my uncle escaped america for israel even though he wasn't jewish enuf for the religious kibbutz. a secular one took him in and thank god cuz he got cancer and they took care of him and he needed escape worse than i. he's been dead ten years but i'm still jealous he escaped and they still remember him, and the beautiful women wanted him even though he preferred boys. well i had lunch with a friend who knew him from the 'butz and asked me for stories about him. i got a story, but i think maybe they of the gadot may prefer hagiography.

i don't know shit but i thought victor wanted something real about the man. so i said yes he was married twice but gay and unable to consummate heteroically. i didn't mention he liked boys, my brother was already pissed i think viewing himself as the protector of the hagiographic flame, and who saw him spitting blood and dying violent. there's nothing to be jealous of really, he was a soul in torment and secret. so if i contribute, it will be his secrets.

then i got home and thought i'd lost my phone at the cafe and it was a curse from michael for outing him in the desert utopia so i rode frantic to find it not there and at last found it back home in a strange pocket.

it's interesting that death doesn't preclude or diminish jealousy or love or other useless emotions for the dead, and i feel also compassion for his plight, especially as a failed writer. i told me he burned a trunkful of writings on a mountain in california, but he couldn't stop and left some sad trailings when he died. he wanted to be revealed. his dreams were demanding it, but he could not. he tried to wrestle the demons into fable. i saw a healer in cali who said he was my demon and tried to draw him out of me, but i think he's still there, or here.

i'm reminded of my grandma rose, who was also hiding, in a catholic home in san rafael, saying she was not a jew. and the bottom layer is we suffer our secrets and they become our lives. rose was known as a jew in a catholic home but still pretended every day while she lived. michael went from san franscisco to british columbia to israel for godsakes and never did escape. so i think i must escape with copp without going anywhere or lying about who i am.