Thursday, December 23, 2004
More laundry sitting in the washer
In addition to previous bastard literature.
She couldn't say when it happened
Could have been minutes
Weeks
Months,
Or maybe every time
He appears,
It just keeps occurring.
She is adamently against it
Fights the idea constantly
Of her aortic regions
Gushing in his hands.
At first it seemed he hurt her
But really all hurt is self-induced
Guided by blind susceptibility
To fantasies and dreams.
Watch her-
Small distant laughs and smiles
It was altogether too perfect
In the minds eye
She warrants imperfection
He deserves flawless
She wants that for him
Wawnts to look at herself
In realistic light again
Harsh fluorescent reality
Not imperfection erasing
Pink glow- self induced
(How did this happen?)
She would cry
If he ever saw her. Really.
Too white misshapeness
Design flaws and peeling paint-job
There is always something though-
She feels a weird thing.
Unnameable and mystifying.
Often wishes he'd hasten with
The inevitable heart curbstomp
He has no inkling towards
She wants to be proved wrong,
Wants absolute freeing pain
Misguided
Disillusioned
Stupid.
(And she gets it, hurrah!! I wrote this a few weeks ago, and mannah has answered my cursing and swearing- all is returned to normal now. Well, as normal as anything ever is anyways.)
I got told I have a complex today- an esteem complex. But it isn't. It's just a reality. I mean, morally, you don't sell people a lemon right? You're obligated to let them know that the muffler is going to fall off at the end of the block away from the lot- to be honest with them, because if you're not honest right off the bat, you're either going to attract morons (return from my analogy), or, they're going to jump in and find out all the flaws later, and break your heart- (eg: return the car from whence it came. Possibly involve a lawsuit, etc.)
Elaugh and I went through a trial today concerning the overly large mouse I may have mentioned a few weeks ago. After ignoring the counsel of many to "cut it in half like it ain't no big deal" I just gave it to her whole. And watched her intently, ready to do something if I had to. Open snake surgery. Cut off the hind legs of the mouse. Even more misguidedly, puncture the mouse to make it more compressible. But, that apparently is what bowels are for. Ever heard a dead mouse fart? It's beautiful, like herald angels with little mini trumpets. As she slowly snerfed it down (this made up word was the only one that seemed appropriate to an eating snake) I started to panic more as the lower end of the snake pillowed out to become a round fat ass that I wasn't sure she'd be able to handle. I phoned the pet people- they told me to stop underestimating my snake, and to pull it back out if it seriously got stuck. You're not supposed to pull things out of a snake's mouth, physiologically speaking, it's a dangerous thing to do, but I realized that in lieu of an alternative, I might have to. But instead, I coached. I cheered her on, keeping eye contact with my sometimes panicky expressioned little reptile friend (ok- to clarify- this is a joke- snakes do not "express" anything) and fretted in my chair. In short, she managed it just fine, though it was a tight squeeze and probably sacked her completely for the next two days- and she probably hates me. I was doubly impressed though. It was like watching childbirth, but in reverse, as the last of the mouse bum vanished into the pink gummy orifice. If you've ever seen a cartoon of a snake with a man shape in it's belly, that's what she looked like tonight. Gotta run.
¶ 7:22 PM
She couldn't say when it happened
Could have been minutes
Weeks
Months,
Or maybe every time
He appears,
It just keeps occurring.
She is adamently against it
Fights the idea constantly
Of her aortic regions
Gushing in his hands.
At first it seemed he hurt her
But really all hurt is self-induced
Guided by blind susceptibility
To fantasies and dreams.
Watch her-
Small distant laughs and smiles
It was altogether too perfect
In the minds eye
She warrants imperfection
He deserves flawless
She wants that for him
Wawnts to look at herself
In realistic light again
Harsh fluorescent reality
Not imperfection erasing
Pink glow- self induced
(How did this happen?)
She would cry
If he ever saw her. Really.
Too white misshapeness
Design flaws and peeling paint-job
There is always something though-
She feels a weird thing.
Unnameable and mystifying.
Often wishes he'd hasten with
The inevitable heart curbstomp
He has no inkling towards
She wants to be proved wrong,
Wants absolute freeing pain
Misguided
Disillusioned
Stupid.
(And she gets it, hurrah!! I wrote this a few weeks ago, and mannah has answered my cursing and swearing- all is returned to normal now. Well, as normal as anything ever is anyways.)
I got told I have a complex today- an esteem complex. But it isn't. It's just a reality. I mean, morally, you don't sell people a lemon right? You're obligated to let them know that the muffler is going to fall off at the end of the block away from the lot- to be honest with them, because if you're not honest right off the bat, you're either going to attract morons (return from my analogy), or, they're going to jump in and find out all the flaws later, and break your heart- (eg: return the car from whence it came. Possibly involve a lawsuit, etc.)
Elaugh and I went through a trial today concerning the overly large mouse I may have mentioned a few weeks ago. After ignoring the counsel of many to "cut it in half like it ain't no big deal" I just gave it to her whole. And watched her intently, ready to do something if I had to. Open snake surgery. Cut off the hind legs of the mouse. Even more misguidedly, puncture the mouse to make it more compressible. But, that apparently is what bowels are for. Ever heard a dead mouse fart? It's beautiful, like herald angels with little mini trumpets. As she slowly snerfed it down (this made up word was the only one that seemed appropriate to an eating snake) I started to panic more as the lower end of the snake pillowed out to become a round fat ass that I wasn't sure she'd be able to handle. I phoned the pet people- they told me to stop underestimating my snake, and to pull it back out if it seriously got stuck. You're not supposed to pull things out of a snake's mouth, physiologically speaking, it's a dangerous thing to do, but I realized that in lieu of an alternative, I might have to. But instead, I coached. I cheered her on, keeping eye contact with my sometimes panicky expressioned little reptile friend (ok- to clarify- this is a joke- snakes do not "express" anything) and fretted in my chair. In short, she managed it just fine, though it was a tight squeeze and probably sacked her completely for the next two days- and she probably hates me. I was doubly impressed though. It was like watching childbirth, but in reverse, as the last of the mouse bum vanished into the pink gummy orifice. If you've ever seen a cartoon of a snake with a man shape in it's belly, that's what she looked like tonight. Gotta run.
¶ 7:22 PM
