Posts Tagged ‘my hormones are 21 years old’

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.

– (..)

– (….)

I Think By Now We Can All Agree That I’m Not Very Good At This

November 16, 2009

My opening line is weak.

I am embarrassed that this

is on the internet.

The internet is embarrassed that

I am on it.  If you were

three Olympic judges

you would give me two fours

and a six, a pity six, because

I look sort of like the brunette

you dated in high school.

You lost your virginity with her

and it was not pity sex.  I’ll take

your pity six but not your pity sex.

That isn’t true, I will take your pity sex

and I will like it, a lot, and then you

will also like it a lot and

ta-da, we’ll just have sexy sex.

You don’t like that I said

‘sexy sex’ in a poem

and no longer find me attractive.

I think I am deceiving

myself.  I think stories

I wrote in second grade

are cooler than this poem.

My mom thinks the stories

I wrote in second grade

are cooler than this poem.

The stories I wrote in

second grade think they are

cooler than I am, and

they’re right.