the way to wonderland - post three

The body was a thin body. Thin not in girth, but in density. The landscape was visible through her hands. The feeling was not light; gravity was visible and seemed to have a special task for holding her to the ground. Bands of various thicknesses connected her joints to the earth. Her hands passed through them as through a sunbeam. She took in the green, breezy fields and their inhabitants. She didn’t see anything attached to the horses or cattle, and they were secure to the ground. Perhaps only humans we tethered? It was curious. Footsteps approached at a run or trot, and there were several pairs.

This moment was the only constant from her various travels: should she hide and observe or risk meeting what was coming? This time the pastoral surroundings gave her courage, perhaps from a false sense of safety, but she remained in the full view as a line of jogging men in bright, clownish clothing breached the hilltop. Three legs apiece, the extraneous one seemed in use to be something of a training wheel to keep them from falling to their right as they all leaned ten degrees off the vertical. A total of eight eyes (and these were paired in the usual way) noticed her and quickly looked away with a forced casualness.

She tried to speak but found no voice, even though she was sure she had spoken a few words on arrival. Had that all been in her head? Was this a telepathic planet? She reached out with her mind but found only her own voice. Pardon? Excuse me? Please stop. I need help. Please. Her panic grew and her gestures amplified, but the bands restricted them to the normal range so that the waving of her arms in terror merely looked like the waving of a hand in greeting. The men were nearly to her, so she decided to jump in their path. She didn’t even reach two inches in the air. After they had passed, their whispers entered her ears, and the one distinct word among them was “cult”. They were gone.

Exhausted, the girl made a pile of herself and began to think out all of this information and hoped that her own logic had some shared characteristics with this world’s. The evolution of these people was clearly out of her realm. She couldn’t move easily, but she could see her own gravity. It was not subject to her will. There was some strange religion of which she was a part. Perhaps the bands were some sort of magic? Her frustration bubbled and built until she couldn’t just remain thinking. More information, more experience. That is what she really needed. How could she really make any real judgments based on three-legged men and her own capacity to move? Up she stood and took a step. Her foot snapped back to her place beside the road. Was she stuck here? No. She tried the other foot. Same result. She tried to kick her one foot, then the other, and then both. Nothing. Crawling? Maybe that was her movement? Crouching down, her hands reached out to the ground but jerked back to her body immediately before touching the ground.

I WANT TO CROSS THE ROAD!!!!!!!!!!

Her voice scared her. The horses looked at her, but she barely noticed because her leg tethers were suddenly gone. It took her a moment to understand that they were missing, but she soon sprinted across the road and would have kept going clear into the pasture, but she fell hard onto the ground once she had completed the crossing. The bonds were back in place. No. She cried. Her face and hands hurt from the scrapes and blossoming bruises, but the bitterness in her sobs was from her loss of freedom. She wanted to go home now. She wanted a warm bath and a good dinner and her parents reading to her before she fell asleep.

This post is late because I was at a breakfast with Governor Paterson who is incredibly funny. I'm going to keep working on Wonderland, so look for new posts next week. Previous posts are here: One; Two

listening

through my lips
billow forth the fullness
of my soul
but i am alone
so no one hears it
and i am asleep
so i can't understand
only the darkness listens

I know I promised more work on wonderland, but I couldn't get to it yesterday. So this is a poem from early college, so 1999ish. I did a little editing (mostly I cut the last part that doesn't work for me now).

the way to wonderland - post two

Alice was wrong. A looking glass is not the gateway to untold worlds. It takes precision to accomplish that kind of journey. One doesn’t just crash through a mirror and expect to find something unexpected. But an electric socket? That is the way to many other sides. You have to be exact. Too much of the current and you could discover the truth or fiction of the afterlife. Too little and you might as well have eaten a shitload candy for all the jolt you get. If you are able to get it just right though, it’s like all your circuits fire at once and brain currents that never would have met cross and whatever it is that is you is instantly on a trip. I’m eleven years old, and I’ve been on hundreds of journeys. I’ve lived hundreds of lives. I’ve grown old. I’ve grown young. I’ve been female, male, transgender, and lacking gender. I’ve been a member of the ruling class. I’ve been considered subhuman. I’ve never been equal. My lives have been quiet or famous or subversive or rebellious or murderous or typical. I can do anything, and I will do everything as long as I have time to let the right electrical forces meet.

The first time was around age three - a lucky accident of typical childhood curiosity. I am addicted. Unlike other drugs, the first time was merely an introduction. The power and clarity of my universes only increase with each attempt. That first world… sometimes I wish I could go back there to experience it fully. It was like moving through fog where nothing stops your movements except your inability to gather information about your surroundings. Going back, however, is against the rules. Not the physical ones. I can end up back somewhere I’ve been before. My rules, the ones that make my addiction livable: When making the final exit, the desire of and for that world must be left behind. I don’t care to live with longing. It’s incredibly limiting. So I leave longing like things you throw away when moving: you would like to keep them, but they are more of a burden than they are worth. Usually, I imagine my desire that way. I pack it in a box and leave it at the threshold. It is a sad liberation, but I carry little emotional baggage back with the memories from my other lives.

With all of this traveling and all of these lives, I still don’t know why I always come back to this one, this body. Is this actual reality? Why? Are the families and friends of all my other selves merely figments of a heightened imagination? It’s impossible, and no one who hasn’t experienced at least one other life can convince me otherwise. These places are too real, too logical in their own logic – not dream logic but whatever the prevailing rules for that planet are.

I don’t think I should stop. Even with all of consequences. My parents’ faces when one of them finds me lying on the floor with frizzed hair and a singed hem. Or my teachers noses that curl as if they smelled an offensive odor whenever I speak. Or the rocks the other children throw at me whenever the adults are not watching. My peers fear me for so many reasons. I could try to fit in and stop the abuse, but there is always a place full of confidantes or hangers on somewhere between my brainwaves. Who needs them?

There is one thing that does worry me about this electrical play. EST: Electro-shock therapy. It’s not difficult to draw comparisons between my play and that … therapy. I don’t have enough information, but I’ve heard the horror stories, and it adds an edge to my travels. What if I end up a shell of a person with no life here or anywhere else? I’m sure what I need to know would be fairly simple to find or calculate, but if I look and find that it will cause an anti-future, will I stop? Will I be forced to? Will I be able to? Will I care to? I don’t know. I hope, if that’s what is coming for me here in this life, that I kill myself trying to cross over instead. I’d rather be a corpse than a vegetable. Unless I’m making too many assumptions and judgments of the lives of vegetables. Maybe those souls’re anchored in one of the other worlds and because of this planet’s laws of matter, they leave a low functioning animal body – their box of desire and longing. We are not their actual reality, merely their crossed currents. They’ve gone home or left on another adventure or are resting in some paradise while this body minds the dreams and relationships they created here. Oh. I hope so.

These wires are my favorites. They’ve started me on so many journey and are nearly 100% reliable. Plus the blue rubber feels safer to me than any other color. I know it’s just a superstition, but it’s mine. It helps. With these, I don’t hesitate. You just pull the blue bit back about half an inch on both strands and plug in.


~~~~~~
The body was a thin body. Thin not in girth, but in density. The landscape was visible through her hands. The feeling was not light; gravity was visible and seemed to have a special task for holding her to the ground. Bands of various thicknesses connected her joints to the earth. Her hands passed through them as through a sunbeam. She took in the green, breezy fields and their inhabitants. She didn’t see anything attached to the horses or cattle, and they were secure to the ground. Perhaps only humans we tethered? It was curious. Footsteps approached. They were running or trotting, and there were several pairs.

This moment was the only constant from her various travels: should she hide and observe or risk meeting what was coming? This time the pastoral surroundings gave her courage, perhaps from a false sense of safety, but she remained in the full view as a line of jogging men in bright, clownish clothing breached the hilltop.

I didn't have time to do much on this story last night! I did some editing and started on the next part. I'll be working on it tonight (and probably the next few days). I'll just link back to previous posts for those (unless I make some major edits). First post is here.

CHECK OUT MY NEW BLOG!

I've started another blog with a few friends.

Girls Gone Wilde: where girls expose their wits
http://girlsgonewilde.blogspot.com

Check it out if you are interested, and Happy Mardi Gras, the tittiest day of the year!

grandmother's story

The clouds were painting perfect, nearly unbelievable and such a blessing. The woman sang as she stepped out of the shower and toweled the renegade water off her body. She called to her husband and checked the bed when no answer came. No one there. Not that it was difficult, but she was happy that he knew today was special and not to give her any grief. She dusted herself with the rose-scented powder her younger sister gave her for Christmas and put on her robe. A little breakfast and then she would make herself up and dress.

The smell of coffee, eggs and bacon filled the house outside of her room She looked in the boys’ room out of habit and headed to the kitchen. The living room added another smell. Where those pancakes? Yes, definitely pancakes, her favorite.

Honey, I am never going to fit into my clothes after eating all this.

He whirled around beaming, already dressed for the day. Good morning! An extended and surprising kiss. You’ll look wonderful no matter what. Gotta have a good start to today, right? Plus I made it special. Please?

Okay, dear. She reached for the coffee mug cabinet door.

Uh uh uh. Sit down.

But…

I would like to serve you this morning. He gently scooted her to the table, pulled out the chair, placed the napkin in her lap, and began caricaturing a snooty waiter.
And what would the mademoiselle have this morning?

Her guffaws snorted.

If the lady wishes, our special today is a plate of eggs, bacon and pancakes and comes with a piping hot mug of our finest Folgers coffee.

She snickered, I’ll have that.

Yes, madam.

Once the plates were set and the coffee poured, he looked at her and asked, Will you do the honors?

They bowed their heads, and she blessed the food to the nourishment of their bodies and sent thanks for their healthy children and granddaughters.

Are you nervous?

I’m trying not to be. It’s not like there is any going back now. Once I’m up there, I should be fine, right? It can’t be that much harder than singing?

You’ll be wonderful.

This was the right decision? I’m not making a fool of myself? Or you or the family?
We’ve always followed where the Lord leads. I wouldn’t doubt it now.

Yes. It’s just not what I expected of life.

No.

The meal finished in thought. He cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. She made up her face and dressed in the new dress she bought for the occasion. Sensible, comfortable and lovely, it gave her a shot of confidence.

Bobby, we need to get going soon. I don’t want to rush you, but we shouldn’t be late.

I’m almost ready. Just need to slip on my shoes. Can you grab my purse?

Already done.

She walked out the front door and was surprised by a flood of cheering. All of her children, their spouses and her three (so far) grandchildren stood in the driveway wearing their Sunday best. Her oldest walked up with a corsage.

We are so proud of you, Mama. I’m so glad my girls and my niece will have you as a role model. We are very lucky.

He pinned the corsage to her dress.

Speeeeeeech!
Speech!
Speech!!
Speech speech speech speech speech speech speech.

She waved them silent. Y’all are gonna ruin my make-up. Now, I already have one speech to give today. I think two is pushing it. So let’s just all pile in our cars and head over to the church before I get cold feet about this whole thing.

Mom, you’ll be great.

The familiar drive to the chapel calmed her. This place had always been her true home; she didn’t need to fear these people. They may disagree with her, but they would love her. Somehow, though, the possibility of disagreement terrified her. She kept repeating that this is home; Christ’s love is here; I won’t be rejected. The images of people rushing for the door though still came. Her heart had never beaten so quickly. Ed finally pulled into the parking lot and beelined for the space beside the front door. It was still early but a few people had gathered outside. Bobby tried to read their thoughts when they looked at her, but nothing.

~~~

An hour later she sat upon the stage, looking out over rows and rows of full pews. The air conditioning was working but sweat beaded up and made her clothes stick to her uncomfortably. The song was nearly over and then it would be time. She closed her eyes and sent a small prayer for strength up to heaven, inhaled, walked up to the lectern and exhaled.

Well, it nice to see so many faces this morning. I hope that I won’t disappoint.
She bowed her head. Heavenly Father, may the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts and minds be acceptable in your sight, oh Lord.

Good morning. I’d like to start today with a short passage. Ruth, Chapter 1, Verses 16 through 17. “But Ruth replied, ‘Don’t urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if anything but death separates you and me.” When I was married, if we had decided on vows other than the traditional ones, this passage would have been mine. Every time I read it, I get the shivers – the good kind. I come now to you, my friends, with this promise, this vow to you. I stand here a new pastor, recently ordained and given this church, which has been my home for over thirty years. Never have we had a woman at the pulpit, and I know change is difficult especially when souls and the light of Christ are at stake. Many, perhaps most, of you are worried. I am worried too, and no one can be more surprised than I am standing here. If another woman had stood before me, claiming the light of Christ, I am not sure that I would not have rejected her. Change is hard. But I have given my life to the Lord and where He leads, I can but only follow. Brothers and sisters, the Lord sent me to seminary, and then He sent me here. I must stand here before you and ask for your acceptance Ask that you welcome me as the new shepherd of this precious flock.

Perhaps being led by a woman is distasteful to some of you. Maybe you think that I could never hold that kind of power or don’t have the ability to lead. I cannot promise you that I am ready, or that I can lead, because I cannot be these things or do these things without you. A good shepherd must know how to balance the sheep’s knowledge with his own. A good parent will have dreams and plans for each of his or her children. As those tiny babies grow up, their dreams and plans must be honored. We give them our wisdom, our lessons, our love – whether or not they want it. We let their journey change the dreams we have for them. This is what I offer to you. “Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay.” Let us pray.

This is the continuation of this story. I don't know that it's finished (meaning fully fleshed out). There are a few edits from that first post.
My grandmother has always been a faithful and religious person. She was recently diagnosed with Alzheimer's, and I'm writing this as sort of card to her. I don't think she ever considered becoming a minister, so I've decided to imagine it for her.

writer's block paper

Overprocessed, overbleached, completely blank computer paper resists the writer. It wants printing machines and uniform letters. It defies you to write on it, blanks your imagination. So you write about it and thumb your nose at its efforts to remain pure. Secretly though the paper wants you to notice it, write its story. It was once a tree, you know.

I don’t think I have writer’s block, but I need to take some time from the new and work on some old things. So this week is going to edited pieces or extended pieces (maybe DJPMUFA). If you have a story you would like to see worked on, email me (address on the right) or leave in comments below.

a subway story

The train was nearly an hour late. Rain found it’s way through the grates and onto her clothes. Every couple of seconds a new body pushed her aside, shoved her down, edged her away. There was no space, but space was sought. Finally a slight wind caught her crumbling hair announcing the coming subway train. It inched into the station, mocking them. A slow panorama of stuffed cars, packed cars, sardined cars, and bulging cars made its way past her. Her car was disappointingly empty. Groans began. The commiseration of New Yorkers: this car was either an unbearable hotbox or the home of some homeless person with a smell not even a mother could love. The bell rang, and the doors let loose the answer. No one had ever smelled this level of foulness. She marched on. It was only a few stops, and if she waited any longer, someone would end up pushing her onto the tracks.

Like a cork pulled from the side of a barrel, her movement caused a rush onto the car. The bum was in the corner asleep. She – at least she thought this person was a she – didn’t have many bags. Her clothes were in the worst shape she had ever seen. Threadbare would have been generous. The other travelers smashed themselves as far away from the offending corner as possible, but her feet were tired and since the seat next to the woman was free, she sat down.

Either she was getting used to it or the smell was coming from somewhere else, but it seemed to ease and become bearable. She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes for a moment and then looked around and at her neighbor. This woman was far too thin and her skin too dry. The shoes could barely be called pieces of rubber. She pigeon-toed her feet as if it would make her overpriced pumps invisible. The woman snorted, yawned, looked around and went back to sleep. She opened her purse and pulled out a card, a little satchel and a pen. “If there is any way I can help you, please call me.” She wrote out her number and tied the card to the satchel. While deciding if she should wake the woman or leave it, she almsot missed her stop. She quickly pressed the packet into the closest hand, wished the woman a good night and leaped off the car. At home, her feet finally found a good soak and a quick massage. The phone was silent as she made another satchel: two dollars of quarters, fifty dollars in cash, and a Monthly Unlimited MetroCard. She picked up her cat, checked the alarm and headed to bed. As she slipped under the covers, Meredith Brooks’ Bitch started playing on her phone. She should expect these calls by now at exactly the time she didn’t want to take them, but every time she was surprised.

Hello.
I don’t know who you think you are, but I am doing just fine and I don’t appreciate you thinking otherwise.
I’m sorry.
Everything is fine. You can take your money back.
That’s okay. You can give it to whomever you think needs it.
Why do you think I know someone that needs it?
Everybody does.
They why don’t you give it to your “someone.”
When I see her I will, but…
Look. I don’t want your pity. I don’t want your money. I don’t want your Kindness. What I want is to be left alone, but you didn’t think to ask what I wanted. Did it make you feel better giving me that money?
Yes. That’s why I gave it to you.
What about me?
Look, throw the money in the trash. Rip it up. The point of giving someone something is to give it to them. If I gave a shit what you did with it, I would give you whatever the fuck I thought you should do with it.
You kiss your mother with that mouth?
Only when she deserves it.

She heard a snort through the phone.

Okay, honey. I think you are crazy, but I’ll keep it. Or something. Now it’s late, you better get to sleep.
Yes, ma’am. Have a good night.

The line was already dead.

C’mon CabyBakes, let’s go night-night.

Out on Coney Island, the woman checked the change slot of the payphone and turned and started walking toward the beach.

C’mon Chester, the stars are promising us some entertainment tonight.

A midnight black cat sauntered after her, playing with the tatters of her skirt. He snuggled up in her lap once she sat down in the warm sand and leaned on the fake palm tree in the playground. They looked up as the first meteor shot through the sky.

Isn’t that beautiful?

When I imagined this story originally, it did not go this way. The people on the subway were going to die in a blistery near-hallucination, but the "kind woman" would be spared. The homeless woman would keep her from the destruction when she tried to help. I'm much happier with how this one went. Let the story tell itself!

shelly story

“Okay, girls. One story before bed. Come; sit.”

The girls sat around their father’s feet.

“You’re slouching!”

“I am not.”

“Ow! You’re pulling my arm! Can’t you sit right?”

“Can’t you lean back? I’m not as stiff as you are!”

“I’m not stiff! This is how you should sit.”

“Girls! Get along or you can go to bed without a story.”

Silence.

“Once upon a time there was a little girl who was born with a turtle shell on her back.”

“Like we were born holding hand?”

“Yes. No one knew why she had a shell; neither of her parents had one. She had a happy childhood. She would play in the grass with her puppy and was absolutely the best at hide-n-seek.”

“Like we are at Red Rover”

“Right. When she would sleep, she would huddle in her shell – it was wonderfully warm – and she had the most pleasant dreams.

One day while playing hide-n-seek with the other children, Colbin, the town bully, because fiercely jealous of how good she was. He started throwing rocks at her beautiful shell and calling her terrible names. The other children who had all been friendly before started playing this new game. Shelly – that was her name – did not understand what was happening. When on of the rocks hit her in the head, she began to cry. The rocks and insults came faster with every sob.”

“What did she do?”

“She did the only thing she could do. She ran away from the mob, tucking her head in her shell until she reached the end of the clearing and plunged into the Sunless Forest. No child had ever ventured past the forest curtain, not even Colbin, but Shelly entered without thinking. She had to get away.

“Why didn’t she just hide in her shell?”

“Well, a shell is very tough, but it is not unbreakable. Shelly knew she couldn’t just stand there and take that assault.”

“Okay.”

“The children did not follow Shelly. The sun was setting, and it was almost time for supper. After some discussion and a little worry, they headed home. But Shelly did not come out of the woods. Even after the sun had sunk fully below the horizon, she still ran on through the woods, thinking she was still being chased because the sounds of the Sunless Forest sound very much like an angry mob. She ran so deep that the mob suddenly surrounded her. That is when she finally stopped and realized where she was. The world became strangely quiet. She took a stop in the direction from which she had come, but a field GROWL stopped her. She quickly hid in her shell, pulling the small bag her mother always made her carry. She spent the night listening the creatures sniff her shell and walk away.

Okay, girls. Good night!”

“WAIT! What happened to Shelly?”

“No one knows. She never returned from the forest. Her parents leave a candle lit in the window and watch for her to come down the path. And the children of the town were never given dessert again once the adults found out what had happened.”

“That’s not fair! Shelly’s life is ruined or ended and the kids only lose their dessert?”

“Yeah!”

“Well, if Shelly had run to her parents, she would have been safe.”

“I don’t think she was thinking that far ahead. She just needed to protect herself.”

“Those kids should have treated her better.”

“Girls. It is time for bed. We can talk about this tomorrow.”

As he closed the door, one of the girls began to sing softly:

Lost little girl, no way to find
Always felt slightly behind
Parents let her go astray
And wonder why she ran away
Her home is dark beyond the sun
Survival is her only fun
Why did those children beat her down
Bruises painting her like a clown
Now she waits inside her place
For someone to see her face
She will not fail, she will not die
No more waiting idly by
And seeks her fortune and seeks her life
She will prevail in this strife
Don’t weep for her for you will see
Shelly will have victory!

The girls dreamt all night of the courage of Shelly.

This is from a story I've been working on for a few years but haven't been able to find the right voice to tell it.

this could be called something. i don't know what that is.

the steam of the coffee
smelled of tequila
on the tongue
every chosen recipe wined
fifty days approaches

I haven't had any alcohol in 2009 yet. I'm not quitting just getting back to a place of control. Ioriginally was going to abstain for only a month, but I need(ed) to go longer.

the pro-choice morality play, part four

Beth
So, Dick, what do you think? Do you think you can be a better mother, a better woman, that we are? (removes tape or whatever prevented him from speaking)

Dick
I don’t know. I just want my life back.

Laina
The one where you knew the best thing for Jace before even walking through a van door, before you even knew her name, age, family, circumstances, thoughts, dreams, aspirations, and all of those things that culminate in the whole of who she is?

Dick
I … I just want my life back. Please. This is too much. I, I don’t. I…

Beth
Oh don’t cry, dear. Everything will work out. You’ll realize that this child is the baby you never knew you wanted.

Laina
Yeah. Look, we can’t hold you here forever. Once you walk through that door, all we can do is hope that you will make the best choice for you and your child. (releases the Dick restraints)

Beth
I hope you don’t think we were too harsh, but the ends justify the means, right?

Dick
I… Can I go?

Laina
Yes. (opens the door) We wish you well.

Beth
Both of you. (Dick leaves)

SCENE III
Outside of the clinic. The same crowd is still there making the same noise. Dick enters and crosses to the clinic. The security guard stops him.

Dick
I have an appointment.

The security guard lets him by. The crowd mumbles trying to figure out what just happened/how he got in there. Some probably try to enter, repeating the appointment line but are stopped by the guard.

SCENE IV
Inside the clinic. Dick waits in an examination room (complete with stirrups!) Beth enters in white lab coat.

Beth
Dick! What… Hello.

Dick
Wait. I… I can’t be pregnant. I can’t have a baby. I don’t want to do this.

Beth
Hey. It’s okay. Look. Here we are all about options. I’d like you to speak with our social worker. She’s trained to go over all the options including what sort of help is available to you.

Dick
Look. That’s nice and all, but I know what I want. I don’t want to be pregnant. I’m done.

Beth
Okay, but it is part of the process, so just let me get her. (She pokes her head out the door and motions for someone to come in – of course it’s Laina)

Laina
Hi, Dick. How are you?

Dick
I’m not good. I’m just ready to get back to normal.

Laina
I understand. Now, we just want to make sure that you are choosing to terminate your pregnancy on your own. No one is forcing you to do it?

Dick
No… why would…

Beth
It happens more than you would think.

Dick
Really? But why would the clinic care?

Laina
Pro-choice means all choices. We council people on keeping their babies, putting them up for adoption, and terminating their pregnancies. Contrary to some opinions, this is not an abortion mill.

Dick
I didn’t know.

Beth
Very few of those protesters choose to find out. It’s easier to just make assumptions and believe what other people tell them.

Dick
I’m sorry.

Laina
Thank you.

Beth
Dick, we do need to move forward. We need to confirm that you are pregnant before we move forward. Also, I have to show an ultrasound of the fetus as well as make the appointment for the procedure at least 24 hours away.

Dick
We can’t do it all now?

Laina
Unfortunately, we can’t.

Dick
I won’t tell anyone.

Beth
I’m sorry, Dick, but we can’t put the clinic in the crosshairs of legal action.

Laina
Hey! At least you are over 18, so we won’t have to ask your parents!

Dick
This is so stupid! I know what I want. I shouldn’t have to wait.

Beth
That’s the law. Sorry. Your legislators apparently know better than you. Now, can you lay back. We have to do the ultrasound. (knock at the door) Come in. (Jace enters)

Laina
Hi, Jace.

Dick
Oh. Hi. I…

Jace
I think we should tell him now.

Dick
I’m not pregnant, am I?

Beth
No.

Dick
You can’t implant a fetus in a liver, can you?

Laina
We can. Jace decided that she didn’t want to go through with it. It was her choice.

Jace
I wanted them to make you think you were pregnant and see what happened. So. I’m still pregnant. And I’m still trying to make a decision. I have four children. My husband trusts me in this decision. I want to send my children to college. I want so many things for them that a new child will make more difficult to pay for. I love my children. I would love any new child. So, Dick, what do you think I should do?

Dick
I… I think you should… I…

Jace
Well?

Dick
I don’t know. What do you think you should do?

Laina & Beth
Exactly.

I'm not sure if this is the best ending, but it's a start.

Part One; Part Two; Part Three

oh yeah. valentine's day.

In case you can't read/see the picture:

St. Valentine's culminates
in writing poetry on
bar napkins
about
writing poetry on
bar napkins.

I feel like this needs little explanation, but a shout out to The Lunatic Fringe and their incredibly fun show. I was waiting for the house to open when I wrote this. If you ever get to see them, Brooke Hoover and Deb MacLean* are my favourites.

*It's possible I've spelled her name incorrectly.

the pro-choice morality play, part three

Beth
You’re going to have a baby! You’ve got to focus on that. Babies are miracles, and this one even more so.

Dick
But I don’t want it. I have plans and goals that don’t include …

Laina
It’s not about you anymore; it’s about that precious gift living in your body.

Beth
Sharing your every experience.

Laina
Maybe if you saw it, you’d understand what this means.

Beth
Yes! Every mother needs to see his baby. It’ll help develop that strong bond between the two of you. You’ll really know how precious that little life is. (Laina has pulled the ultrasound machine into the space and started it up. I imagine that high pitched whine like when old TVs were turned on.)

Laina
Beth, can you get Dick ready?

Beth
Certainly. (Beth pulls Dick’s shirt and squirts a clear jelly on his belly)

Dick
Stop. You can’t do this. Leave me alone.

Laina
We’re just going to shoot sound waves through your body so you can get a picture of your baby. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

Dick
That’s not my baby! I don’t want it. Take it out!

Beth
Dick. If we do that, the child will die. It cannot survive another transplant.

Dick
I don’t care!

Laina
Hush! (silences Dick however it can be done; I imagine something with duct tape) You are just being selfish!

Beth
Now look. (she puts the device over his belly and slowly draws it across; Laina holds his head facing the monitor) There! Do you see that?

Dick
(Shaking his head) Uh uh.

Laina
It’s right… here. I think. That bit of fuzz.

Beth
No. It’s this right here.

Laina
No. That’s not it! It’s right here.

Dick
Mmmph mmmph mmph mmmph mmmph.

Beth
That’s what they all say. Oldest excuse in the book: If we can’t even pick it out, how’re you supposed to feel connected to it? Well, Dick, because you are. You are connected to it.

Dick
Mmmmph mmmph mmmmph mmmph mmmph.

Laina
Heard that one too, but women as the baby carriers is only a technicality now. And frankly, we are tired of having our uteruses held over their heads… so to speak, because they could one day maybe have a chance at hosting a baby for any length of time for any number of reasons.

Beth
We’ve decided that it’s your turn. You can spend nine months being told how to live, eat, be, think; having people think they can touch your belly whenever they want because "really" they are touching the baby.

Laina
As if the baby would say yes to every hand coming its way if it had the option to say no.

Beth
Right. To have doctors dictating how you bring your child into the world and ignoring your requests

Beth & Laina
For the baby.

Laina
To have motherhood used as a punishment.

Beth
Because you are not a human being alone.

Laina
Without a family.

Beth
You might as well be dead.

Laina
You need that husband to help you make decisions.

Beth
You can’t be trusted to make them yourself.

Laina
And god help you if you like women.

Beth
But that’s a discussion for another time.

Laina
We’ve decided since men are the only ones to be trusted, it is time we cut out the middle-women.

I'm really into this counter of "using motherhood as a punishment". I'm sure I've heard it before, but I just can't place where. I am definitely in the part of the process where I need to get as many ideas/anger out, so we'll see how it goes.

Part One; Part Two

the pro-choice morality play, part two

Dick
But but but I can’t be pregnant. I’m a man.

Beth
Oh, come on now. I don’t think being pregnant makes you any less of a man.

Dick
NO! I don’t have the right … equipment.

Beth
It’s called a uterus, and you are right. That’s why we didn’t implant your baby in your uterus. That would have been silly!

Laina
And futile.

Beth
Right. We implanted it in your liver. Now, I know that you are thinking. You’ll miscarry the baby because it’s not the proper environment, but don’t worry. Sometimes a fetus… oops, I mean baby, will implant in a liver when the uterus is absent. Once we figured out how to remove a gestating baby without aborting, we just made a logical leap as to what the next step would be.

Dick
But …

Laina
Yes?

Dick
Why didn’t just put into some other uterus!

Laina
Beth, do you mind if I take this one?

Beth
Be my guest.

Laina
You see, Dick, a uterus isn’t just a waiting compartment for anything that wants to move in.

Beth
It’s not Tupperware!

Laina
Exactly. It has to go through hormonal and physical changes in order to be prepared to maybe accept a fertilized egg, and even then it’s not a guarantee that implantation will occur.

Beth
That potential human could end up in the toilet without anyone ever knowing or doing anything to cause it.

Laina
Um… yes. (to Beth) A little less crass, please. (back to Dick) So you see, if we tried to implant there, our chances of success would be much lower. After a few dozen trials with the liver - which as far as we can tell doesn’t need all of those hormones – our success ratio has reached 90%. Isn’t that wonderful?

Dick
I don’t want to be pregnant.

Beth
You should have thought about that before you walked into a strange van with people you barely knew. Now you’ll just have to own the consequences of your actions. This baby didn’t do anything wrong. Do you think you should punish it?

Dick
Well, I uh. Um, no. But this is not something I’m prepared for. I don’t know the first thing about a baby – born or pre-born.

Laina
Your baby. You need to start thinking of it as your baby.

Dick
I’m not keeping it.

Beth
Well, adoption is an option.

Laina
But I think you’ll have to wait until after it’s born and say you’re the father. If you tell an agency that you are pregnant, they might not believe you.

Dick
I am the father.

Laina
No. You’re the mother. At the very least, you are the surrogate.

Dick
You should have asked me before you did this. You should have told me what you were going to do!

Beth
Oh, I’m sorry.

Laina
We should have given you all of the (medically accurate) information about what was going to happen, but we didn’t think that was in your best interest.

Beth
Yeah. And we probably should have gotten your consent, but everything about you just said yes and so we didn’t think we really needed to ask. (ed. I want to make sure that this part – which like the whole script is still in first draft form – doesn’t exploit the experiences of those who have been assaulted. I don’t feel that I am but if I am, I want to find another way to make this point and if there isn’t a better one, I’m absolutely willing to drop this)

Dick
What am I going to do?

... but wait! there's more!

So this is part two. I should have Part Three up tomorrow. Comments and feedback can be sent to the email address in the sidebar or just leave them in the comments below!

Part One is here.

the pro-choice morality play

SCENE I
Outside of a clinic.
A large group of people are yelling, praying, and/or signing loudly. A girl walks by, the noise gets louder and clearly directed at her. A few people invade her space and follow her until she finally gets inside the clinic doors where a security guard prevents the followers to enter. One man in his 40s or 50s stands out through all of this. He isn’t the leader but has drunk a lion’s share of their Kool-Aid. (ed. Is this stronger if he’s more of a cog, less convinced?) A woman runs over to him and pulls him away.

Dick
Beth, what is it?

Beth
We’ve got one. She was going to go into the clinic… didn’t know… if she was actually pregnant…she is. She’s almost there, Dick! She’s so close to saying “no” to a senseless murder.

Dick
Okay. What do we do?

Beth
We need you. I think a man is what we need. Someone with authority to really get her to get her to keep her baby.

Dick
I’m your Dick! Where’s the van?

Beth
Around the corner. Hurry. She’s nervous. I’m not sure how long Laina can keep her there without force. Come on!

Dick
Guys! I’ll be right back. Looks like all of our hard work is going to pay off. Here. Hold this. (hands sign to protestor, runs off)

Beth
(Looks intently at a particular sign; after dick is off – to herself) That’s not a fetus.


SCENE II
Interior of a large clinic type van. Part of it is curtained off.
Two thirty-fiveish year old women sit in opposite chairs, generally looking out of the window.

Laina
How’re you doing?

Jace
Fine I guess. I’m just not sure if…

Laina
I know. We can’t make you do anything; I just hope you make the right decision.
(knock at the door)
Come in. (Dick enters) Jace, this is Dick. He’s taking time from his day to come and talk to you. Dick, this is Jace. (Laina gets up to allow Dick to sit)

Dick
I was…

Jace
Expecting someone younger?

Dick
Yeah. I’m sorry. I just assumed you’d be sixteen or so and hiding from your parents.

Laina
Jace just found out she’s pregnant with baby number five. Isn’t that a blessing?

Dick
Five? Wow. Well that is … that is just wonderful!

Jace
Really? Because I’m not so sure. I mean we’re doing okay financially sort of, but I just think that a fifth kid is really going to start to strain us.

Dick
But a baby is a joy, no matter the burden. You have to remember that.

Jace
My oldest though, she wants to go to college and

Dick
Your oldest is a girl?

Jace
Yes

Dick
Well, she can help you care for the new baby. Plus you don’t want to teach her any bad moral lessons by killing her brother, do you?

Jace
She’s too busy, and she needs to keep her grades up. I don’t want her worrying about anything but her classwork.

Dick
True, I guess. She could think of it as life homework.

Jace
She doesn’t want to have children.

Dick
Sure she does! Just give her time. Once the new sibling is in the house, she’ll realize how great it is to be a mother. Like playing with dolls.

Jace
Babies aren’t anything like dolls, sir.

Dick
I know, but it’s - (during this time, Laina has watched and then picked up something from around the corner. She jabs a syringe into Dick’s neck – Dexter style – and he looks around surprised for a few seconds before losing consciousness)

Laina
Beth, get in here! (Beth enters) Grab his feet. Jace, would you mind pulling back this curtain? (she does, there is a hospital/vet type examination table. They lay Dick out on it and start prepping both Jace and Dick for a procedure.)

Jace
I’m not sure this is right.

Beth
Of course it’s not right, but talking hasn’t worked, legislation hasn’t worked, so we have to try something new. This isn’t Plan B; it’s plan MRA.

Laina
And thank you for helping us. After we’re done, you are welcome to stay and listen.

Jace
No. I think … Maybe. Can I sit somewhere where I can’t be seen?

Laina
Sure. Now, you are going to feel a little pinch, but it shouldn’t be too bad.

SCENE III
Interior of van
Dick is either still on the table or in one of the chairs – either way he’s tied down somehow. Laina and Beth flick cigarette butts out the window as he comes too.

Dick
What? Where? What happened?

Laina & Beth
CONGRATULATIONS! YOU’RE PREGNANT!

Beth
You saved that precious child from certain death. You, sir, are quite the hero.

Laina
I didn’t think any man would step up when the real decisions and sacrifices needed to be made, but you are have proven me wrong. I am happy for the lesson.

Dick
What are you talking about? I … I was outside then there was a girl… no a woman… what the hell happened?!

Beth
Careful. Anger is not good for the baby.

Dick
What baby?

Laina
We’ve transferred to nearly aborted fetus from that woman’s uterus to your liver. You have saved a life! Yes, the pregnancy is a little dangerous, but a baby is a joy, no matter the burden.

...to be continued

I've seen these protestors so many times and just the lack of imagination and insight into other people's lives is astounding. Also, it's seems for some that any means necessary is appropriate as long as they win. There is a definite assumption that all women are the same and that women's want, dreams, desires, situations, or anything are inconsequential. Here, I'm trying to turn the tables. Also, I really really like that episode of The Cosby Show where all of the men are preggers.

the way to wonderland

Alice was wrong. A looking glass is not the gateway to untold worlds. It takes precision to accomplish that kind of journey. One doesn’t just crash through a mirror and expect to find something unexpected. But an electric socket? That is the way to many other sides, but you have to be exact. Too much of the current and you could discover the truth or fiction of the afterlife. Too little and you might as well have eaten too much candy for all the jolt you get. If you are able to get it just right though, it’s like all your circuits fire at once and brain currents that never would have met cross and whatever it is that is you is instantly on a trip. I’m eleven years old, and I’ve been on hundreds of journeys. I’ve lived hundreds of lives. I’ve grown old. I’ve grown young. I’ve been female, male, transgender, and lacking gender. My lives have been quiet or famous or subversive or rebellious or murderous or typical. I can do anything, and I will do everything as long as I have time to let the right electrical forces meet.

The first time was around age three - a lucky accident of childhood curiosity. I am addicted. Unlike other drugs, the first time was merely an introduction. The power and clarity of my universes only increase with each attempt. That first world… sometimes I wish I could go back there to experience it fully. It was like moving through fog; nothing stops you from moving except your inability to gather information about your surroundings. Going back, however, is against the rules. Not the physical ones. I can end up back somewhere I’ve been before. My rules. When making the final exit, the desire of and for that world must be left behind. I don’t care to live with longing. It’s incredibly limiting, so I leave longing like the things you throw away when moving; you would like to keep them, but they are more of a burden than they are worth. Usually, I imagine my desire that way. I pack it in a box and leave it at the threshold. It is a sad liberation, but I carry little emotional baggage back from the other places.

With all of this traveling and all of these lives, I still don’t know why I always come back to this one, this body. Is this actual reality? Why? Are the families and friends of all my other selves merely figments of a heightened imagination? It’s impossible, and no one who hasn’t experienced at least one other life can convince me otherwise. These places are too real, too logical in their own logic – not dream logic but whatever the prevailing rules for that planet are.

I don’t think I should stop. Even with all of consequences. My parents’ faces when one of them finds me lying on the floor with frizzed hair and a singed hem. Or my teachers noses that curl as if they smelled an offensive odor whenever I speak. Or the rocks the other children throw at me whenever the adults are not watching. My peers fear me for so many reasons. I could try to fit in and stop the abuse, but there is always a place full of confidantes or hangers on somewhere between my brainwaves. Why change now?

There is one thing that does worry me about this electrical play. EST: Electro-shock therapy. I don’t have enough information, but I’ve heard the horror stories, and it adds an edge to my travels. What if I end up a shell of a person with no life here or anywhere else to live? I’m sure what I need to know would be fairly simple to find or calculate, but if I look and find that it will cause an anti-future, will I stop? Will I be forced to? Will I be able to? Will I care to? I don’t know. I hope, if that’s what is coming for me here in this life that I kill myself trying to cross over instead. I’d rather be a corpse than a vegetable. Unless I’m making too many assumptions and judgments of the lives of vegetables. Maybe those souls’re anchored in one of the other worlds and because of this planet’s laws of matter, they leave a low functioning animal body – their box of desire and longing. We are not their actual reality, merely their crossed currents. They’ve gone home or left on another adventure or are resting in some paradise while this body minds the dreams and relationships they created here.

This is the abrupt stop I mentioned. It's going somewhere but my brain is still working out the where.

grandmother's story

The clouds were painting perfect, nearly unbelievable and such a blessing. The woman sang as she stepped out of the shower and toweled the renegade water off her body. She called to her husband that it was time to get up and checked the bed when no answer came. No one there. She was happy that he knew today was special and not to give her any grief. She dusted herself with the rose-scented powder her younger sister gave her for Christmas and put on her robe. A little breakfast and then she would make herself up and dress.

The smell of coffee and eggs and bacon filled the house outside of her room She looked in the boys’ room out of habit and headed to the kitchen. The living room added another smell. Where those pancakes? Yes, definitely pancakes, her favorite.

Honey, I am never going to fit into my clothes after eating all that.

He whirled around beaming already dressed for the day.

Good morning! An extended and surprising kiss. You’ll look wonderful no matter what. Gotta have a good start to today, right? Plus I made it special. Please?

Okay, dear. She reached for the coffee mug cabinet door.

Uh uh uh. Sit down.

But…

I would like to serve you this morning.

He gently scooted her to the table, pulled out the chair, placed the napkin in her lap, and began caricaturing a snooty waiter.

And what would the mademoiselle have this morning?

Her guffaws snorted.

If the lady wishes, our special today is a plate of eggs, bacon and pancakes and comes with a piping hot mug of our finest Folgers coffee.

Stop! My stomach! I’ll have that.

Yes, madam.

Once the plates were set and the coffee poured, he looked at her and asked, Will you do the honors?

The bowed their heads, and she blessed the food to the nourishment of their bodies and sent thanks for their healthy children and granddaughters.

Are you nervous?

I’m trying not to be. It’s not like there is any going back now. Once I’m up there, I should be fine, right? It can’t be that much harder than singing?

You’ll be wonderful.

This was the right decision? I’m not making a fool of myself or you or the family?

We’ve always followed where the Lord leads. I wouldn’t doubt Him now.

Yes. It’s just not what I expected of life.

No.

The meal ended in thought. He cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. She went to their room and made up her face and dressed in the new dress she bought for the occasion. Sensible, comfortable and lovely, it gave her a shot of confidence.

Bobby, we need to get going soon. I don’t want to rush you, but we shouldn’t be late.

I’m almost ready. Just need to slip on my shoes. Can you grab my purse?

Already done.

This is the start of the story for my grandmother. I know the general plot but this is as far as I was able to get. This piece is fiction, so these characters are not my family. They are my family filtered through my brain and placed in this plot.

the week of working on it

This week will be a week of posts that are in their beginning stages. I have two stories so far that have had just a little bit of work. Some stop suddenly because I either ran out of time or out of brain for them (that means I hit a wall - the story is coming but it's not in the language part of my head yet). Some are trite. I tend to need to get that out before I can really work a piece. I think some are currently in a form that they aren't suited for. So crazy times. And for crazy times, I'm giving you this picture I took while on my way to a coffee shop on Saturday.

Yep. That's a spoon. There's definitely a story there.

internal monologue

If I could just lick my own face, I'd be set. Who designed this body to have a long tongue but not long enough to do the job?!

What was that?

Okay. It was nothing. Where was I? The shoulder. So easy to reach and has the most satisfying head movement. Something moved! Be still be still be still. There it is! It didn't see me. Crouch down low and get ready. It's stopped oh wait it's spazzing!

Attack!!!!!

hahahahahaha! I got it! Wait. Shit. Whhheeereeee did iiiit goooooo? There. Got it. No. Got it. No. Got it. No. Got it.

POUNCE ON IT!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

This game sucks. I have better things to do. This pen needs to be...

on the floor! And stay there.

Human! Let me go! No. I don't want you right now. Augh. Fine. Pet me but I'm not gonna like it. Screw your needs.

Loose grip! I'm off!!!!! I. WIN.

Water or food? Food or water? Water then food? Yes.

I do not care for your toy. I am busy. Leave me alone.

I'm just going to go in the other room until you calm down wand later I am going to bite you for being a stupid human.

Stretch it out. Pad otu the bed. Perfect. No. Lump. There. Curl into the cutest, kittenest ball so I'm left alone. And commence nap seventeen of twenty.

I wonder constantly what makes my cat do the things she does. She's an only child and so know how to play without anyone else. Which I think make her daily adventures more interesting to watch.

angela & marianne

The last summer of absolute freedom sauntered its way toward orange and red days. Weeks of sunshine and no school and no authority in which language changed and relationships morphed and evolved. We were about to go through the fire of high school. We no longer played, we hung out. Secret conversations focused more on events than imagination. Breath changed and seemed for the first time real because of our control of it. How could we know that breath would become real to use a million times over our lifetimes?

Marianne was in a skirt for the first time since her third Easter when Mother presented her with the blushing pink dress complete with lace and ribbon. She was NOT going to wear THAT. I hate pink! Her face bloated to a tomato. It's only a day, an hour really. Just put it on. NO! The skirt tore at waistline, and Marianne was instantly over a knee. Pop! Pop! The noise brought the tears and wailing more than the pain. Now put it on. I don't like it. Well, you don't have to wear it after today, guilt trembling Mother's voice. Marianne sucked the snot back into her nose and wiped the remaining bit on her hand and her hand on her jammies. Promise? Yes, no more pink. Or dresses? We'll see.

She had avoided a skirt for ten years, but Angela had made her swear upon all things holy that she would wear something pretty that first high school day. Marianne had trouble saying No to Ang.

Nearly a year ago, Angela leaned her back against the oak, her sandwich poised for the first destructive bit. Her eyes darted back and forth, frantically taking in the groups of students and noting which ones glanced at her, which pretended they weren't talking about her, which were laughing at her even though she'd done nothing. She folded up her long and ever-growing legs, reached up the treed with her spine and defied them all to mock. down her nose she eyed that sandwich and bit in. A girl without a group positioned herself on the opposite side of the tree and began to chew her salad just loud enough to almost grate on your nerves. I don't know how you can stand to look at them. It's all so beige. Pardon? Them. They all have a kind of blindness to anything new or anything outside of the this ... bubble of a town. I don't like being judged. Please. Most of them probably don't even see you, and those that do only so they confirm their "superiority". So why watch? For information. Okay. The view over here is better though. The tracks? The tracks, the road, the sky, the trees, the birds - wouldn't you rather look at that? Maybe tomorrow. I'm going to go. Sure. I"m Marianne, by the way. Angela. Nice to meet you.

Angela knew this year was going to be different. People were goignt o like her this year. School was new for everyone. The field was level. She had had revelations at church camp this summer. She'd been popular and sought after. The two boys from school had warmed to her finally. She sang to her Awesome God and shared nights whispering about crushes to the girls in her cabin. She never whispered these things to Marianne. She hadn't realized she would even want to. Her mind created boyfriends from her first junior high. Jesus would forgive her these few fibs. The liles were not palatable, but she couldn't spit them out. Then the big chance. Billy had a crush on her. The girls told her to hold his hand, sit next to him at meals, laugh at his jokes, and sneak off when he asked - and he would ask. She did. All of it. And in a little wooded area, she finally had her first kiss.
But Ang, how can it be your first kiss? I've kissed you. It's different. It doesn't mean anything when you kiss me, but when a boy kisses you, it's something. It's a milestone. It feels like you can move forward, like everything will be okay. It feels good to be wanted, to not feel like a freak. Oh. You'll understand when it happens to you. Who's to say it hasn't?
She always knows how to push my buttons.

Ang caught her breath when Marianne got out of the car wearing a hippy skirt. Her heart changed its nervous thundering into some throbbing orb lodged in her throat. Marianne's hips had widened a bit over the summer, and she turned her pole-like frame away and absently touched the cross around her neck.
Why did she turn away? Marianne started feeling even more ridiculous than she had in the morning's mirror. She'd gone all out: skirt, peasant shirt, hair as controlled as the curls would agree to, mascara and lipgloss. She looked good or thought she looked good or maybe she should book it to the bathroom and hide. Ang definitely thought she looked stupid. Fuck. But Marianne made it to the flagpole next to her friend.
Hey. Hey. You look great. yeah, you too. Thanks for wearing the skirt. It looks good on you. You should do it more often. Please, you'd look better in it. Not with these bony hips. Your legs'd make up for it. What lunch do you have? Last. You? Same. Cool. Meet by the... Actually I don't know where... How about here? Yeah, that works. God, I missed you. Angela was in a hug she'd forgotten and that was over far too soon. The bell rang. See ya at lunch! Can't wait.

This story comes from work I did on Measure for Measure. I'm wondering how the dialogue reads, if you have to slow down too much and if it's fairly clear. Also, high school is weird.

i don't have a title for this, and i'm okay with that

i am tired of self-masticating

self-deprecating

self-hating

praying for the virgin mind

i am self-resuscitating
hand and fingers animating
the lost grey
electrifying my cunt, clit, lips, folds
oceans, lands, scattered territories
under one flag
eve and i reclaim our bounty

here i stand before you drenched
in urine in cum in shit
in blood in sweat
in tears
but it's not my shit
and it's not my piss
and it is not my cum
i'll lay claim to the tears
the tears are mine

but

actually

i'm lying

i'm lying to you

it is my piss and my shit
and definitely
that is my cum
i'm laughing
but still crying
still crying because
it FUCKING HURTS to slice open my belly
and show my guts

i hope you appreciate it
i did it for you - all of it

i want to embrace you
squeeze you blue
share this filth with you
pump blood all over your
clean.white.shirt.

don't you want to fuck me now?
reach your hands in and caress the pulsing matter
let the slick life pour through your fingers
rip out the bits that make you sick
that piss you off
that get- in- your- way
so you can
see what the vagina sees
when you try to make me cum

but you can't make me do anything

This poem is from a few years ago. I can't place it exactly in my life, but it's definitely post-undergrad. I've been thinking about changing the "see what the vagina sees" line to something like "see what happens", but I'm torn. I also sometimes end this with "that I don't want to do." At the moment, I like letting that remain unsaid. I'd be interested in thoughts on either matter.

in-your-end-o

how gay is that
waving his arms in the air
madonna replaced by britney
kicking his feet
grabbing his crotch
how's that foot long?!
six inches just
don't satisfy
I get to eight
and decide to just take the last two
Four.
What?
Math is hard.
Yeah, girl.
he laughs to fill the room
arms wave and spirit fingers move on

The inches we were talking about when this poem was inspired were a Subway sandwich. It was still really gay, though.

change stations now

Stronger than yesterday
I am stronger
Now there's nothing but my way
Change stations now
Change stations now
Everybody, do what you're doing
It's bound to be a sunshining day
Change stations now
Everybody, do what you're doing
Where have all the cowboys gone
Ooo, you get me ready in your '57 Chevy
Where is my prairie song?
I am wearing my new dress tonight
You made friend at the farm
Where have all the cowboys gone
The feeling of another sun
Change stations now
Change stations now
Give me hope, JoAnna
Move to the next station
Do it
Change stations now
Uptown girls
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah
And when she knows what she wants
She's got a choice
That's what I am
Just because I'm in love with an Uptown Girl
Change stations now!

I've been teaching myself how to write left-handed. At one point, I was practicing while someone else was playing music. I don't remember exactly where. I started just writing the lines that I heard, but because the writing was so slow then I would catch random ones throughout the song. And then apparently get mad at what was playing. This is the result with very little editing (which I think is obvious). It made me laugh.

And yes, I was going to post stories for my grandmother. I'm working on it. I hope to have something this week, but it'll probably be next week.