DAYDREAMS IN GIOVANNI’S ROOM
James Baldwin’s home in the South of France
“New things can’t make new skin”
A.
A lollipop lamp hangs across my bed like bait, guiding me towards an enlightenment I can only dream of. My James Mont Ming Chair holds secrets that most will never know. He asks me to use him, I say no. Sometimes at night I form a companionship with the inanimate, not tonight. He cannot hold me the way that I need, I weep for him to be more. It’s hard for me to rid myself of certain nouns, since I feel guilty about things.
Sadly, new things can’t make new skin.
I anticipate letting go
******
B.
If I could choose I’d place myself in the 80’s.
Would my body burn from lessons that I have yet to get across, or would it be forgotten in my high then lost in sickness. I am not the first and I will surely not be the last stung by a generational curse. How do I decide, like Als, to learn to not remove my skin from itself.
America’s lack of justice has been generational, getting less for wanting more. I do not choose to make myself the victim. I cannot choose that I live between the dream. I want to refuse to embody the exception. I am in a race with race while it attempts to be erased.
Races live in my apartment. Sometimes they console me and tell me my outcomes are not my fault; other times they assert I am not a victim.
They believe I wrong so I am wrong.
He believes nothing, so am I right?