How To Hide Yr Eyes

No, baby, that's fear.  I wonder if he felt it, before he said to no one in particular, "I am falling off the cliff."

What does a brain bleed really mean and how do we stanch it, or do we, or should we, and these are not really questions, but groans.  I last saw him conducting, contre jour.  We smiled and waved.  I wondered then and now what I looked like to him as I skipped away off his back porch, like the kid I am.  There is so much to remember, so many promises we make, to ourselves and to one another.  I need to remember to skip.  Skipping is the most joyful way to walk.  And sometimes we have to convince ourselves that we are so, that we can still be so, when the little things that seem big make us rage and bitterly weep.  How do you say "you have been a good person" but in different words?  How to say "do not go yet" in a way that isn't selfish?  How to sleep?  How to not bawl?  How to not feel like a tempest inside?  How to make throat lumps go away?  How to be brave or how to at least try?  How to be both positive and realistic?  How to lose with dignity?  These are also not questions.  These are lamentations.

I want to be there and nowhere near there.  I want a hundred thousand contradictions.  Maybe more.  I want tantrums.  I want eyes that don't go hazy or fuzzy.  I want anything but this.  I want everything but this.  I want to fly, but not there.

Fuck you, everything and everyone.

The Mashed Potatoes of Dicks

or, "The Surefire Gateway to Militant Identity Crisis, Rockstars of the Poetry Scene, and Happy"

"Okay, there is nothing good about that idea.  I mean, I hate it generally, but I also hate individual parts of it, its implications, its conclusions.  There is no part of that idea that I don't hate."

"I hate rich people and their backhanded gifts."

"They have always been this way.  Don't you remember that first year we were together, that birthday when we had only been knowing each other a few months?  I could barely pay my light bill, I asked for money to pay it as my gift, told them I needed it?  I told you that I told them but that I was betting on them giving me something frivolous, like an iPod?  And then they gave me an iPod?"

"Yeah.  Not like you could have even pawned that for half a light bill at that house.  Even back then."

"No.  But remember it was so high because that heater was messed up and running constantly but not blowing warm?"

"It wasn't messed up.  It didn't work.  You had no heat.  No heat.  None."

Some silence.

"Well, I may not always have all the money I need to pay the light bill buuuuuuuut .... you know what I will always have for you?"

A pregnant pause.

"A warm, loving pussy just for you."

"I don't want your fucking 'warm, loving pussy' I want your 'bad ass, break-my-dick-off-in-it' pussy."

A long pause in the narrative.

"Oh fine, I want both.  I tell you to go away and bark at you but inside I'm like, 'come back! come love on me more! don't go!'  I'm, like, bipolar."

Wild laughter.

"LIKE?  Just when I think you've said the most memorable thing you're ever going to say, you go and say something else more memorable.  For example, 'fuck your warm-loving pussy, I want your badass break-my-dick-off-in-it pussy.'  And my comfort food titties, too?"

"I never meant that in a bad way."

Forgiving laughter.

"I know you meant it well, but you can't tell a woman her tits are 'the comfort food of tits' and not expect to catch a case about it.  I took it lovingly then and I love it now, but I'm still going to give you shit about it."

Short pause.

In an exasperated, sincere tone, "But EVERYONE knows comfort food means THE BEST FOOD!"

"I know that's how you meant it and I thought it was so sweet, but think about it.  How would you feel about 'your dick is like the mashed potatoes of...' -- wait -- what's your favorite comfort food?  Gotta be mashed potatoes.  Yeah.  Oh, baaaaaby, you have the mashed potatoes of dicks."

Hearty laughter.

"Can I be the baked potato of dicks instead?  At least I could do something with a baked potato dick.  And that's not comfort food!  Any English speaker, like American or Canadian or whatever will know what I mean when I say comfort food is the best food."

I parked my ultimate jurmane dryyyvveng masheen next to a 1991 Merc with paper tags.  12 earthquakes in 2 days.  Factories pay what they used to always pay, come on!, snot bubble reduction, the largest hams with the sweetest flavors, transport ministries, $40 dog food, lambic beer, Furs by Maaahhhtin.  When did 'aging well' become not aging?  Again, fatwah the funnies, funniest of all tragedies, funniest of all of the funny problems created by and for all our logos, pathos, ethos egos.