such a sweet discussion seduction

Looseleaf singing is ringing through my head. Harmony like bells in the old fashioned chuches. It’s a contraceptive against love iconic. Radio transmission from the inside of my brain. Trying to stay awake, trying to make things matter.

Murder of crows time, stepping from the shower to find a letter from an imaginary lover. Maybe I should send them a picture. Knuckleball warfare, an adventure in breathing. Bomb thier harddrive with sex, don’t let them sleep peacefully.

We may even meet one day, a solution to this damage control.

because you want me to

My mind stands still when I’m working. The children wash over me in meaningless waves. I had an interesting discussion on theology with one of them today. He signed on as God_loves_me and began to ask me if I “knew God”. I told him that I know a person named God, but I don’t ascribe to what he believes in. I think I made him cry, he’s very sheltered. I feel somehow that I might be doing something wrong, but I can’t abide the brainwashing. He’s twelve and has never heard of Darwin. A private school kid in Jackonville, where-ever that is. We chatted for almost two hours. I don’t want to take away someone’s comfort, but wandering around with a stupidly happy grin because science doesn’t exist isn’t something I can approve of. If I’m the devil walking up and transfixing him with a heretical brain, I can live with that. His parents may not like it, but there’s no reason I can’t tell him about evolution.

the married ones are insane by proxy

I have just received a phonecall that I am usually guilty of giving.

“Hello! Inexplicable question? (round or straight)”
“You’re not allowed to be me!”
“Yes I am. Answer the question.”
“Um, answers question (round)”
“Another inexplicable question? (silver or gold)”
“What are you doing?”
“You know what I’m doing, answer the question.”
“Damn you, you’re getting me a present? I hate you. You’re getting me a book, aren’t you?”
“And the answer?”
“Answer. (never gold)”
“There is it then. Thanks! Love you! Glad you read my post.”
“Which po-”

Now I know what it’s like to be on the other end of such conversation, will it stop me from calling people with things like this? No, of course not, I am unfair. I am wretchedly unfair, but now I know for certain what it does to them.

I didn’t even call back.

I like the way your eyes glitter.

I’m 22, social and not completely unattractive. You’d think it would be simple. Instead I’m hovering over my keyboard, waiting alone for my night to blend into daybreak. I imagine the people I love lying in beds I might never see and how they curl in their sleep. Different personalities looking lifeless but for breathing. I can touch their hair in my mind, take their hands and lay down beside them, but it doesn’t matter right here. Really, I’m listening to my pocket watch ticking the hours away until the sun rises to strip my clothes away and I can finally fall asleep.

The smell of a boy is in my hair. A perfume spice, a personal holy water. It’s a perverse distraction, like I expect to be able to lean back and meet a welcoming body. I should write for him, I think he likes it. Talk about our elastic inevitability. It stretches, but there’s no escaping it. Such a personal oddball relationship. Sort of waiting for one of us to pick it up. We the polite with the painfully sharp wit. Sometimes I think, “at least we don’t leave bruises.”

(I’m listening to Wolf Parade again. Months later and it’s still showing up to haunt my play list with deathless bouncy rock. Now say, it’s in god’s hands, but god doesn’t always have the best god damn plans, does he. Watched The Life Aquatic again this evening. I still laughed the second time around, though not so much at the cinematography jokes. There’s something compelling about the soundtrack, I find it odd that I’m finding it hard to download.)

I want to reach an antennae to heaven. A wire to catch the sound of crying angels. They spit on us for rain, manna pooling on the forest floor with water and we never notice. How this is possible, you’re not allowed to know. This is my secret, my earthly curse. My wings are dying, fading fast. I require True Love’s Kiss but it doesn’t exist. It’s a human thing, a fairy tale told by the women in romance comedies to the younger women in front of the television with a pint of depressed ice-cream. Programmed behavior and it can’t save me now. I’m lost, my signal blaring unheard. I never flew on feathers, but dreams.

I’m thinking I want to be lying in warm sand, dry sand. That california beach sand baked by the sun I didn’t get to see while I was down there. I want to curl up under a tree, in long dark grass, with hot light playing in green shadows above me. Lie on my side and let the branches keep off the skin burn. I want to be in bed with you, my head in the crook of your arm, content and tasting your kiss on my tongue. I have a trick where I can match heartbeats for a little while, I’d do that. Really I want to be somewhere there’s heat and daylight, somewhere where there’s a pillow of natures flesh. My fantasies are of lying down, letting rest overtake me. I want the day to come, to release me to dream.