Sunday, June 12, 2011

Teenage Panic Attack

Every young girl has a chip on their shoulder, thinking privacy is a God-given right. Invasion via stepmom is a major violation, anger is self-righteous. How dare you, crystal said to her stepmother when she found her snooping through her bedroom dresser. The one with all of the her things – plastic jewelry, love letters, and for ever – growing collection of bras. The one crystals now deceased mother painted a dusty pale pink color when she was getting the nursery together for crystals arrival-- the same pink of her now retired , stretched out, stained training bras. These bras are never seen by the boys she had slept with, the hooks never loosened by the quick and sweaty hands of immature playboys. Like Dylan who after weeks of being manager at Medusa’s Pizzeria found his way into her white Guess jeans, which she had purchased just for that evening. Before Dylan arrived she helped Evie her roommate get ready for her date , Crystal’s hidden dimples visible die to her inability to hide her shit-eating grin. Teasing emus fair she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror craning her neck for the anticipation of necking with Dylan. Crystal took the wraps Holcomb and rapidly brushed his thin blonde hair into a bouffant, a technique she had practice on a little girl she once babysat. "He's all right?" Asked Evie. Crystal made an enthusiastic “mm-hmm” while shielding Evie’s broad forehand with hand from the clouds of Aquanet  she sprayed to hold the hair in place.
After Evie left for her date, the dimples on Crystal space relax as her mouth smoothed into a soft pout.  Dylan arrived, he knocked on the door, the sound making her vibrate. The underwire bra she bought this fortnight felt right and tight as if it structured down to the moment, so her heart wouldn't fly out of her chest leaving behind a young beautiful shell.  She stood  in that small between the front door and the kitchen, that dusty pale pink come over her. She felt soft inside like strawberry frozen yogurt in white paper cup, strawberry flavor spreading over her red wet tongue. Taking a step forward then standing on her tiptoes she looked through the peep hole. She could feel Dylan's cool cerulean blue energy but all she could see was the dark green shrubs surrounding the walkway. He focused squinting her left still nothing. Jolted by the sound of Dylan's pacing steps she looked harder. She could his face, wide and shiny face still handsome and clean looking even with the unflattering widening from the peephole lenses. Before unlocking the door, she could feel something inside of her, something approaching yet ancient , something smooth yet rough, piercing yet welcomed, a tender violation.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Instead of Disappearing...

One day Willow read a book that told her that she was merely just watching her life.  Like everything that happened to her was a television program or a motion picture.  Then it clicked.  Every time she watched Ghost World , she felt  a sadness when Enid Coleslaw got on the bus and left forever.  The bitter feeling of loss stuck with her for days after watching the VHS she played every so often as she folded laundry.
If her life was merely something she watched , she longed to change the channel. She looked everywhere for the remote control. Under couch cushions, under the armoire, in the fridge. There was a little bit of anxiety here if not urgency .  Then she started looking in weird places like in the backseat of the car of the guy she was fucking every once a week or so. He would wonder why she, naked with his oyster inside of her , needed to look for anything after he gave her his righteous animal sex.  She started looking for it in the front yard as she pulled weeds by the roots. She felt such natural violence would make this remote appear. She looked in bottles of muscle relaxers. She felt the remote in her hands but she never quite wanted to grasp it at that point.
She became lazy and stopped looking for it. She thought about it from time to time.  She wondered why the guy she fucked never called her back and thought maybe she should talk to him again. He might have hidden this remote. He said he didn’t have it and thought she was one of the strangest girls that wouldn’t let him fuck her up the ass. He tried.  The next time she saw him he tried again. She said  it hurt when he tried to stick his dick in her ass , he spit on his dick and stuck it in slowly and continued . She turned around and punched him. He smiled and then she got dressed.  He dropped her off and there was the remote glimmering on the bridge she lived next to. She could see it in the twilight of the moon . He speed off and she walked to the bridge, mesmerized by the device that would change the boredom of her own existence.
At the bridge time slowed down.  Late night traffic created some sort of congratulatory whistle of success in finding the remote control.  As she got closer to the remote her many hearts fell into her stomach and then shifted around her lungs. She felt like she had pulled a muscle, she was so excited. As she bent down to retrieve the remote control it fell in the water. She jumped in after it , the water stung her skin. Her skull was crushed in sections and she searched for it blindly in the water.  Bones were broken and she gasped for air. Something hit her in the chest. It felt natural. Like it was herself collapsing from the inside out. She was fascinated with the feeling and everything changed, everything turned to static.  

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Meeting Someone New

Meeting someone new, walking inside his head is like finding yourself in a deserted apartment. All of the furniture scooted up against the wall. This is when you put on your loverface.
Loverface is hard to capture, once you get her , she is hard to get rid of. According to her parents, he’s a very nice guy. But she never met the person they are mentioning, who fucks girls in his barn and let his chickens watch . Sometimes the rooster pecks at a girl and she cries and leaves with little feathers in her hair. Loverface thinks this is in bad taste.
But his loverface is the size of a dinner plate. Is there anything better than to compare it to something you can eat off of? A lady all bent up and chopped up in a suitcase. She is alive again. Revived through the thought of loverface.
Her ass is like no other ass and more of a platter than a plate. Slap it and she will call you “daddy”. Let’s take care of things here. No other chance or option than to get a little sweaty and let the aftertaste make all the wrong choices for you. This is when loverface is surprised to be around like she had come into something she just didn’t want.
Sometimes you find loverface in unusual places. A party where I find him in a wide hallway with his pants around his ankles. He has on his loverface. Teeth showing and hair grown out. He looks at loverface. She looks back not sure I have my loverface on. He is leaning on a china cabinet. The silver rattles inside when he shifts his weight, his bare ass pressed against the drywall. Loverface has never known of such a man to lean on a piece of furniture when there is fun to have for just a song. Yeah loverface might leave him and eat a bowl of rabbit stew. But I snoop through the china cabinet instead talking to him and his loverface. He says something and squeezes a handful of her ass leaving it red. Everyone leaves the party feeling wet and bruised, except this party in the hallway. Loveface, he says to pretend to acknowledge her as she slams all the drawers and cabinets shut. He pulls up his pants, as he zips he said “loverface”. He and everyone else know about it, not because you are talking about loverface but because everyone can see her glowing about.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Pretty in Oklahoma

A freckle on the breast
Cleavage to the double chin
Bad posture
A wicked smile
A little voice
Moaning back
And forth
She is no pixie
But wants to carry the pollen
On her gentle soft wings
She is pretty in Oklahoma
Her shoulders and boulders
The fabric
Of the costume
She is low down
She moves the heart
And meat in heat
Waiting for something
Cause it’s not enough
Pale and red headed
Flat forehead
In mosaic
She can make
You feel better

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Jeffery’s Rubber Tree

Imagine a rubber tree starting its life in a large greenhouse in Louisiana. It started as merely a bulb in a long row of other rubber trees. It is tended by Helena Whitman, a woman who has worked at the greenhouse for thirteen years. The rubber tree grew enough to be placed in a temporary pot till it’s shipped to another facility in Indiana where it is permanently potted into a ceramic pot that is painted a deep cerulean blue. It is then shipped to an Ace Hardware in Cincinnati, Ohio. The quality top soil used at the facility in Indiana allowed the rubber tree to be slightly neglected. However, the plant started to wither and was put on sale. A young blond man bought it. When the blond man and the rubber tree arrive at his apartment, he places the rubber tree under a window on a decorative pedestal that looks like a short Roman column. The rubber tree flourished under the light and the blond man is very attentive to the rubber tree, watering it regularly and sprinkling a bit of nutrients in the top soil ever month or two. In that state the rubber tree became aware of his setting, it felt healthier. The rubber tree thrived in the thick air. Air that seems to carrying around particles of something decomposing. The rubber tree was annoyed by the copious amount of flies, but at ease when the flies die and fall in the tops soil. Their decomposing bodies nourished the rubber tree all the more.
Imagine the rubber plant observing the blond man taking nude photos of young skinny black men on his sofa. Sometimes the plant was in the range of the camera and felt slightly self-conscious, hoping it is glossy and green enough to look good in the photos. Later the he noticed that these men that the blond man have on his couch are like the flies that decompose in its top soil. He wondered if the blond man is nourished by these men in a way similar to how the rubber tree is nourished, because the rubber tree sees theses men being consumed by the blond man. Soon these men are completely gone and metabolized by the blond man. There are so many that the rubber tree became jealous, the blond man didn’t sprinkle the pack of nutrients into his top soil this month. One of the men that the blond man brought over touched the rubber trees leafs. The rubber tree didn’t like it when one of the men stuck his long brown finger into its soil. The tree felt violated and didn’t warn him of the danger of the blond man.
Imagine the back of a moving truck. The rubber tree sits for a few hours while men in white hazmat suits take things out of the apartment. The rubber tree felt sick to be out of its environment. It wasn’t been watered in a few days and misses the blond man . It hasn’t had the nutrient packet and doesn’t like the darkness of the moving truck. The rubber tree is moved into a box then is put outside in a pit along with other things that smell of the blond man and his apartment. It was very cold and dark, the rubber tree almost froze before a fat woman with thick glasses and a frizzy auburn hair takes the rubber tree. She huffed away as she ran with it, some of the soil fell out on the concrete sidewalks and asphalt parking lots. She placed the rubber tree near a window when she got to her house, all the rubber tree saw and felt was the darkness it was taken out of. She waters it and caresses it leafs. The rubber tree missed the blond man. Every person that looked at the rubber tree stuck their finger in the soil. “It was HIS plant, from HIS apartment” she says. The rubber tree got used to the finger poking and started to enjoy it. The woman sprinkles in the nutrient packet and waters it. She took photos of the rubber tree; it feels better and recovers from its longing for the blond man. It watches the woman consuming a lot of things while she watches the television, where the blond man is catatonic and unaware of the rubber tree. The rubber tree became bored with the woman; it began to stare out into the darkness of the night.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

I will never again go out with another person that tells me about how many abortions his ex had due to his distaste of condoms. I feel very sad for this girl and wish I could cuddle her at night so she doesn’t have to be haunted by this dude that we both idiotically shared. Lord knows it was a good choice on her behalf to scrape out his seed from her poor uterus , but his selfishness is on the evil slime bag side. I’ve always had a taste for the dark side but he pushed it to limits.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Officially depressed ...again