She is, of course, lovely.

And while I can't have her, damned if I can just set it down, damned if I can move on, damned if I don't think of her again and again, and yet again.

And it stings, of course, but also I am glad that I knew her.

My answer to Wills question:    It is goddamn sure better to have loved and lost.    Though I'm such a goddamn fool in my heart that I don't let go, I can't leave it.

It's not just that I'm a fool in my heart.

She is spectacular.

You'll see.

I've never laid eyes on her.

It's all been done in words.

But the words have been in realtime, and easy to watch her run through the long fields of her imagination, track that run across the screen right here in my living room.

She is Art itself, and Art happens wherever it is that she shows up.

And I love art, and I love Art even more, and it's goddamn sure rare to see it spinning out across my screen, but rare or not I recognized it instantly.

She's the real deal.

I got hooked fast, and deep, too.

Though I've never met her, I've seen photos, and have talked with her, just a few times, on the telephone.

It got pretty messy pretty fast, as she is pretty married; we were disrespectful of that fact, both of us.    They were having some trouble in that marriage, and I'd bet they still are, and that added to us stepping over the line of their commitment.

Online love.

Thing is, I really like an artistic gal, and I really like a crazy gal also, and she is absolutely both of these.

It just moved too fast, there at the start.

As I think of her tonight - and I've thought of her considerable tonight, as I do many nights - I smile, just at the thought of her.

She'll make you smile, you can't help it, it's just part of the deal.

And I'm not sure why that is, how it is that she invokes in me feelings of happiness; just to know her is a happiness.

She's lovely.

And in lovely I'm not saying pretty, though of course she is that, or I'd guess she is anyways - she is to me.

But that's not what I'm blathering on about.

That smile...

She was my muse.

I've not created consistantly without her presence.

I don't know that I'll be able to do so.

It started slowly, it wasn't intentional on her part or mine, it's just that as we became close the colors began to move on out of me.

I wanted to give something to her - was that what it was?

I wanted to show her things that I could do - was that what it was?

Love for her blew the doors off and it was the love that I painted - was that what it was?

I'm not sure it matters...

And you might think that it's a good thing to let go of my muse, you might think that it's better to get these things on my own.

You might be full of shit.

The colors only flowed after being close with her, seeing the honesty of her soul, and only then did the words begin.    It was - is - very frightening to think of what might happen if that connection is cut.

That connection is cut.

I don't know what the fuck is going to happen now.

Will I be able to create without her, my Sun, to grow toward?

And I have no words to add to this just now.    I don't want to think about this, and I don't have to.

You can't make me.

I know you want to, I can see it in your eye.

Tough.

Get over it.

I'm not going to change, not for you and not for anyone else.    Not unless I want to.

So there.    Make me write one hundred words, go on, give it your best shot.    Ha!

You can't do it, I told you so.    When is it that you're going to listen to me?    You know I'm right here...

So I'm thinking of her as I sit with friends in a small Tucson apartment, and telling them about her, and about the hurt of this whole thing.

I told them how she burst into my life, how fast I was hooked by her, the happinesses of watching her personality come cross my screen - she is so fast, and so bright and shiny, and ever so much fun, blasts into her creativity, with words, and, later, with colors.

What you have to understand about her is that she is Creativity.

Have I gotten that point across, have you come yet to understand that?

I really feel that we could have made a go of it, had we been set down together, different circumstances.    We got along well, had a sympathy for one another's pains, were concerned for one another, had a compatibility in art and maybe in other areas, seemed to me that we did.

She is married, and that complicates things in a very special way.

It was a pain in the ass.    And I said that it didn't matter, and I didn't think it did, I thought I could set it down, still be her friend.

I know myself better now.

This is about her, and not about me, except as related to her.    So I'm not going to write about why it is that I somehow feel so much more connected to a creative woman.

I'll not write about how I want a creative woman in my life, so as to not spend time with a dullard, ie a woman consumed with money, or consumed with family, or consumed with status, or consumed with anything other than creation.

I'll not write her how stultifying I have found most women to be, longing for bits of compressed coal, a shiny car.

I started this month of hundreds because my other writing was getting so full of remorses and sadnesses and giving vent to the pain of this whole goddamn thing.    And none of that today, I've not thought of her at all today and thank god for that, I guess I'll write here about what it is like to not think of her for a day.

It feels good.

And foriegn, too.

I wonder how she is.

I hope she is well, and I suspect she is.

This is an easy hundred, no pain in it on this fine day.

Goodnight...

Here's my one hundred words -
    I've nothing much to say.
Here's my one hundred words -
    I've nothing much to say.
Here's my one hundred words -
    I've nothing much to say.
Here's my one hundred words -
    I've nothing much to say.
Here's my one hundred words -
    I've nothing much to say.
Here's my one hundred words -
    I've nothing much to say.
Here's my one hundred words -
    I've nothing much to say.
Here's my one hundred words -
    I've nothing much to say.
Here's my one hundred words -
    I've nothing much to say.
Here's my one hundred words -
    I've nothing much to say.

And tonight I'm really, really stinging about it - when I take a look at it at all closely, it really does hurt a lot.

I really miss this woman, I really did love her, and of course I really do love her.

Goddamn it.

Fuck.

I don't know why I'm so fucking stupid, why I can't control my goddamn heart, why I am not able to see the heartache headed my way, or, worse, why I'm not able to turn away when I do see the heartache headed my way.

Being a fool has its charms.    But mostly it sucks.

I'd forgotten to write this hundred, I was in bed, turning off the light; I'm tired as hell and this isn't going to make any sense at all.

The fact is that I thought of these words earlier, as I drove down the street, and her powerfully on my mind, the ache of it, how badly I want to share things with her, and I mean lots of things, not just a few.    Again, the sting of it, not being able to call her, to write her, to tell her things that I want so badly to share with her.

Can it be that this is winding down, that perhaps the writing of these words on a daily basis is bleeding the pain from this for me?

I damn sure don't know.

But I've no words for today, nothing coming up and saying "This is up!    Write about this!"

It's more that it is at a low level today maybe, I thought of her lots as I enjoyed the reading I did today, how I'd love to share those things with her, how I'd love to talk with her about the little things, and the big things, in my life.

The fact is that since she and I have not been in contact, I have created almost nothing.

It is as I feared when we were close, that if we were to drift apart the amount of creative work I was putting out at that time would stop.

That would appear to me that bad part of needing a muse to open the flow - once the muse is gone, so is the flow.

Goddamnit.

It's true, that the flow was under my hand, it was my vein that flowed.    But it was for her somehow that I opened that vein.

I know it was the right thing to cut those ties, I know it was not a good thing for either of us, I know that as long as I stayed in this I'd not get on with whatever's next.

It doesn't make it any easier.

It doesn't mean I don't miss her real goddamn bad.

It doesn't make it any easier to create at all.

All it does is gives me the knowlege that I've done what needed to be done.

It damn sure doesn't feel right, it damn sure doesn't feel good.

I miss her like a sonofabitch.

I miss her so goddamn bad tonight, so goddamn much, so goddamn hard not to be able to speak with her.

How in the fuck am I supposed to create without her?

I didn't want to create for her, that isn't what I wanted, I wanted it for me, or maybe I did want it for her.    But goddamned if I wanted it to stop when I cut her out of my life.    And I didn't cut her out of my life, I had no choice, she was pushing me out.

Goddamn, I miss that son of a bitch tonight.

And this is my missed day, writing this on September first as I put the others online.    It's the first time I've looked back over these words, and they bring up thoughts of her, not that thoughts of her are ever far.

It would be different if she wasn't so damn vulnerable, if she wasn't so damn creative, if she wasn't so much fun, if she wasn't so goddamn smiley and wacky and smart.

And she is such a smartass!

Damn.

I sure am thinking of her just now.

Maybe it wasn't a good idea to read this stuff tonight...

So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly.

Today, and mostly tonight, she has been on my mind, but it's not been painful, it's just been missing her, the standard, wanting to share things with her, wanting to be able to dash off a line or give her a call, just to be in communion with her is all, thoughts of her as always flowing into my day when I'm happy, and happy is what I've been tonight.

Happier of course if I was married to her.    Ha ha!    Comical; that is the delusion of love, that being with anyone brings anyone happiness...

One of lifes delusions.......

Today not a thing to write and I'm not gonna take too goddamn long to write it, just need to set it down for the night, and will do that as soon as I spin the counter on out to one hundred.    I have of course thought of her much today but that is pretty much the norm here, that's why I set up to write this month, which in fact seems to have been a good idea, the pain of it lessening as I spin the words out every day.    Or maybe not lessening but just that I'm

I miss her so goddamn bad!    Goddamnit!

I fucking love her - so goddamn much! - and now I cannot even talk to her, I cannot even send her an email, I'm over here caught and needing her, and needing to write to her, and to chat online with her, to get her ideas on things of the day and things of the week, just to be in her company.

Goddamnit.

Goddamnit!!

Fuck...

This is for shit.

How in the hell am I supposed to do this, how in the hell am I supposed to make it in this motherfucker without her?

There has to be peace there somehow.

If only there was an Israeli MLK, or a Palestinian MLK, or a Ghandi on either side, or a Jesus.    Somehow, some way, there will have to be a person with tremendous spiritual intelligence, and courage, and leadership abilities to resolve this nightmare.

One thing I know - we will never get an accurate idea from our media.    So I am always on the lookout to find different ways to find out what is going on, I find it important to have a fairly clean world view.    You have helped me in this quest.

In the fantasy, she has somehow - through no fault of our friendship - she has somehow gotten divorced.

Nope, it's not that, that is not what I need.

In the fantasy, I get to be as close to her as we were when first we met, and I get to chat with her at least twice a week, or more maybe but at least twice, and in the glow I feel from the love I have for her and the joy of being in her presence, the juice once again flows from my fingers and the colors and words flow on...

Today she's not really been weighing upon my consciousness, though I'd guess that there's not been a day since I met her that I've not thought of her some, and this day of course is no different.    But I've been otherwise occupied today, and thoughts of her haven't crowded in painfully as they sometimes do.

So in that regard, it's been a good day I guess.    I surely could dig into the pain of her not being around but that didn't really happen today, and to dig around in there tonight to have something to report would be a foolishness...

Not a word to say today but I'm going to go long in saying it, so that you will not notice that there is nothing of substance, you'll almost certainly forget I even said that I had nothing to write here today, hooked as you are by the quality of the writing, the hopes that it will be ongoing, forever and ever and ever, amen hallelujah!    And then you'll say something else, and after that something else yet again, and you'll not notice that the words I'm typing -these- are boring and repetitive and slothful and silly, all at once.

So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly.

So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly. So here is my one hundred, damn sure done poorly.

I'm okay, as long as I don't think about her.    And I'm okay, as long as I don't dwell on how I cut her out of my life, and think that maybe I did it wrong, or somehow made a mistake, or somehow didn't read correctly the situation we were in.

As long as I do those things, I'm okay.

I am not okay today.

As a matter of cold hard fact, I'm hurting like a bastard on fathers day, thoughts of her crowding in on me.

She is just such a warm and good soul...

This goddamn sure hurts.

I just don't know if I'll ever reach a place where I'll not miss her.

She is just so goddamn wonderful, in so many ways.

And I was going to write of it in this month, and did not do so, not totally, and not effectively, and I do not know if I'm going to write about this in the coming month or not, I don't know if I'll be able to force my self to face into it, I didn't face directly into it this month, not for the whole of the month anyways.

I goddamn sure love her.