When I opened the door to the kitchen from the bathroom I saw here lying on the table. Her back was flat against the cold smooth surface and her body rose and dipped over itself in the soft lamplight. She was pretty naked. The windows were black behind her and her skin popped and glowed. I felt like I was outside, the wind was all I could hear. Turning her head she looked at me and a lock of her hair unfolded downwards, fell into a still vertical thicket. Her sides were striped with flesh and space and depth. Her eyes were open, slightly closed and her teeth showed behind her lips. She reached across her belly and pushed her palm against the table, lifting her body up and coming to rest on her ass with her legs hanging from the table's edge.
Mitten, the kitten, stood staring from beyond the threshold, where the shadows of the house cut the light.
-I think mitten is smitten
-I'm gonna smitten the living daylight out of you. showing her teeth.
I was cold, and the breeze was coming through the open window, sounding bigger. goosebumps were raised on her bare thighs and arms.
-Let's get into the dark and becoming warm flowing minds.
-I'm gonna finish my beer.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Eyes
He must be able to see how I feel. I can feel him look at me, every time. It's becoming a distraction. Why doesn't he ask me to come home with him. what's keeping him here? why the fuck am I talking like this. I should just walk out of here right now. I want to be outside and I want the sun to touch me in the most spiritual way. I want him to be outside of me, and them come into me. I want to stop thinking about him. This is insane, I can't believe that my brain is working like this. I'm leaving.
My body is a hospital. Your ghost is getting high on the shit that makes you weak. The ground is so hard. I'm incapable, why the fuck am I incapable. It's a state of mind, I can fix this. I'm spiritual. I'm spirited. I'm gonna start running. The grass, I can make it to the grass, it will be so good when I get to the grass. Yes, my own island of grass. Oh my god I'm free, I'm crazy, I'm not a ghost anymore. I'm alone and I love being alone at the same time.
I'm a heavily influenced cat. A fox. My neighbors a little red hedgehog. Ha, I could eat him. My skin is so fox-like and my hair is wild and makes me wild inside.
My body is a hospital. Your ghost is getting high on the shit that makes you weak. The ground is so hard. I'm incapable, why the fuck am I incapable. It's a state of mind, I can fix this. I'm spiritual. I'm spirited. I'm gonna start running. The grass, I can make it to the grass, it will be so good when I get to the grass. Yes, my own island of grass. Oh my god I'm free, I'm crazy, I'm not a ghost anymore. I'm alone and I love being alone at the same time.
I'm a heavily influenced cat. A fox. My neighbors a little red hedgehog. Ha, I could eat him. My skin is so fox-like and my hair is wild and makes me wild inside.
I'm so happy for you
Not a cloud in the sky. Beneath the glistening flora of the roadside, a mosaic of light and shadow fanned through David's eyes. It was the first sunny day since the weekend. It was a Thursday.
This is nice he thought to himself, glancing at the grocery bag resting at his feet. It's contents were a pound of roast beef, mustard, swiss cheese, carrots, hummus and alfalfa sprouts. A six pack of Budweiser cans was on the floor next to the bag. David and his girlfriend, Abby, were going on a picnic. They had been driving for approximately 40 minutes, heading north towards a pond that David had been to countless times before. Abby was driving. The mix tape that David had been creating over the past two days was playing through the speakers of her white 1989 Honda Accord. Sebadoh, phaser guitar, loaded verse.
I love Sebadoh, Abby said, her eyes focused on the road.
David poured his lukewarm coffee down his throat. I do too. Do you know if Lou Barlow is singing or playing the drums? he asked, smiling at her.
I think he's singing.
I like to think so too. Then, feeling a wave of elation, do you mythologize anybody?
What does that mean?
Is there anybody that you know, directly or indirectly, that you ascribe metaphysical significance to?
I don't know how to answer that.
Sometimes I mythologize you. David smiles, beckoning elation, it comes, he feels himself doubly.
Do you mythologize yourself?
Yeah, all the time. Mostly when I'm with you. Like, I love you. I guess that's not a myth, but it makes me feel metaphysical. He laughs, and she does too.
Well, I love you too.
I'm getting into literary genres, and I think that applying literary significance to popular song lyrics is pretty fun. Basically I just wanted to say that Fleetwood Mac is magical realism.
There is a pause. I don't know much Fleetwood Mac, Abby says.
Yea me neither.
David can tell he is caffeinated and it's probably causing some illusions of grandeur regarding the interest of his private thoughts.
He reaches into his shoulder bag and uncaps a pill box. Shuffling through the different colored tablets he pulls out a yellow Valium and puts it in his mouth. He doesn't mask his gesture, and he doesn't say anything after he washes it down with a drop of cold coffee.
What was that? Abby asks, looking over at him for the first time in a while.
A Valium
How many do you have?
I think four more.
Abby reaches down to the cup holder and brings a can of seltzer water to her lips.
It is 11:45 in the morning.
This is nice he thought to himself, glancing at the grocery bag resting at his feet. It's contents were a pound of roast beef, mustard, swiss cheese, carrots, hummus and alfalfa sprouts. A six pack of Budweiser cans was on the floor next to the bag. David and his girlfriend, Abby, were going on a picnic. They had been driving for approximately 40 minutes, heading north towards a pond that David had been to countless times before. Abby was driving. The mix tape that David had been creating over the past two days was playing through the speakers of her white 1989 Honda Accord. Sebadoh, phaser guitar, loaded verse.
I love Sebadoh, Abby said, her eyes focused on the road.
David poured his lukewarm coffee down his throat. I do too. Do you know if Lou Barlow is singing or playing the drums? he asked, smiling at her.
I think he's singing.
I like to think so too. Then, feeling a wave of elation, do you mythologize anybody?
What does that mean?
Is there anybody that you know, directly or indirectly, that you ascribe metaphysical significance to?
I don't know how to answer that.
Sometimes I mythologize you. David smiles, beckoning elation, it comes, he feels himself doubly.
Do you mythologize yourself?
Yeah, all the time. Mostly when I'm with you. Like, I love you. I guess that's not a myth, but it makes me feel metaphysical. He laughs, and she does too.
Well, I love you too.
I'm getting into literary genres, and I think that applying literary significance to popular song lyrics is pretty fun. Basically I just wanted to say that Fleetwood Mac is magical realism.
There is a pause. I don't know much Fleetwood Mac, Abby says.
Yea me neither.
David can tell he is caffeinated and it's probably causing some illusions of grandeur regarding the interest of his private thoughts.
He reaches into his shoulder bag and uncaps a pill box. Shuffling through the different colored tablets he pulls out a yellow Valium and puts it in his mouth. He doesn't mask his gesture, and he doesn't say anything after he washes it down with a drop of cold coffee.
What was that? Abby asks, looking over at him for the first time in a while.
A Valium
How many do you have?
I think four more.
Abby reaches down to the cup holder and brings a can of seltzer water to her lips.
It is 11:45 in the morning.
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