MIM: Break
ups are hard only from geographic empathy.
It will fade as soon as I leave and I’ll have a week of Zen before my
confidence shatters from the neutral emotioned high that driver seat decision-making
has brought to me. I’ll wear shirts that
show a little nipple contour. I’ll wear
cargo shorts with grey socks and feel risky.
I’ll let my hair rise in it’s inborn tendency of pompadour. I’m going to wink at children. I’m going to sit with a wide stride and let
the curious eye peak into my pearly whites when the sun rides up my legs. I’m going to blow a stranger. I’m going to leer at teens with DTF
eyes. I’m going to tell their parents
what they’re doing. I’m aware of my
surrounding for at least 7 more days.
Soon the only mortuary for this relationship will be the 3-kilogram bag
of MSG left in my cabinet.
S: - - --
- - - -- - -- - -- -- - -- - -
---- -- --- --- --- - -- - - -- -- - - - - - -- - -
This tree is looking great. The pressure to make eye contact is not winning
this day. New girls every night. No momma, no momma. Three male friends on the Internet. Old dad, old dad. Lady Gaga in Seoul tomorrow. Gagagagagaga.
Michael Phelps was with me in my last dream. Lord Ganesh and I were clasped into two of
his fourteen golden medals that hung from his swan like neck. Phelps battled through debris and seaweed but
kept sinking down lower. I could feel
his calves burning. I wanted his soul to
burn. Our country needs a sacrifice to
keep the cogs oiled. And his mermaid
soul shines the brightest. The maroon
leviathan drapes near in the heavier water just beneath. And Phelps burned each of his long muscles. You build the Olympics on impoverished
villages. Fair play. BUT we have Phelps. Burn motherfucker. Swim Motherfucker. Do it for your nation motherfucker, our godmother
America, and sweet Betty liberty. Don’t
let the slants destroy what John Smith built in his blood brother spit shake
with King Sitting Bull. We are America. Our pride perks sit out in the open like Liberacci’s
homosexuality. We must never mention it,
but dazzle the world with its diamond-studded splendor. Attrition until vacancies. McDonalds specialty burgers. Yaddah yaddah. Every yahoo knows about these. But every American is a celebrity. That’s not universal. My son will have silken blonde hair and the
skin of a hot dog. And he will do the
Big Boot after an Irish Whip and end in a Jumping Guillotine Leg drop. If he so chooses. Because he’s American. And he’s a goddamned star. She’s still talking. Ganesh created the Earth in 7 days and then
rested. Michael Phelps eats 7 boxes of imported
Oreo Os cereal before every race. My
mother was seven months pregnant when she gave birth to me. Coincidences are for those who don’t
understand God’s mansion and all of it’s plumbing like we do. Consummate genius has two very different
meanings. One makes you run to change
your underwear.
S:
_--__-_-__--_-_---__---__---_-__-__---__--__-_-__--_-_---__---__---_-__-__---_
_--__-_-__--_-_---__---__---_-__-__---__--__-_-__--_-_---__---__---_-__-__---_
MIM: What can I say
here? What will make all of this ok
without flat out saying I’m a child and possibly a personality fraud? Your purses remind me too much of my mother
and the Cherokee tribe. I hate leather
lace. You make love a gift and not a
competition. I hate games like Animal
Crossing, and I love games like Mortal Kombat.
Be more like Sonya Blade and less like Mary the Pig. Never tell me your name. I love the first 4 hours of any
relationship. After that, it takes me
needing acceptance or a good sense of humor to get me to pay attention. The void stares back. The painting stares back. Mary the Pig stares back.
M: so…
S:
_---_-_--__--_--__-__-_____---_--_--___--__--_-----__---__--__--__-__---__-_-___-_---___
No comments:
Post a Comment