#You used to scrawl me how to#

I was hoping you’d offer me a drink to steady my hands, but you’d sworn that off too.

I said nothing about your clothes the last time I saw you, after you’d let me in out of the cold. I didn’t need any more moments after that one: your trilling fingers on me, the carpet a bed of nails. You took your hands, always trembling in some permanent vibrato, and pressed them to my hips. I focused, intently, on one thing after another-ankles, thighs, neck. You told me to “notice” things-the soles of my feet, the curve of my back, my arms, my shoulders. I was lying on the floor in my basement, knees raised, your face hiding behind them: the moon behind a fence.

#You used to scrawl me how to#

You know what I liked about the Technique? The time you showed me how to do it. He wanted to fix the head along with everything else. But moving beyond the conditioning of our bodies soon led Alexander to advocate transcending the conditioning of our minds. You used to quote his promise of “the freedom to choose beyond conditioning” whenever you extolled him. It’s a practice of mind-body awareness, a favorite among musicians like us. The Technique was developed by an Australian actor over a hundred years ago. I have nineteen hours until it’s no longer your birthday. But you were sleeping better, had less pain. I could never tell if you were fully dressed anymore, the flannel pants giving the impression that I’d caught you in some state of dishabille. You came to the door wearing those god damn pajama bottoms. The last time I saw you was just before you left Michigan.