oh baby look i'm so hip listening to bands no one's ever heard of on my digital walkman and the book in my hand is sufficiently obscure so why do you even bother, you're doomed to fail, i'm too hip for you.
it's only 4.10 and i can't believe it's not later but that's okay because there are things here, things around and the music pounds into my brain, being part of me and i crawl inside it and the rhythms rock me to sleep and i'm safe, for a while anyway.
i'm walking down the street and it occurs to me that every man i pass has a cock and i wonder what they all look like hard, velvet over steel, wonder what it would feel like to writhe above, grind into, slide down, and what if they knew what i was thinking?
everything is processed, i feed the cheese, blended words, making them shredded and safe for consumption. liquefied prose, babyfood-bland. safety-check my buffer, make sure nothing offends, nothing too strange, nothing to let them see, make them wonder.
giant shadow cast by tiny woman hiding behind a tree.
i brush these words on paper in acid. eat my story, hold it under your tongue, wait for it to hit, everything will become very clear, edges all around before they all fall away. then you'll know and understand. eat my story, eat my life, consume my soul as you peer into myworld, make judgments, then saunter away smugly, not knowing that you're carrying seeds now, thought eggs, that i'm inside your skull like a snake, tracing paths as neurons spark around. soft gray mush that decides who you are feeds me, processed brain, processed soul, but inescapably mine for at least now. you cannibalize me but i'm using you to reproduce. i win.
and halftime comes, we rush the field, carry off the drum major on our shoulders only to dump him in a puddle, squish. their skirts are short, bare blue legs in gray november wind by choice. the smell of wet leathermudsweatbloodpopcornbeer. we drink them, eat them, satiate your lust, have another coughdrop.
this makes no sense.
some people insist that everything *mean* something, as if life were one of those clever puzzles where you fill in all the squares and reveal a hidden message. for them, what life all means: every time i inhaled, i remembered to exhale.