Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Hidden away in the destitute village are pockets of things worth traveling for. Things worth looking for behind closed doors which can be opened if one possesses the means. Things such as beautiful girls with flowers in their hair, their skin an exotic golden brown unlike the pale blonde princesses of your own childhood. Things such as new flavors and textures of food, such as the a smiles of the brothers and fathers of the beautiful girls, who are neither naive of your intentions for the little girls, nor disapproving.

Power plays in a cabin faintly aglow with orange light in the snow. Intrigue and politics of an animal called human, murder as the snow melts, new generations born, on their way in the ecstasy of youth, and dead again under the eye of the sun rising and falling. You may come across a man who inhabits the cabin in your journeys. He may be out there on the perimeter of the property to gather wood for the fire, and by chance you two may lock eyes. Know that whatever notion you have of his existence is false. Know that you should be glad not to be a part of his world, and that there is no way of relating to him anyway. When your back is turned and you walk away, the way you leave the cabin, so will the cabin remain for hundreds of years hence. You may come back again in three centuries and find a very similar looking man, or perhaps a completely different man, but a man none the less, the wretched stench of humans will never leave that damned cabin.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Present your neck to me for consideration.
I see you, girl who shows up at parties alone dressed like a doll.
You are well on your way, you hone your fashion sense, and now the girls you want to be look at you as one of them.
You get a tattoo on your shoulder.

You let the love of the women you imitate in.
You let yourself contemplate what kind of boyfriend you would like to have.
The choice is obvious, the kind with a beard and little tattoos here and there. Bad skin. You put off getting one for now.
You consider the love of other types of men, little do you know how much the love of a man can change you.

You come before me now with your wealth of knowledge, you have forgotten that you which wandered the streets like the echo of a lone trumpet in the night, you hate that you. You have divorced yourself of her.
You let my gaze in like you will let my tongue in.
The way you move, which is really a dance, the way you talk which is a song - it is all good and well.
Now present your neck for consideration.