He said: I can't do this, I-
He said: I'm sorry.

I said: You can't do...what? Feels like you're doin it just fine to me.
I said: You have nothing to be sorry for.

He said: I'm sorry. I can't do this. I swore to myself years ago that I would never let myself become attached this way...

I said: ...this way, as in, pelvis to ass?

He said: ...no, I mean, to someone so young. My cutoff age is 25-

I said: lucky me, then. I'm 30.

He said: but you were 22 when we met, remember?

I said: Remember...meeting you? Of course I remember. How could I not? You were The Handsomest, and you put your very best strut on and then ya come right on up to me.
I said: Nobody does that anymore.
I said: What I don't remember, however, is the boy I was then. I think he lost his mind sometime in his earlylate-twenties and one night neither they nor I could find him and he'd done runned off- shirtless, barefoot, laughin and cryin- into the moonless night.
I said: and now...he makes his own art from discarded silverware, Amana appliances, repurposed corporate branding sculptures, hatred, and jizz. And then he spends the remainder of his days trying to sell that art (to himself, no less) rather unsuccessfully.

He said:: ...and thumbtacks. They are important. The art is also made of thumbtacks.

I said: I'm sorry, did you just say "my heart is made of thumbtacks"?

He said: Yes. They are important. Because to "lose" a thumbtack is to find it much later, accidentally and painfully.

I said: Wow. Thumbtacks are important. The art is also made of them.

THE WOMAN MAKES PEACE
WITH HER FAULTY HEART



It wasn't your crippled rhythm
I could not forgive, or your dark red
skinless head of a vulture

but the things you hid:
five words and my lost
gold ring, the fine blue cup
you said was broken,
that stack of faces, gray
and folded, you claimed
we'd both forgotten,
the other hearts you ate,
and all that discarded time you hid
from me, saying it never happened.

There was that, and the way
you would not be captured,
sly featherless bird, fat raptor
singing your raucous punctured song
with your talons and your greedy eye
lurking high in the molten sunset
sky behind my left cloth breast
to pounce on strangers.

How many times have I told you:
The civilized world is a zoo,
not a jungle, stay in your cage.
And then the shouts
of blood, the rage as you threw yourself
against my ribs.

As for me, I would have strangled you
gladly with both hands,
squeezed you closed, also
your yelps of joy.
Life goes more smoothly without a heart,
without that shiftless emblem,
that flyblown lion, magpie, cannibal
eagle, scorpion with its metallic tricks
of hate, that vulgar magic,
that organ the size and color
of a scalded rat,
that singed phoenix.

But you've shoved me this far,
old pump, and we're hooked
together like conspirators, which
we are, and just as distrustful.
We know that, barring accidents,
one of us will finally
betray the other; when that happens,
it's me for the urn and you for the jar.
Until then, it's an uneasy truce,
and honor between criminals.

The fist, withered and strung
on a chain around my neck
wishes to hold on
to me, commands
your transformation

The dead fingers mutter
against each other, thumbs rubbing
the worn moon rituals

but you are protected,
you do not snarl,
you do not change,

in the hard slot of your mouth
your teeth remain fixed,
zippered to a silver curve;
nothing rusts.

Through two holes in the leather
the discs of your eyes gleam
white as dulled quartz;
you wait

the fist stutters, gives up,
you are not visible

You unbuckle the fingers of the fist,
you order me to trust you.

--

This is not something that can be renounced,
it must renounce.

It lets go of me
and I open like a hand
cut off at the wrist

(it is the
arm feels pain

But the severed hand
the hand clutches at freedom)

--

Last year I abstained
this year I devour

without guilt
which is also an art

--

Your flawed body, sickle 
scars on the chest, moonmarks, the botched knee 
that nevertheless bends when you will it to

Your body, broke and put together
not perfectly, marred
by war but moving
despite that with such ease and leisure

Your body that includes everything
you have done, you have had done
to you and goes beyond it

This is not what I want
but I want this also.

1) "Violet, honey, would you come over here for a second?"

2) "Aah...cole slaw. We will enjoy it."

3) "Hmph. You been touched by a angel, gurl."

4) "...don't fall for it, she lives two trailers down."

5) "Please don't justify yourself; it's pathetic. If you'd tell me to fuck off I'd have more respect for ya."

6) "...aw honey I'd be so happy if you'd turn nelly."

7) "hey man, it's cool, it's okay. It's FINE, it's fuckin fine a man is a dick, he's a man, he's a dick he's a chicken? He's a dad? Valium, speculum, whatever."

8) "HEL-lo? Mmmhmmhmm, hello baybeh! Well you know I'm just doin that thang I do baybeh. Oh, no...okay, hold on! Louis babe, it's Odell. Oh I'm jus gon go pee..."

9) "...motherfucker, you fucking asshole who the fuck are y- who the fuck do you think you are I come in here, you don't know me, you don't know who I am what my life is and you have the BALLS, the INDECENCY to ask me a question about my life? FUCK YOU TOO. DON'T YOU CALL ME LADY. I COME IN HERE, I give these things to you, you check, you make your phone calls, look suspicious, ask questions, I'M SICK! I HAVE SICKNESS ALL AROUND ME AND YOU FUCKING ASK ME MY LIFE? WHAT'S WRONG?! HAVE YOU SEEN DEATH IN YOUR BED? IN YOUR HOUSE? Where's your fucking decency? And then I'm asked fucking questions what's...WRONG. YOU SUCK. MY DICK. THAT'S WHAT'S WRONG AND YOU? YOU FUCKING CALL ME LADY? SHAME ON YOU! SHAME ON YOU. Shame on BOTH OF YOU."

LOL ok, so that one is pretty obvious...however, I think you'll agree that it is a monologue that really begs to be quoted in entirety. :D

10) "...there is a difference between bona fide racism and just speaking the truth, which is what I'm doing here. You understnad that, right? A big difference. Okay, because, racism...true racism...stems from ignorance. It is ignorant. Now; I don't wanna ever catch you being a racist. This is not to say, yanno, that you have license to bring R. Kelly home for dinner, okay- or bangin some fuckin beaner...ah, no, I'm just sayin that I'm scared that she's gonna repeat some of this shit at school. And I know, because these teachers, these fuckin dykes, lesbians these feminists at the school system with their fuckin rectal-ranger buddies, 'aww, it's the PARENTS' FAULT, it's the UPBRINGING' -right, yanno, as if what, kids couldn't inherently be fucking complete assholes on their own and by the way no swearing."

11) "...London."
"London?"
"London!"
"London?"
"Yes. LONDON. Yanno...fish, chips, cup o' tea, bad food worse weather mary-fuckin-poppins LONDON."

12) "...you better check that turkey-a-hers, because there's a hook in there that's gonna drag yore ass to a weddin chapel."
"no way...I don't believe in matrimony! Screws up a relationship."
"Amen to that, Ed Earl."

13) "...it looked like a hair brush, like a brush you brush your hair with."
"...was it pink?"
"YES it was pink goddamnit, it was PINK. IT WAS PINK AND NOW IT'S GONE."
"I put it upstairs; I didn't want it around the food."
"It wasn't around the food. The food is in the kitchen."
"It was on the same floor as the food."

14) "...aww, bein a woman is so interesting dontcha find it? What are we ladies, what are we- we are waitresses at the banquet of life."

15) "...uh, I think- no, I- I am positive that you are the most unattractive man that I have ever met in my entire life. You know, in the short time we have been together, you have demonstrated every loathsome characteristic of the male personality and even discovered a few new ones. You are physically repulsive, intellectually retarded- you're morally reprehensible, vulgar, insensitive, selfish, stupid- you have no taste, a lousy sense of humor and you smell. You're not even interesting enough to make me sick."

 
What does it matter? you ask
   If protocol
        falls
    after artichokes
            and steak, 
                 Vivaldi
                     and
                    No
                  Wine
For God's sake
Let's not be traditional!
  
                   But I,
              Unused bed
                    All tousled
         Sing nursery rhymes
                  Chant
                       Strange
                          Chants
          Count stray insects 
          On the ceiling
                    and
              Wonder-
 Why don't you just shut up and
                              get in?

...cuz I can't live loaded and I can't live sober
and I been this way since the end of October
and I know enough to know, baby when it's over it's over

Fryderyk Award - Erykah Badu from erykah-badu.com on Vimeo.

Srsly, bitch, IF YOU THAT BAD AT HANDLIN YO SHIT, STICK TO WHATCHA KNOW: TWITTER. Foreal, if I have to sit through one more fuckin 10-minute long voicemail of whatever ass-crystallizingly-horrible house bullshit music (by DJ-who-gives-a-fuck) that is in the background filtered through the sounds of your fucking crotch, I WILL CUT SOMEBODY'S HAND OFF.

I am real, real tired of yall's entirely-ignunt new ad campaign. You know the one. Granted, yall the same group of fuckin brainiacs who made that one big fat douchebag Jerome or Jebediah or Pat Sajak or whoever the hell it was ALL FAMOUS FOR EATIN SO DAMN MANY OF YALL'S SAMMICHES, BUT SRSLY, THAT ONE WITH ALL THE VARIOUS FLAVORS OF DOUCHE WHO ALL SING ONE NOTE OF YOUR DAMN FI-DOLLA FOOT-LOOOONNNNNNG! JINGLE MAKES ME WANT TO TERMINATE YOUR LIFE FUNCTIONS (by applying sufficient pressure to your blunt (collective) skull so as to cause its collapse) - SO FUCKING STOP IT ALREADY JESUS

Yep. I was jerkin it earlier, and I thought about you. Yep. Except in this fantasy, you could be best described as something of a robot-ninja-lover-faggot who could really take it like a man, yo. So uh, if that's you IRL, welp, WHYYYYYY CAINTCHEW JUST CAWL ME?? YEW KNOW I'M GON WORRY BOUTCHEW TILL YEW CAWWWL MAAIEEEEE lol, lol. No, but like, srsly.

Plz to stop exploding. Srsly. We done been on alla these pills for nearbout a month, so, like, this is really late in the game for you to start doin me thisaway.

Zomg, I was just watching you on Chelsea Lately and jesus christ are you ever hot. No, srsly, I'd love to be your first drunkass regrettable gay experience. I'll even forgive you for the awkward, toothy head. Much in the same way one forgives a kitten for entangling itself in its very first ball of yarn. WOW SEX AND KITTENS IN THE SAME THOUGHT: GEE THANKS, GIANT SNAIL!!1!

Context: I am gettin myself a DELICIOUS FIJI WATER with which to take my bigass handful of pills. Since the frigerator is out there, this occasionally means I cross paths with BFSUM and he usually tries to say something ignunt to me, which I usually just ignore...but AW NO NOT TONIGHT MOTHERFUCKER.

Big Fat Stupid Uncle Mickey: Yer welcome.

Me: *bemused look* fer wut?

BFSUM: Fer alla them expensive meds yer takin...ya know, them comes from my tax dollars...so, yer welcome.

Me: *ANGRY-BROW-FACE* Um, scuse me for livin but when the fuck was the last time you paid property taxes in Dallas County?

BFSUM: *blink* uh...*STUPID FAT TOBY KEITH LOVING REDNECK LOOK*

Me: Well, if you're so fuckin concerned about YORE TAX DOLLARS AT WUUURRRK, you might oughta know what the fuck you're talkin about before you say some bullshit like that to me. Parkland, which is where I get all of these meds, is funded primarily by a property tax levied on Dallas County residents as well as charitable donations, so I'm just wonderin exactly how much property tax they charge your big fat ass for LIVIN HERE IN MY MAMA'S HOUSE.

Me: ...AND FURTHERMORE, DID YOU NOT SPEND A FUCKING YEAR OR SO AT PARKLAND WHEN YOU WAS JUST A CHILD IN HIGH SCHOOL AND HAD TUBERCULOSIS- AND FOR THAT MATTER, WASN'T YOU AND ALL 14 OF YO BROTHERS AND SISTERS ALL BORN THERE*? Who paid for all that care back in the GOOD OLE DAYS when alla yawl was so dirt-poor, huh?

BFSUM: Well, that's different...

Me: Different because it makes you sound like a fuckin freeloading douche, eh? FUCK YOU, DUDE; were it left up to you (and others who vote like you) there wouldn't even be a public hospital to speak of, you fat selfish fuck. YOU AND YOUR TAX DOLLARS CAN SUCK MY FUCKING DICK.

As I was saying this last bit, he turned on his heel and walked smack into his closed bedroom door. Like, total face-plant. I was all AW HAIL, THANKYEW KARMA FOR BEIN SO SWIFT AND BRUTAL. LOL, LOL, LOLOL.

-fin-

sandor_baci

Omg, I had the most awesome dream last sleep and you were in it. I dreamt that we were talkin on IM or whatever, and you were like OMGZ U SHOULD COME VISIT ME and I was like OMG GR8 IDEA and so I hijacked a cruise ship, and used it to get me across the pond. Then I came to your house (in England or Bangladesh or where-the-fuck-ever you stays at) and there I was, mindin my own business, when I came upon (haw!) a random- and very drunk- rugby team. They were in your basement, apparently, and they all had bone for me- BECAUSE I'M JUST SO FUCKIN PRETTY- so I proceeded to fuck this entire basement full of big hot stupid motherfuckers at your house (or hut or cave or trailer or whatever it is you stays in). Then you came downstairs, looking for your cat who- and I could not make this up if I tried- had done morphed into this big furry cat-manbearpig-thing and had proceeded to totally maul one of the big sexy stupid fuckers. She morphed back into her normal self before dejectedly slinking back up the stairs. Meanwhile I'm all like O HAI LOL I'M UP IN YUR BASEMENTZ, FUCKIN YUR RUGBY TEAMZ, O LOOK MORE COCKS AND BUTTS OM NOM NOM NOM LOL and I guess you were over that- or you had already done had all you wanted of it- and were all like ALLA YAWL NEEDTA GET THE FUCK UP OUT MY HOUSE! (cept you said it in your very own dialect, and not donny-tawk) So we did. Later, I went on up to some job interview I had set up with the motherfucking Queen of England, to be her personal assistant. She said I was perfect for the job (lol and I so would be) and everything seemed to be going along just splendidly until Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands showed up with this entourage of big hot Dutch men, knocked poor Queen Elizabeth the fuck out, and then kidnapped me. I woke up in a cold sweat...but I had a massive boner, so, like, what the fuck, ya know?

OMG thank you so much for finally getting over your most serious beauty problems; I suppose I should thank the various antifungals which are currently coursing through my veins at high serum levels but whatever, not the point...gone are the rough red dry patchy-flakies that were under both my eyes, along with all my dandruff (and its bastard redheaded stepchild, BEARDRUFF) and well...this mornin I caught myself in the mirror having just showered and couldn't help myself. I was all AWWWW WHOOO'Z A PURTY BOY?? and stuff. PHOTOGRAPHIC PROOF:

Oh, but you always 
made your finest points
by not saying a word;

 and where was I but strung
along and hung out to dry on
 that handsomest of jaw-lines?

hung up on how good it felt knowing 
the subtle differences between male 
bonding and a goddamn parking ticket, if only

for the year I wrapped around you
wondering up starry-eyed
at the living fucking breathing

work of man-art you're 
sure to be on down the line.
I knew all along you'd never be mine.

Did it matter? 
I loved you. you loved-
and we loved
all the wind
and rain between us.
--

- One of the doctors from the Parkland HIV Clinic called to let me know that they had my lab results from the 27 vials of blood they drew last friday, and the results are really Not Good. Cd4 count: 10. Yep. That's a 1 and ONE ZERO BEHIND IT. Holy fucking shit, that is scary...and they still ain't put me on the actual HIV meds yet; just bactrim and azithromycin.

- also, my viral load: just under a million. For those of yall what don't know, them's very bad numbers.

- also also, I apparently tested positive for fucking histoplasma (and no, I have not been playing around in bird or bat shit) , though it has remained asymptomatic (or as far as I can tell, it has). This means, of course, that I now require some kind of IV infusion plus oral antifungals- in addition to all the shit I'm already taking- the totality of which will probably fuck up my kidneys again. LOVELY.

- so tomorrow- or, really, today- at 8am, I have an apperntment for the first of who-knows-how-many infusions of (I think) amphotericin B (and possibly a couple days in the hospital depending on how I react to that, or so says the doctor) but since I am supposed to actually see and be able to talk to a doctor tomorrow, HOPEFULLY I WILL ALSO CAN HAS SOME HIV MEDS? PLZ? srsly. I am not leaving that place tomorrow without either a prescription in-hand, or some kind of clear timeline as to when they fucking intend to get me started on the antiviral meds. I'm fucking sick and tired of all this BAD FUCKING NEWS, and I really doubt that it's gonna get any better until I have a working immune system again.

Nautilaus
 
 
This is how I cut myself open
--with a half pint of whiskey, then
  there's enough dream to fall through
 
            to pure bone and shell
            where ocean has carved out
 
warm sea animals,
                 and has driven the night
                 dark and in me
 
                         like a labyrinth of knives.
---

morimur

Sonnet XLIII

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.

Yesterday I went to the Duchess Country Fair;
my daughter and I watched cows being milked.
A suction device pulled the milk out of their
udders, and squirted it into big 8
gallon glass containers.
We watched the cows' behinds.
I noticed, for the first time,
that the vaginas of cows are directly below
their assholes.
Every time a cow shits, some of her shit
dribbles over her vagina.

I imagined fucking a cow.
It seemed unsatisfying.
Cows have very few emotions.
I want the animal I am fucking to respond to me.
Fucking a cow would be like fucking a suitcase-
except for the weird thought:
"Omigod! I'm fucking a cow!"

In another shed, I saw a sheep's vagina,
as she lay on her back, having her hoofs
trimmed.
Her vagina was large and
human-looking, as I'd been told.
It frightened me-its fragility, its delicateness.
I feared that a sheep might enjoy sex exactly as I do;
that a sheep and I might reach orgasm together.

uneasytruce
sunsmogseahorse
fj
jpeace
deziner

I would like all of you to make a large snuggly pile of yourselves in my bed RIGHT FUCKING NOW GODDAMNIT.

3. I think I really need to take a fun trip somewhere, especially considering that my last attempt at one (new orleans for southern decadence) was such a bust. I'm thinking fort lauderdale since I ain't been there in nearly 5 years and I miss the people that I love there (though who knows if they even remember me. Or maybe I'll go see Hank in LA. And get us tickets to go be on Chelsea Lately (because I fucking worship the strappy Prada heels that bitch walks on) - one way or another I need to take a trip somewhere this year that does not suck stinky twat through skinny red coffee straws.

4. On that note, I really, really would love to visit Ipanema sometime before I die. Not that it's gonna happen, but it's worth mentioning I suppose.

5. I wish I had a 5th fact- or one which don't totally suck- but I don't.

the question is not do you
cut yourself open, but
how do you do it

so that dreams can fall
through and into you

and paint themselves on
the white canvas of your insides?

I myself am laid bare every
day, prepped for the world's
dissection, my life, my naked

ass on some alabaster dais, get
over here and cut into me
and find your answers;

take the parts of me that will
let us get down to the real you, this
is just what I do.

or maybe I am not myself at all. maybe
I am the dais on which I find myself
cut and bleeding, and these questions

are all my own questions
and all this callow bullshit is the result of 
answering one with another.

maybe this is all just my head
trapped within my head, a bad dream, 
a tiny gray man holding a megaphone

in a vacuum.
-