If I could only get drunk, I could perhaps sleep with men who are not to my taste, regardless of whether that is an intelligent approach to solving the predicament I find myself in. But I cannot get drunk, instead I feel a kind of plexiglass bubble around me, like the one on the popemobile. It seems I can only fall in love with icicles, salamanders, stone idols, and figments, and only sex with love will break through the plexiglass. Until then I suppose I am fated to move through the parade moving my raised palm in a mechanical horizontal motion, fake smile plastered on face, oh I'm just fine. Fog over city today, men working in bright vests. I have a date with an escape artist. My husband was an escape artist too but of a different sort. His pneumatic cuntlet. "I'm so ugly," he used to say, looking in the bathroom mirror, and I'd say, "no, Boyfriend's cute!" but now, I think, yes, ugly, layers and layers of profound ugliness, in that he was deceptive and full of mean opinions, many about himself. What he thought and felt about me is anyone's guess, since he wouldn't tell me. "we hope to make a connection." reminder: it takes 1/5 of a second to fall in love.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
0 comments:
Post a Comment