A Random Image
 

Jett Superior laid this on you on || June 28, 2007 || 11:40 pm

A dip of the head, a slip of the lip.

“You have to wait until you’re uncovered, you have to wait with someone naked, and then you’ll have to wait some more.” Attribute the quote yourdamnself.

Being seen, being known:

There is something antiquarian about me…I have calling cards for when my number is requested, I seal letters with wax, I bake pies for new neighbors. Then there is the me of too-high heels and too-short bangs and too-pondered imaginings.

Raw-nerved and ruined:

All the musically capable and gifted men I’ve known and I’ve never had a song written for me. Not to my knowledge, anyway. Why does this annoy me so?

I wonder if I’d not do better with an amalgamation of memories; those specific, singular traits from The Various plumped all cozy and contradictory in one larger-than-life man. Dark skin, sarcastic wit, smooth chest, broad shoulders, pulsing intellect, slim hips, lanky and gangly and loose. Green eyes that change to blue and sometimes gold but mostly stay green, a braid-puller, a face-caresser, an arch-kisser, an elbow-grabber. A natural-born orator maddeningly incapable of basic self-expression. A saint, a fool, a tragically fallable being. My hero.

Hope busy trying to overtake passion:

There is this movie. It centers around a young woman, one of those females who is unattractive in a myriad of ways, but who has that one thing that matters and you cannot help but be drawn to her.

The young woman, she is classically vacant in a way that cannot possibly considered shallow and she defines herself in sexual encounters. The girl sportfucks unashamedly and with a great deal of aplomb. Then she runs up on her male counterpart, and what-oh-what can happen when someone made of mirrors stands face-to-face with another someone made of mirrors? The infinite, the rabbit hole. Introfuckingspection and desperation collide.

Around this point in the storyline, he –obsessed and overtaken– extracts a vow from her. Here, she begins to grow cold. Your basic male panic, but emanating from a female. It peaks when, while telling her a story about his childhood, he lies underneath the bed, asking her to join him. She refuses, and it was so immediately and startlingly clear to me why: To lie beneath a bed in the still, dusky cool seems an intensely intimate thing to do. Just to lie there side by side, backs pulled by the wooden floor, maybe shoulders touching, maybe palms pressed together, beneath the mattress that had soaked in your sighs and muffled cries and filthy, delighted words for one another. What the ears waste in senseless moments of pleasure the mattress always drinks up.

We’re always pushed for a close:

We are silly, forgetful things. There should be a better summation than that, but I am learning as I go and that’s why I have to relay things in slovenly staccato shovelsful. For that, for my humanity, I am infinitely sorry. So sorry, in fact, that I could never have one hope past hell of conveying even a microscopic bit of to what degree.

What I shambled out of bed late, late one night to put to paper recently:

let me explain something.

If I cast off everything that offended you, I’d be merely a breath.

There’s more than one way to skin a religion:

According to your God’s standards, I have sinned like a champ. (I need that inked across my breastbone in a florid script: I HAVE SINNED LIKE A CHAMP. I try never to fail at beating my accusers to their accusations. Maybe it’s a pride thing. Maybe it’s simply another something that knee-jerk fools like me do.)

According to my Lord’s standards, I’m never beyond redemption.

The shambling, the late night, the setting of pen to paper wildly — none of these are unusual. What I actually wrote, it is a strange new animal. I am growing bolder after my own fashion.

Just imagine.

6 worked it out »

  1. marc 7.1.2007

    I have had a song — actually, a couple songs — written about me. Unfortunately, not in the good way, but in the “artistically pointing out how you hurt me” way. Even better, they are available on iTunes. So, every once in a while, when I’m trying my reallyest to dogkick myself, they are always there.

     
  2. Jettomatika 7.2.2007

    To you, domains=panties.

    Not that you sniff them. You change them a whole lot.

     
  3. marc 7.2.2007

    I sent you an email! But I know that my emails tend to get eaten by junk mail filters.

     
  4. Jett Superior 7.2.2007

    GOOD LORD! Was it full of delightful things, or just a redirect?

    Please do resend.

     
  5. Jettomatika 7.2.2007

    Plus, your luck. Sheesh.

     
  6. marc 7.2.2007

    It was just a mass email about the new domain with a brief explanation why so soon. Basically, crazy-ass ex-coworker and his onoffonoffonoffonoffonoff girlfriend found my site, so I had to do a clean break.

     

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