an indian paintbrush. it begins with that, i suppose. and two people i don't know.
i try to write real and i begin to feel the emotions of the girl in the short story i just finished reading huddled up on the couch. solid gold. i'm on the couch. i'm sending my arms out to touch the air and feel it slip through my fingers and away...away. it's in the hilly cat litter by the animal door, a valley of excrement near yesterday's laundry. and i tried to finish the crossword puzzle during honors physics, blocking out all possible information about the transition of heat energy. i am heat energy. you can see me in infrared if you cannot see me in yellow green light of the sun or the harsh unnatural flourescent rods humming in tiled hallways. i am breathing, always breathing. chest cavity raises when i inhale in because i am not a deep breather. my abdomen goes down when oxygen comes in. my temperature is ninety-seven point four. constantly, unless i am sick. and i told someone yesterday that nothing is constant. nothing. i read about the women that spend more than i'd make in a year in a day. my gross income for two thousand and on was two hundred and forty two dollars. how do you feel now? i like to dance, and i like to tell people that. my body becomes liquid in the action of heat of fusion. vaporizing into a gas that condenses onto other bodies. an orgy of stages. do you feel my heartbeat when i pass by you on the street, in the hallway, on the sidewalk, in an aisle? do you? my neck surges with a pulse and moves molecules in a wave. there's a dollar in my pocket that has wrinkled from the groping of american hands. and sometimes i am handled. fold me over in the wallet that grows sweaty from warm tissue and stiff blue jean and pass me off into the palm of another. rehash my cash value with the stock market. i started biting my nails again. thin fingers topped with uncouth cuticles and slivers of white moon nails. tooth nail tooth knawing while caressing with pinked lips that probe for feel. lips are the most senstive part of the body. maybe that's why i feel the need to kiss your and make my sense familiar with you textures.
lovely lovely nameless megalomaniac.
currently spinning: it is silent