(no subject)
i wipe away a single, salty tear as my time at the bougainvillea intern house comes to a close. offended, distended, hairy nose pouts and sulks, plowing several scowl lines into her puffy forehead, and i nod reflectively, packing away copious amounts of hillary's stolen lemon biscuits.
i left everything behind. the microwave, the internet (bon dieu...) the girls gone wild, even the nutcracker joe found in the sand.
for the next two weeks i am scheduled to live with the new chargée d'affaires, her husband, and african dogs.
poor joe is starting to grate my nerves with his spastic mannerisms, but i am an unfortunate cat, and crave those câlins like a drug. he thuds in a fury against my omoplates, and loses himself underneath my hair like a little boy in a pretend jungle. my life flashes in little slides before me to the rythm of his organs. we stand on our heads in the sand. upside down and faking a balance between earth and heaven.
i am ever-so-slowly slipping into a sultry insanity. stuck within the white walls of the embassy's commercial section, under the watchful gaze of our favourite junior, i twitch as hairy nose blasts cmt and sings along audibly to shania twain. my brain belches a foul warning before it starts to divide and dance, each part to a different beat. it tunes the strings in my stomach to the highest possible pitch, and the minutes pluck a fiery melody that resonates in my pelvis. i float momentarily from the throbbing body and watch it sneak off to some barren corner, rubbing against the copy machine and obscenely stroking the printer on its way.
i stagger out of the office and start again on down the street. i'm looking for something lost and inexistent. annihilated and hopeless. i see little girls drinking from coconuts and boys diving from the docks. i pass winston, sitting on his usual stump, and carving faces out of trees. in a daze, i think of humphrey mackevoy's weeping willow. gazing languidly at its reflection in the pond, inviting him to possess it. sad and motionless, begging him gently to shoot a flaming current through it. it sags its sullen branches and sighs between his awkward thrusts.
i smile and squint and hope one day for such a willing receptacle to love's delirium, at frothing full throttle.
i left everything behind. the microwave, the internet (bon dieu...) the girls gone wild, even the nutcracker joe found in the sand.
for the next two weeks i am scheduled to live with the new chargée d'affaires, her husband, and african dogs.
poor joe is starting to grate my nerves with his spastic mannerisms, but i am an unfortunate cat, and crave those câlins like a drug. he thuds in a fury against my omoplates, and loses himself underneath my hair like a little boy in a pretend jungle. my life flashes in little slides before me to the rythm of his organs. we stand on our heads in the sand. upside down and faking a balance between earth and heaven.
i am ever-so-slowly slipping into a sultry insanity. stuck within the white walls of the embassy's commercial section, under the watchful gaze of our favourite junior, i twitch as hairy nose blasts cmt and sings along audibly to shania twain. my brain belches a foul warning before it starts to divide and dance, each part to a different beat. it tunes the strings in my stomach to the highest possible pitch, and the minutes pluck a fiery melody that resonates in my pelvis. i float momentarily from the throbbing body and watch it sneak off to some barren corner, rubbing against the copy machine and obscenely stroking the printer on its way.
i stagger out of the office and start again on down the street. i'm looking for something lost and inexistent. annihilated and hopeless. i see little girls drinking from coconuts and boys diving from the docks. i pass winston, sitting on his usual stump, and carving faces out of trees. in a daze, i think of humphrey mackevoy's weeping willow. gazing languidly at its reflection in the pond, inviting him to possess it. sad and motionless, begging him gently to shoot a flaming current through it. it sags its sullen branches and sighs between his awkward thrusts.
i smile and squint and hope one day for such a willing receptacle to love's delirium, at frothing full throttle.