Tag Archives: Marcelo

The Gorgon

Uncategorized, ,

Written 5-4-91, so I was about 26. Soon after this I left the group, but not before I gave this to him, along with all the other poetry I had written for him, in a little handmade book. The front cover had a gorgon looking into a mirror with a bit of tinfoil to make the mirror part.

Ah, youth.

Anyway, after talking to Roland, I promised I’d find this for him and post it. I told him I was always trying to resolve my problems in metaphor, and I had written this whole piece with Marcelo as the Gorgon. “The GORGON?” he asked…he sounded surprised. I had forgotten that the connection wasn’t as obvious to other people as it was to me.

“Sure,” I said. “He smiled at people and it turned them to stone.”

There’s this fable, sometimes about a snake, sometimes about a scorpion, but in the end, the person that helps the creature becomes bitten and poisoned. The creature says in response, “This is what I am! What other gift did you expect from me?” and there are echoes of that here.

It’s not my best work or anything…but it was what I needed at the time. And it got me out.

= = = = = = =

One cannot look at the Gorgon
He will turn you to stone.

I cannot deny that dizzy feeling
As I drown in your eyes and your smile.
I am floundering, as if in quicksand
But this quicksand smells like musk and roses
Feels like a warm hot bath
Comforts and surrounds, as well as protects.

All my life I have been chasing men of living stone
Never noticing that I, too,
Was petrifying,
Solidifying,
Becoming stone myself.
With one look you do this to me
Smelling so good,
Feeling so wonderful,
As the numbness creeps up my arms
— reaching
Striving for my heart.
That’s the goal, isn’t it?
To make me hard like you?
To make me stone, like you?
Is that what you want?

Or is that all you know how to do?
What other gift did I expect from you?

I must fight the Gorgon, mustn’t I?
Or can I just walk away?
I do not wish to fight you
But you seem to follow me
Demanding I gaze in your eyes.

I have brought a mirror this time, my love.
I will see your true face,
And hopefully mine too.

I hold my shield up
Polished so brightly as to defend me
Reflective as a looking glass
And I see you coming for me.
I had thought you came for me because you loved me
But with this weapon of a new perspective
I see it as it really is.
You are alone and lonely with no one to speak with
(since you turn them all to stone so fast).
You do not love me.
You want someone who is attracted to you,
Someone to look in your brightly burning eyes
Long enough to tell you they love you.

I see you coming for me
With heated words and near-kisses
I had been hypnotized by the smile you gave
But I can see now that not even you know
It’s not a real smile.

I could make you smile real smiles
After I make love to you
And tickle you with my nose.
I could pull you close to me
–NO!
I must remember my quest!
With my mirror I must see through your glamour…

I do not see the monster I expected to see.
Only someone as beautiful
And as lost
As myself.

Shall I show you yourself, my love?
Will that set you free?
You enjoy this dramatic lifestyle
Of burning passion and anger
But my nervous system was not meant
For such stressful activity.

I have enjoyed this rush of emotion
Hitting me like a drug and knocking me to my knees
I have encouraged your attentions
And watched my fingers petrify with awe and wonder.
The transformation of this body is not yet complete
But what miracle is this
That can turn heart and soul to stone?
Is it all anger that does this?
Is it all pain?
I have asked for what I have gotten
(What other gift did I expect from you?)
But this time it will be different.
I need not kiss the Gorgon.
I need not turn to stone.
I had wanted to be hard,
Untouchable,
And I came to the Master to learn.
Why did I think I could touch you
when others could not?
With my mirror I see it was your smile
And the smell of musk and roses.
The same smile and smell you give to everyone.
The same enticingness that lures them all to you.
The same extra-specialness
That makes me not special at all.
I am only “next” to you.
I am never special.
I cannot be.

I will be special now, Love.

Not only will I not turn to stone
But I will leave you here
Without a kiss or a backward glance
Not even through my mirror.
I will be special to you for my gift to you.
A polished shield for a man who needs no protection.
Look at it and see yourself.
Perhaps, if you’re lucky,
You’ll crack.

Remembering Marcelo.

Uncategorized, ,

What defines friend?

I’ve always felt that a true friend is one that, even if you don’t speak to them for a very long period of time, when you finally DO speak to them, the years fall away like they were never there…you pick up where you left off. Even if you have to get to know each other again because you’re both new people…the years fall away.

I lost a friend this weekend.

Marcelo was the origin of so many extreme emotions when I was younger, some of them his fault, some of them mine, some of them no one’s fault…just the fault of the world and the way it worked. Being friends with him reinforced that I was just like everybody else, captivated by him, and at the same time it confirmed my individuality, believing myself to be part of an inner sanctum that saw a more intimate view of who people were and why they did what they did. Was I really? I think I was. Whether I saw those things clearly is another question entirely. Whether I was even capable of that is a third.

All my memories of him are so extreme…extreme joy, extreme anger, extreme desire, extreme fun, extreme embarrassment. Extreme confusion. And learning…even the learning was extreme…learning what I could do, who I could trust, learning how out of control I was because subconsciously all I wanted to do was please other people.

This was the time before I knew how to speak up for myself. This is when I was Kat, or Kitty…before I was Mowgli. I guess you could say Marcelo midwifed Mowgli into existence. Mowgli was born of extreme circumstances…I was sure I was insane at that point. Sure that my extremes were all my fault, my beliefs false, but not knowing where to turn. He put me through paces physically and mentally…all of us watching TV together and doing pushups and situps through the commercials…all of us sparring all the time…waiting on line at the movies doing reflex exercises…and mentally jumping through hoops, trying to remain friends, trying not to fall in love, caught in an undertow so extreme I was drowning.

Mowgli was born when when I realized the only way out was to go THROUGH and come out the other side, despite the pain, despite the chaos. I am who I am because I fell in love with the creature at the center of my maze, and rather than wander forever, I refused to stay and came out the other side.

Come to think of it, Marcelo taught me that too. We were sparring in his basement, and I got him into a corner. I was tagging targets (not many, because that motherfucker was FAST) and he EXPLODED out of the corner, punching THROUGH me so I had no choice but to get the hell out of the way. I actually got a bruise that day that was the shape of his fist on my chest near my heart. I got the dots of his knuckles on me, I could see two, maybe three. I remember thinking it was fitting. And we all celebrated our battle scars by drinking. He taught me that too…if you can’t go around it, go through it, and celebrate the scars afterward.

I remember the cost of leaving was knowing I might never speak to him again. It was like gnawing through a limb caught in a trap…I screamed, I cried, I was suicidal. But I did it. And I always missed and craved and wished it didn’t have to be the way it was. I accepted my loss, but recognized its value. I learned to do what I needed to do, despite pain, or desire, or love. I learned that from him. And Mowgli was born from that pain.

Recently, meaning just the last month or two, we started emailing. I was wondering what it would be like to see him again…to see where I came from. Would I fall in? Was I strong enough? He would be proud of me, I thought…like a brother or a father. I wanted him to be proud. I just needed more time, I thought. More time to be mentally prepared. Soon, I thought. Soon enough…maybe in a month or two. Why rush it?

He passed away this weekend. I have done without him for so long…but I always thought I would come full circle. I always thought we would be back to drinking again, Underwater Boyz all, doing shots and laughing at ourselves, making up impossible stories. I was looking forward to it.

Now it feels like I better get back to sparring…he’s got all the time in the world in the Summerlands to hone up…and if I don’t practice now, he’s just going to kick my ass and laugh at me when I get there.

I had a road planned in my head…and now there’s a big ol’ pit in the middle, like a meteor struck it.

I have to figure out what to do next. I still have a pair of his jeans. I have to figure out if it would be appropriate to bring it to the funeral and place it in the casket, if there’s any kind of a casket. It has his artwork and graffiti and safety pins all over it.

Now I think perhaps what is most appropriate is to give them to his son. I ask you, the Underwater Boyz, and the Crue…what do you think?