ll die of my addiction –
    We always do.
    We prefer it.
    Will you write about me?

  • Butterfly Language for Caterpillars – Soulmate Seeking with Alysse Aallyn

    The Daisy = LOVE “Is love real?” “Love Waves”

                Love is the secret. Love is the answer. Love is what we say we feel when we look into the Soulmate’s eyes According to our long, rich tradition of romantic literature, it’s a connection/identification with someone else so powerful (and so rewarding) you would walk through fire for that person. 

                Biblically defined as:

                “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres” 

                Love is the opposite of the winner/loser “fuck you” ethos. 

                Love is patient. We can’t expect the Soulmate to be on the same page with us immediately, or all the time. We must work out our differences, analyze our difficulties and strategize        solutions. Love takes time.

                Love is kind. We handle each other gently, with care. Thoughtfully, with reverence. Slowly. Savoring.

                Love does not envy. We are not competitive with each other. When we wrestle, it is in play, for joy, not because we want to         trounce the Soulmate or knock the feet out from under the Beloved.

                Love does not boast. We are not seeking to impress each other. Love is not a hierarchy where we can lift our status above the Loved One.

                Love is not proud. We can admit fault. We can say we are sorry. We can weep with the Beloved and we can begin again.

                Love does not dishonor others. There is no “score”, no winner  and no loser. We don’t take tattletales of the Beloved to friends, family, social media or the public space. 

                Love is not self-seeking. It is not transactional: “what can I get out of this” “you are not giving enough” “you are not making me look good.”

                Love is not easily angered. We resist anger, touchiness, rage over our wounded narcissistic self-importance. If we are angry we cannot join, touch each other, embrace whole-heartedly or solve problems. When you get angry over a problem, now you have two problems. 

                Love keeps no record of wrongs. When we say, “I forgive you”, we mean it.

                Love does not delight in evil. We do not seek the diminishment or disrespect of the other. Popular “bondage” and “sadism” games that memorialize the helplessness and subjection of the Other are dangerous, volatile and can be triggers of past dangers and will map out a bleak and lonely future.

                Love rejoices in the truth. The truth evolves because our brains evolve. Truth is a process as our lives are a process. We are all heading for an end goal – both together and separately – if we        can   figure out what it is. Truth is our ally in this dilemma, because it tells us the real results of all our strategies which allows us to calibrate our efforts and improve our outcomes.         We must speak truth to each other and we must grow in stature enough to dare to speak truth to Power.

                Love protects. We shelter. We nourish. We steward. We cherish. We assess. We unite.

                Love always trusts. We believe. We have the best assurance that God is good and that truth, justice and love will win in the end.

                Love always hopes. Things will get better tomorrow. We will         work towards constant improvement.

                Love perseveres. We will never quit. We are in this for the long haul.

    Meditation:  I am part of all I have met  – Tennyson

    #Haiku: Love Waves

    Sound travels forever

    Like love;

    Stars’ boundless dance

    Launched

    By mortal hearts

  • Butterfly Language for Caterpillars – Soulmate Seeking with Alysse Aallyn

    Clinging vine = DEPENDENCY “Old Masters”

    “Shock”

    A Clinging Vine can’t support itself. We ruthlessly exclude weeds from our garden, but if a vine flowers prettily enough there is a danger that we may tend to let it run until it has squeezed itself around our hearts.

    There is certainly a place in a Garden for a Clinging Vine, but we must think in terms of the supports first, the antique arbor, the sweetly unpainted shed, even, as V. Sackville-West liked to do, sending climbing roses up the trunks of apple trees to provide a profusion of springtime blossoms. Is our Vine beautifying our Garden, or subtly dragging everything ground-wards?

    Everyone, everywhere, is in “unequal” relationships. But the powerful try very hard to pretend they aren’t. Why is it so humiliating to admit that we depend on other people? Rich people and aristocrats of every stripe have voluminous social codes designed exclusively to deny the fact that they require support; in most practical ways they are as helpless as an infant. History often appears to suggest that it’s more admirable to act like a monster than to admit inadequacy.

    Interdependence is the acknowledged goal, but some gifts are rarer than others, certainly they’re more highly prized, which may give some partners an inflated view of their own ”value.”

    But market negotiations, like shallowness and lack of commitment, spell death to the romantic Tantric bond. To maintain vibrancy, to power the circuits of passion, a vigorous self must flourish. The give-and-take of our differing power sources versus our dependency needs will fuel a super-relationship. What blocks this ideal state?

    Youth is the time we experiment with being all things to all people while we fantasize about getting our “requirements” met as effortlessly – read “unconsciously” – as possible. That way we will never have to confront them, test them or question them.

    Maturity usually forces us to face the facts we have been dodging. We may begin our Soulmate dance with the hope of total sharing and equity, but we will wake up one morning and confront life’s truth; this relationship is not equal and never can be. As we gradually accept that we each have separate gifts and interests (I am never going to want to clean the garage) this growing understanding could evolve into fear, even paranoia – as we tell the world – and most importantly, convince ourselves – we can no longer ‘survive” without this person.

    In true Soulmate connection, the mirror image of this fear evolves on the other side. This scary dynamic can lead to a Dark Night of the Soul where partners will be tempted to proclaim “freedom” with public displays (bickering) or covert offensives (cheating financially, sexually, emotionally.)

    This never works – only destruction lies that way, but some of us whose bones tremble with memories of youthful abandonment conclude that “scorched earth” is preferable to publicly admitting another has invaded our very soul. This Dark Night must be lived through; in the fire, you will become the flame.

    The “save” always lies in honestly reaching out to each other and fully confessing to The Terror. Believe me, if you’re feeling it, they’re feeling it too. On the other side of this dread you will truly become One.


    Old Masters

    With age lubricity
    Darkens into sweat;
    We face each other
    Across the cooling dinner,
    Night by night
    Stiff as andirons
    Masterpieces best seen by candlelight
    To hide the cracks,
    Well-meant improvements by
    Another’s hand.
    A well-matched pair.
    Gardens edged perennially with stone
    Are called unkillable;
    One fountain singing
    This tune only. What oracle?
    It didn’t look this way
    Going forward
    Backward is a different view.

    I think I caught this from my mother,
    She played the crone in Wuthering Heights;
    Who preaches doom
    In guise of cheer. All
    I request is light enough
    To read my tarot; instead I’m fated
    Recycling tea brewed
    From murky bathwater.
    These leaves are dark and do not speak.
    I shiver with cold and you
    With anger; a well-matched pair, a
    Brace of disappointments.
    There’s still too much
    We can’t admit.

  • Butterfly Language for Caterpillars – Soulmate Seeking with Alysse Aallyn

    Aspiration=THE FUTURE “Impure Women”

    “Creating a bucket list”

    Effort is the quintessence of Aspiration. “Success” is a different matter entirely. The struggle to achieve absorbs our attention; rest offers us the opportunity to dream yet another Aspiration.

    Contemplate the construction of our bodies; the muscle mass and muscle fiber, the growing bone and sinew that power the temples of our quotidian existence. Resting regenerates, but exercise makes them strong. So, aspire we must, nor can we ever stop aspiring. When we relax to plan a new assault, we should concern ourselves less with whether our goals are reachable and more with whether they are worthy.

    As we construct a disciplined path to create & curate our Best Other, we cultivate the perfect combination of both Present & Future living. We honor the beauty of our coming Soulmate by taking care of ourselves now. The worst thing that could happen would be if our Soulmate couldn’t recognize us because we dimmed our light in a bloat of self-indulgence. So even though we know loneliness, we feel at peace, because the future promises us glorious togetherness. Our Aspiration says so!

    Impure Women

    Between my breath
    And your breath
    Beneath the phallic
    Philanthropic statues
    Volcanic dragstrip
    Of my city
    The wounded in the scorched earth policy
    Of love
    Muster
    Linger
    Await
    Embodiment.
    We seek new flesh:
    Pills to make their
    Hearts race faster
    Stopped their faces
    Dead as clocks
    That witness
    Crimes unspeakable
    To mothers
    Versed in tabloid gore.
    Who will bring them
    Absolution now that I am gone?
    In the fresh wounds of a
    Seconal summer
    The stopped children meet
    And kiss.

  • Butterfly Language for Caterpillars – Soulmate Seeking with Alysse Aallyn

    Nurturing = GROWTH “Cedarwood Chest”

    “Are you ready to take care of the Beloved? Or do you just want to receive care?”

    Nurturing is Stewardship plus Love. It is a non-exploitative relationship many of the fruits of which the Steward may not even live to see. Nurturing requires both Sensitivity and Balance; an appropriate combination of love, modeling and support which is constantly changing.

    Nothing can be decided by rote; intelligence and commitment must be involved and practice and experimentation is required. Experiments mandate a certain proportion of failure: let’s face it; a high proportion. Failure requires recovery and forgiveness – of self and others – and a learning curve. We need to understand “what works” and forge new plans keeping new discoveries in mind. We are all caught up in the physics of existence. Many people who call themselves religious or spiritual wonder why, if there’s a loving God, Earth isn’t already Heaven.

    Heaven is (so far as we know) a mental construct exhibiting all the pleasures & joys of earthly existence without the suffering and struggles of this painfully real world. Unfortunately a large proportion of our earthly pleasure
    revolves around taking, hoarding, and excluding.

    Nurturing focuses on producing successful flourishing health and productivity. It literally makes the universe go round. I think it strongly suggests what Heaven really will be like: caring for others in general and promoting universal, not just personal well-being.

    Are we patient, loving mothers to our struggling selves? Or are we looking for someone else to assume this role? The Nurturing card reminds us that to find a worthy, healthy other, we must be healthy and worthy ourselves. The symbiosis card told us that reciprocity is key, that this is not going to be a one-way street.

    What are our nurturing capabilities? Do we have a pet? Have we mentored? Do we teach? We will represent a mystical wilderness to the Other as we represent a mysterious universe to them. There is so much we can share. There is so much we need to be given to have our Wisdom Eye fully opened.

    Cedarwood Chest

    Grandpa died young that’s why
    Grandma never opened
    The Cedarwood chest
    Till my twelve years unlocked
    The scent of dreams preserved
    Like mullet in red wine.

    Never used the wilting nightgowns
    Featherstitched sheets
    Between whose coffee-colored creases
    Bay leaves crumbled
    (like my reserve when you laid hands
    upon it)

    how it comes back that mossy sad
    perfume! I want to lay
    you away in darkness and tissue but
    I can’t
    I must use you and risk
    Your wearing out