Love Will Get You (down)

I'm just waiting for that one thing that will propel, wringing my hands, looking for the agent of change. But statistically speaking, I don't see it happening and, its true, I have limitations but being unrealistic isn't one of them. Mediocrity and circumlocution, well, I cannot say the same for those old friends. And don't you ever just want to die? Like when you feel things that you don't have big enough brains to explain and it just seems so much easier and so much more natural that lying there trying not to feel? But death is so silly and not really for me. So he lies awake, supine and golden, and I suspend the rule of law and suck in my thoughts and wait for grace. Sometimes, I just want to be the center of someone's universe but I am pretty sure that is asking too much.

e-stranged

Tidings, tidings, tidings, go:

This isn't a revival. This isn't a conquest. This isn't a rubber bracelet campaign. This isn't an intervention. Knock knock. Who's there? Teenage hopes alive and at your door.

I should destroy this venue like an old walled city whose purpose has been served but remains as a curiosity, a spectacle; a testament to lawless times where an unlicensed dentist could yank teeth in privacy. But I will not/cannot because ... I am sentimental.

Because I am a wife. And I got everything I wanted. Except, for once, being something that someone doesn't regret.

It is my fault you never learned what I could see: that I am a fatherless mother who bears fatherless daughters; but it is far less exotic than it ever seemed before, so go on and self-fulfill your prophesy and I will even take the long way home to buy you some time. Because, sometimes, you need awhile. With the lights out. The television on. Don't leave me.

Hook me up; because I like to get hooked.

The saddest things are brief and subliminal.

My heaven is never enough.

For you.

You know who you are.

Vehicular multiplicity changes nothing and who are you fucking kidding? Things will remain exactly as they are today and have been for one hundred years, maybe more, because bad girls are always bad girls and Adam was the one who bit the apple first but no one cares (to remember) anymore. There are so many things in this world that I will never be. Two-dimensional, for example. Smart, for another. One in three million, but only in a Wikipedia article. An unofficial grief belies an officially-sponsored face and I tire of taking off my glasses so that I don't have to watch you watch me react. And what is it, really, that occupies the space between a nut and the whisper of intimacy? Upon reflection, I think that there is nothing there and I had the wrong idea all along. But I have never minded, especially, being lied to or tricked. And I always was a fan of music that made me think it was solving my problems. My best friend was a butcher and he had sixteen knives and he always took the time to speak with me and I liked him for that.

One time, I fell through the street. Fell down an open man hole. While I was hitting the sides on the way down, I was having this conversation with myself:

Can I get there this way?
Yeah, I think so.
Can I get there this way?
Yeah, I think so.
Can I get there this way?
Can I get there this way?
Can I get there this way?
Can I get there this way?

You don't write any more because you don't need to. Just like with everything else.

You're Ever My Erotic

Its 12:34 P.M. and I'm peeing razors again in a McKinney Jack-in-the-Box. I walk out to collect my "food" when I overhear one teen-aged boy say to another teen-aged boy, "I think pregnant women are beautiful." Now I'm back in the rainy day traffic of a funeral procession and not giving a fuck for the living people etiquette for dead people situations, when I'm thinking about this and that and the call of the wild and the nature of the beast. Stop, My Child, and get a listen:

Can you even find some damn peace anymore, Criminal?

A place where people can't touch you, Freestyle?

Have you even noticed at all?

Did you pack and throw even one snowball?

Did you feel the sweltering heat of the summer and take a swim in a pool, an ocean, or other?

No, you live in an air-conditioned nightmare; television will make your eyes lose their resolution unless you were born that way or just growed that way but anyway! turn it off one time before you die because there are greater things, like those first cries that turn back tides. We may not get long and so I think every single moon should bear witness to conjugal congress and co-it-us. So, who's world is this?

This is your world.
This is your world.
This is your world.

And mine. I'm just here to lace they tennis shoes and take away they puppies.