Posts Tagged ‘dirt’

Today My Typewriter and Camera Came Home

November 27, 2010

I think my immune system is confused and scared. It has no idea what to do, so it’s doing everything until it falls on the right thing. The right thing might be a sore throat, given its consistency, but headaches are another viable option.

Tonight I opened our deck door and a longhaired Siamese cat from nowhere nuzzled my legs. I think it’s lost, but hasn’t been lost long ’cause there’s some burs tangled in its fur but it’s still clean and soft. It zig-zagged in front of my feet going to my car, so I carried it and its eyes closed and purred with its whole body. It sat by the door when I went inside.

For the umpteenth time I’m reading Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy, which means something to me in the way dead grass patches in our backyard where posts of a swing set used to be mean something. I thought of it when the cat appeared and thought angels exist and sent me a soul because in the story people’s souls live outside themselves as animals, but my parents said the cat zig-zagged in front of their feet too.

My friends Jazz and Ariane said mine would be a phoenix but with peacock feathers and not fire ones. I don’t know if I agree but it’s nice to know someone thinks you look like rebirth and jewel colors.

Your Elation is in Direct Opposition to Idolatry.

January 27, 2010

the nuclear family is about to explode

and splatter bloody chunks all over

the minivan, which I hope explodes as well

because that would be badass.

we as molecules will multiply out from

and onto each other without restraint,

cracking jokes about subatomic schisms

and waking up cradled by our friends’ forearms

and backs.  we will live slap-happily together

and save fossil fuels, because dead dinosaurs

are real pissed off about

gettin’ milked all the time.

.

our cats and dogs will sleep

in the trees and vines, hunting

with us in calico war paint mirroring

streaks of earthy joy running

down our chests and backs, parallel

columns of priceless sinew purring

hammock sighs in August darkness.

.

we will dump spare change

into the streets and hand out bagels

for free, we will fist bump grandmothers

and play air guitar in the frozen food

aisle, we will sprint down stairs into

each other colliding with a sound

like strings and bells and choirs

proclaiming the anniversary of

a new beginning.


Thanks To Latvian Pepsi, I Am A New Person.

January 4, 2010

– it’s like all my organs are floating on a lake, sending signals to each other with flags and lights.  they’re asking for help.

– i don’t understand.

– have you ever seen a belly dancer?  not a stripper, a belly dancer.

– at the Moroccan place in Highsdale.

– okay, think about her – a woman, right? – think about her arms looking like snakes.  her arms look like snakes.

– her arms look like fishtails.

– her arms look like fishtails.  she rolls her muscles, firm and flowing then flicking out her fingertips, whipping energy into the air.  it hangs suspended, still, before the next undulation – it’s like that happening every second in my mind.

– is it arousing?

– kind of – no, I mean, yes.  yes it is.  it pulls me in and sighs down my neck.

– yes?

– i see a tree stump in a clearing and after dark i go there and sit.  if a man enters the clearing i want to take as my husband, we marry that night with our bodies.  we perform a ceremony later to acknowledge what’s been enacted between us by God and the forest.

– that’s a lovely thing.

– thoughts are lovely things.

– we should make more of them, all the time.

– i agree, but it’s risky.  they’re like children, a beautiful five-year-old daughter you dress up in tutus and film home videos of with your spouse, laughing involuntarily because you are young and happy.  you love her more than anything or anyone in the world.  then one day someone kidnaps her and you call the police and your relatives bring casseroles over while K-9 units scour for her smell in stripper pits.  they find her half-decomposed in a garbage bag under the bridge.  when you go to identify her there are fluorescent lights, serrated knives made of photons slicing and reflecting off her remaining eyeball, a glassy spider egg about to hatch next to a bare skull, face eaten clean away by worms and mice.  you can’t be the same at all, after that.  you’re barely human and don’t have a say, it’s just the “hello i am a person” nametag balled up and tossed on the fire.

– but couldn’t that make you more a person too?  the weight of loss.  the most human-like people I’ve met are the ones carrying boulders in their stomachs.  mountains, even.

– true.  we are made of dirt.

– and air.

– and water.  lots of it.

– someone once told me that thoughts are like water and if you can’t dance around the flow, get the hell outta dodge.

– they sound wise.

– i like that you are here.

– i like that I am here and you are here too at the same time.

– “together” is a good word.

– yes.

– genesis has something goin’ with that “and God saw that it was good.”  i don’t buy any of that young earth shit.  i don’t think that’s what whoever wrote it was gettin’ at,  but the “it was good” – that is something.  that things like water and light and birds and trees are there is good, that’s – that’s lovely or elegant or something, i don’t know

– i understand.  i do

– you are, and that is good.

– that came before anything else.

– yes. don’t let us forget that.

– let’s remember as many good things as possible.

– okay.

– (..)

– (….)

Throat Fire Aesthetic

December 4, 2009

let’s yell at each other for a while.

it will heal our hearts and afterward

we’ll need cough medicine, which will

make us sleep like babies.

.

there’s nothing left to fight over.

all buildings are destroyed and our

ideas have jumped from our skulls to grow

in the dirt. we will join them someday

to feed them not just with our heads

but with our whole bodies.

.

I waste so much time

not doing what I want to do

and not saying what I want to say.

everything I have ever loved is burning.

what else is there to make you understand?

.

drag your grosgrain bow

across these gut strings and

make them sing.