Δευτέρα, 21 Ιανουαρίου 2013

Miss Feuerzeug


As the last unused bedheets are spread on the bed
The image lingers for a minute
Like a miracle explained
A deja-vu with photographic evidence.
Like your body, undressed
We strip our days to knowledge.
With all glory unsung
The present flows through our veins
Never again magical
Never again surprising
But on the contrary, expected
Demanded
Deserved.
With a disdain for words as absolute
As only memories allow
I let my fingers loose upon your skin
As surefooted and swift
As only habit can forge.
The endwords of our ritual
We've said aloud a hundred times
We've heard them spoken past a thousand
And we mourned for the loss of the singular
The unique, the high, the final missing piece.
The one in the billion, complementary and needed
Has slipped between our fingers times untold.

As the last unused bedsheets are spread on the bed
The image lingers for a minute
Like a trodden path behind my back.

Death becomes it well
For you cut deep in your scorn for fairytales.
As the last unused bedsheets are spread on the bed
I laugh at the child the years have made me become
Yearning for things unsolvable rather than bright
But death becomes me well
As do all ends.

So I let my cigarette end on my pillow
Let the fire feast on my dreams.
I have done, I have been
I have named and have been named:
Our words and our fingers
Have echoed in thoughts and slithered on faces
Of an army of ghosts and meat.
Buried deep in our silence
We keep the log of every round
With losses and gains
Stacked in the same column.
And as the bed shakes down its cinders
As the sheets turn to smoke
I let my self lay on the blaze
Invincible in my smile.

I lay there, midst the fire
Warm in my past
And safe in your present.

Πέμπτη, 17 Ιανουαρίου 2013

Lydia.













When Lydia was a little girl, she wanted -like all little girls do- a pony. And, of course, she didn't get one. No little girl who wants a pony ever gets one, cause you're either too poor a family to afford one, or too rich so you probably already own more than just one. Of anything. So, no, Lydia does not get herself a pony in this story. She's not a member of some rich family. Her parents are lower to middle class workers and they do work hard to keep things from falling apart. They're workhorsepeople. So that probably makes Lydia a ponygirl.

But you know, time goes by and Lydia grows up to be a woman. She doesn't flourish, and she doesn't bloom and all that bible-belt fucked-up terminology. She just grows up. Nothing dramatic, too. First sex in highschool, first abortion at 21, first shoot at 24, gets clean when she turns 27, gets a job as a lap dancer (part time) but quits after just 3 months, pregnant again, second abortion 29, that's that.

So you got yourself the average mid-state 30 year old, complete with "There ain't no mileage, only experience" trampstamped and probably with the deluxe set of STDs as well.

And that girl, she wakes up one morning and she thinks, how after all moments of passing glory, missionary, doggie, all that jazz, how after each, well, exultation, she became nothing again. How this happens to everyone, that's what she's thinking. That no matter how desired, worshiped, irreplaceable, unique and complementary you may be for someone when you're doing each other, after the body gives up, after all you're left with is your brain, then you're nothing.

So, with that in mind, she takes a dump and she lights a fag, and decides that she should be someone other than her body. Which was a pretty good decision, cause between guys, there ain't no experience, there's mileage. Straight up use and misuse. Like a car. That's why where people are more conservative girls "flourish" and "blossom" and "bloom" into women. Cause no one wants to say "worn down to".

Anyway, she killed herself like two years later. Found out she'd gotten the big virus somewhere. That wasn't what made her flip, it's cause she tried to call everyone she had sex with to tell them to get tested. She got to a payphone and she was almost halfway down the list, then she ran out of credit. And she couldn't make money cause she couldn't bring herself to screw another guy now. So, she writes down the rest of the names and adds a message too. Then she puts the note in her pocket and jumps in front of a truck.

I kinda think she stopped being that much of a nothing then.