Wednesday, July 30, 2008
The air was sticky just like the floor she stepped onto. The ants were invading the cat food and the surrounding floor. The half metal, half cardboard box that she lived in trapped heat like a convection oven. She could smell the perspiration fuming under her armpits.
"Sure as fuck is hotter in here then outside."
She bent over and wiped the floor, back and forth, as the smell of bleach filled the humid, sticky air. The sticky floor transformed into a sparkling oasis, one good enough to be fucked upon. Clean with an accentuating smell. As much as she loves cleanliness, she also loves dirtiness =-O
"I should put up some blankets to block off the 120 degree rooms."
Now, that was a good idea.
"I'll sleep on the couch--or I could turn my room into a sauna."
Ultimately, she decided on the couch which caused her--in the morning--to feel like she'd been hit by a Mack truck.
Speaking of Mack, she remembered a boy in the third grade by the name of Mack. He wrote a letter asking her--check the box: "Will you go with me? Yes? Or no?" She'd answered--yes. The next day he told her, "I want to fuck your pussy."
And she cried.
The teacher took her into the hallway and asked her what was wrong. "Mack said, he wanted to fuck my pussy."
Prince said, "They only imitate their atmosphere."
Sage words, Minnesota-Dude.
Good to the last drop. Coffee. Um. No thank you, I have mitral valve prolapse, caffeine doesn't agree with me.
She remembers the day her mother--Margaret--learned of her dooming heart disease.
"I have a bad heart," she'd told her daughter.
No, Mom, you have a perfect heart and a perfect imagination and a schizophrenic mind where voices come and go as if you were in a train station...where puss oozes from pores and you can taste the smell of disease.
Thank God! She is free, now.
And thank God I have a clear and clean mind--well...most of the time.
Time is a memory. Good and bad times--we are told to remember the good times.
Ah, the night I met Trent Reznor--now that was a good time. The only rose that knows my name.
Until next time, fasten your seat belts--they can be used as a floatation device--and enjoy the ride.
Life is a game; it's meant to be played.
Most of all, remember that your love never goes to waste. Lights will guide you home and ignite your bones--Coldplay...or Hotplay in this case.
Oh. And the love you feel in your heart; you take it with you.
Segue to Patrick Swayze. From, um, "Ghost." He said it better than me.
Even the most desolate soul who has never experienced "true love" will feel it at some time or another because..?
We all have the chance to experience everything--at the same time.
I want to fuck you like an animal =-O