(no subject)
Walking half way down the broken staircase I realized I was walking on air.Stumble, nor tremble, nor shake did I, but peddled as if I was riding an invisible bicycle. Non- existent step after non-existent step, I felt hunger rumbling like an elderly bear before its last meal. Yet, bear I resembled not but an ivory, hickory apparition. Ghost-like in every form excuse the paper cut blood that was smudged into my cheeks. Even the dress was ivory. Ivory- the precious stone of dead elephant tusks. An an elephant I was when I was sent trampling back to the reality that I now would be identified as a possession, a small trinket of diamond on his jewel encrusted hand cuffs.
First came the suntan stockings to erase race differentials of any sort,
smudged with knock-off rhinestones too small to even identify.
Next was the booted heel tan leather hide shoes that completed the empatheic legs.
Followed by horses' eyelashes, plastic lips, ancient bedroom eyes, parts to the right, and a non-colored fake ponytail.
Yet, the harder they tried to hide and enclose the evidence of individuality,
the more obnoxiously obvious was the truth underneath the spotlight of stage lights.
We were not made equal. We were lied to from birth,
from before birth,
from the time of the American Revolution,
though identical masks do make for a good distraction,
some shined like the stars dropped from the constellations they were fated to be,
while others suffocated under the dirt of the dusty floorboards of an old gymnasium floor.
The minute I spoke up would be the start of my eulogy, my long goodbye, my last monologue before I dropped off the face of the world I had built up again out of ashes. The world of princesses, fairies, and Tomagotchis. The world of crackers and Sprite, and the only time I can ever remember feeling safe and satisfied with playing alone.
And it had been taken over by the Licorice King himself before, over-run into a swampy mess of leftover cordial cherries. Stomped on, mangled, dragging chocolate covered cherries. We forget too soon the ease in which we are lead into perversion. My skins had built up their golden luster again only to be scratched and thrown into a tar pit of black licorice. I like to think of the Licorice King as the Devil himself, wrapping his tentacles around me burning holes in my brain as he branded me with each tickle of a touch. To be honestly guilty is one of the greatest pleasures of man tripping and co-existing as someone else for half an hour to make unkind decisions then disappear forever leaving the consequences and the nightmare essence of that feeling your body had as it was kidnapped by the physical form of the human condition.
"Anticipation is the greatest part of pleasure... my little love"
Last note: things change. distance is hard on everyone especially when they are really busy and you don't know half of what is going in their lives. it is really easy to get absorbed in one's own life...and to say you are giving up on trying to contact people is ridiculous. contact is not made by force, but by coincidence and time. to get mad at someone for not keeping in touch is just being oblivious to the infinite.
First came the suntan stockings to erase race differentials of any sort,
smudged with knock-off rhinestones too small to even identify.
Next was the booted heel tan leather hide shoes that completed the empatheic legs.
Followed by horses' eyelashes, plastic lips, ancient bedroom eyes, parts to the right, and a non-colored fake ponytail.
Yet, the harder they tried to hide and enclose the evidence of individuality,
the more obnoxiously obvious was the truth underneath the spotlight of stage lights.
We were not made equal. We were lied to from birth,
from before birth,
from the time of the American Revolution,
though identical masks do make for a good distraction,
some shined like the stars dropped from the constellations they were fated to be,
while others suffocated under the dirt of the dusty floorboards of an old gymnasium floor.
The minute I spoke up would be the start of my eulogy, my long goodbye, my last monologue before I dropped off the face of the world I had built up again out of ashes. The world of princesses, fairies, and Tomagotchis. The world of crackers and Sprite, and the only time I can ever remember feeling safe and satisfied with playing alone.
And it had been taken over by the Licorice King himself before, over-run into a swampy mess of leftover cordial cherries. Stomped on, mangled, dragging chocolate covered cherries. We forget too soon the ease in which we are lead into perversion. My skins had built up their golden luster again only to be scratched and thrown into a tar pit of black licorice. I like to think of the Licorice King as the Devil himself, wrapping his tentacles around me burning holes in my brain as he branded me with each tickle of a touch. To be honestly guilty is one of the greatest pleasures of man tripping and co-existing as someone else for half an hour to make unkind decisions then disappear forever leaving the consequences and the nightmare essence of that feeling your body had as it was kidnapped by the physical form of the human condition.
"Anticipation is the greatest part of pleasure... my little love"
Last note: things change. distance is hard on everyone especially when they are really busy and you don't know half of what is going in their lives. it is really easy to get absorbed in one's own life...and to say you are giving up on trying to contact people is ridiculous. contact is not made by force, but by coincidence and time. to get mad at someone for not keeping in touch is just being oblivious to the infinite.