Tag: women

Slave Leia Outfit,

Look, Slave Leia Outfit. We need to talk. I know you’re popular, and you’re great, really. I mean, gold bikini. That’s, like, totally classy. And you’re awesome, I’m sure. It’s just that… Well, I’ll be frank with you, because you deserve it. You just don’t do it for me. It’s nothing personal, really. It’s me, not you. I mean, I was a year old when you first showed up. We’re from different eras, you and I. Fate’s plan for my adolescent fantasies just didn’t include you. Your heart belongs to so many others. No, just, please don’t be upset. Do you know how many lightsaber wielders want you? I mean, you’re Slave Leia Outfit! You had Jabba, easily the most badass crime lord in the galaxy, all over you. I bet Boba Fett was eyefucking the hell out of you through that helmet of his. You know, before the whole pansy scream into the sarlaac.

Is there someone else? I, well… Yes. Yes, there is. She’s wonderful, Slave Leia Outfit. She covers up more, you know, to leave some to the imagination. She’s got these a-fucking-mazing striped legs and black boots that could easily stomp some fool’s face in. Blood splatters on her apron, a serious-looking blade. A cute skull pendant just above her ass. It’s just a really good thing we have going and I couldn’t be happier.

So, I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, you easily outnumber her at all the conventions. And you don’t look scary or wield a weapon or anything, so I bet all the boys want a picture with you.

Slave Leia Outfit,

Look, Slave Leia Outfit. We need to talk. I know you’re popular, and you’re great, really. I mean, gold bikini. That’s, like, totally classy. And you’re awesome, I’m sure. It’s just that… Well, I’ll be frank with you, because you deserve it. You just don’t do it for me. It’s nothing personal, really. It’s me, not you. I mean, I was a year old when you first showed up. We’re from different eras, you and I. Fate’s plan for my adolescent fantasies just didn’t include you. Your heart belongs to so many others. No, just, please don’t be upset. Do you know how many lightsaber wielders want you? I mean, you’re Slave Leia Outfit! You had Jabba, easily the most badass crime lord in the galaxy, all over you. I bet Boba Fett was eyefucking the hell out of you through that helmet of his. You know, before the whole pansy scream into the sarlaac.

Is there someone else? I, well… Yes. Yes, there is. She’s wonderful, Slave Leia Outfit. She covers up more, you know, to leave some to the imagination. She’s got these a-fucking-mazing striped legs and black boots that could easily stomp some fool’s face in. Blood splatters on her apron, a serious-looking blade. A cute skull pendant just above her ass. It’s just a really good thing we have going and I couldn’t be happier.

So, I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, you easily outnumber her at all the conventions. And you don’t look scary or wield a weapon or anything, so I bet all the boys want a picture with you.

never desired

I never desired anyone who knew nothing of heartache. I don’t understand the correlation between desire and emotional experience, but I begin to think that perhaps I need someone who is aware of the pitfalls, even if they are forgotten in the initial grasp and share.

The tips of the iron bars of this headboard look like putrified penis heads, or perhaps my own after a dive in a mud bath. The bars themselves have the appropriate ridges and lines, and now I will see nothing but cocks when I look at it. Men are preoccupied with their cocks and how they can be used, do not believe otherwise.

When I lie down and think about the past, as sensors will do, it is usually a preoccupation with the present. I desire a woman, how did I desire in the past? What decisions led to the pitfalls? Sometimes, I feel an earthquake, and my body flies toward the headboard at a hundred miles an hour several times over the course of about five seconds. I lay as still as possible and feel the breeze from the open window to the west blow past the hairs on my shoulders and upper back, and then the earthquake is over. It is impossible be certain of everything that will happen, and in some moments the certainty of everything that is going to happen comes crashing down.

Last week, at dinner, they asked me about the girls in high school. Topics of conversation, you know how it is.

“High school?”

“Yea,” with a buzzy laugh.

“That’s been over ten years ago. Um, it’s been. It’s been over ten years. They were all wannabe cholas.”

“A what?”

“It’s been too long. I just know the one girl I loved bit my shirt and growled like a puppy. I fell in love too quickly.”

“Aw! What else?”

“Nothing else.” She had a beautiful daughter. “Stop living in the past,” jokingly. I got drunk and came home.

never desired

I never desired anyone who knew nothing of heartache. I don’t understand the correlation between desire and emotional experience, but I begin to think that perhaps I need someone who is aware of the pitfalls, even if they are forgotten in the initial grasp and share.

The tips of the iron bars of this headboard look like putrified penis heads, or perhaps my own after a dive in a mud bath. The bars themselves have the appropriate ridges and lines, and now I will see nothing but cocks when I look at it. Men are preoccupied with their cocks and how they can be used, do not believe otherwise.

When I lie down and think about the past, as sensors will do, it is usually a preoccupation with the present. I desire a woman, how did I desire in the past? What decisions led to the pitfalls? Sometimes, I feel an earthquake, and my body flies toward the headboard at a hundred miles an hour several times over the course of about five seconds. I lay as still as possible and feel the breeze from the open window to the west blow past the hairs on my shoulders and upper back, and then the earthquake is over. It is impossible be certain of everything that will happen, and in some moments the certainty of everything that is going to happen comes crashing down.

Last week, at dinner, they asked me about the girls in high school. Topics of conversation, you know how it is.

“High school?”

“Yea,” with a buzzy laugh.

“That’s been over ten years ago. Um, it’s been. It’s been over ten years. They were all wannabe cholas.”

“A what?”

“It’s been too long. I just know the one girl I loved bit my shirt and growled like a puppy. I fell in love too quickly.”

“Aw! What else?”

“Nothing else.” She had a beautiful daughter. “Stop living in the past,” jokingly. I got drunk and came home.

proceed

In love or out of, here is how you must proceed.

Meet the most wonderful man in the world: a giver, a taker, a rich man with a poor man’s sensibilities, a lover of variety, an expert in sexplay, a sailor gone investor, a boy from an island who moved to the city, a laugher like no other, the kindest of gentleman, the worldliest of story-tellers. Meet him, and make him want you, and then, when he is sufficiently in the depths of you, leave him stranded in the ocean of all that good-natured loving. He isn’t enough and then, later, too much.

Find yourself alone, briefly, but get out of the dumps. The world is full of others. Date, deal with the polite ones, rude ones, outright creepy ones who leave twenty messages over the course of three days. You’ll wonder what’s happening, or if any of it is worth it. Invest in yourself, attend museum soirees, poetry readings, wine tastings. Take in culture, both the high kind and then the real kind, in the ghettos, in the slums, in the average suburbs too much like your own to be worthy of attention. Realize that your twenties have ended and realize you’re someone else. Look at yourself in the mirror, before the make-up, and say, “hello.” Feel good about where you are, so good that you leave that career, that man, that program, that city. Pick a place on the map that is not where you wanted to go.

Wander along a street and feel the eyes of a group of young men track you in civilly subdued desire. The neighborhood is different, the people used to buildings shorter than the trees. Walk forward and make a left turn on the Main St., keep walking to the iron bars, and when you hear the music, walk toward it. Continue along, your shoes will step on sticky substances, and then find the door marked as: 21 AND OLDER. Enter inside and listen to The Eagles on the jukebox.

Approach the bar and ask for a Coors, or something, I can’t quite tell from here. Glance around and look at the empty space, the bare wooden floor. Glance at me. Turn away and then give me a few minutes to build up the courage to approach you and tell you I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.

You take it from here.

proceed

In love or out of, here is how you must proceed.

Meet the most wonderful man in the world: a giver, a taker, a rich man with a poor man’s sensibilities, a lover of variety, an expert in sexplay, a sailor gone investor, a boy from an island who moved to the city, a laugher like no other, the kindest of gentleman, the worldliest of story-tellers. Meet him, and make him want you, and then, when he is sufficiently in the depths of you, leave him stranded in the ocean of all that good-natured loving. He isn’t enough and then, later, too much.

Find yourself alone, briefly, but get out of the dumps. The world is full of others. Date, deal with the polite ones, rude ones, outright creepy ones who leave twenty messages over the course of three days. You’ll wonder what’s happening, or if any of it is worth it. Invest in yourself, attend museum soirees, poetry readings, wine tastings. Take in culture, both the high kind and then the real kind, in the ghettos, in the slums, in the average suburbs too much like your own to be worthy of attention. Realize that your twenties have ended and realize you’re someone else. Look at yourself in the mirror, before the make-up, and say, “hello.” Feel good about where you are, so good that you leave that career, that man, that program, that city. Pick a place on the map that is not where you wanted to go.

Wander along a street and feel the eyes of a group of young men track you in civilly subdued desire. The neighborhood is different, the people used to buildings shorter than the trees. Walk forward and make a left turn on the Main St., keep walking to the iron bars, and when you hear the music, walk toward it. Continue along, your shoes will step on sticky substances, and then find the door marked as: 21 AND OLDER. Enter inside and listen to The Eagles on the jukebox.

Approach the bar and ask for a Coors, or something, I can’t quite tell from here. Glance around and look at the empty space, the bare wooden floor. Glance at me. Turn away and then give me a few minutes to build up the courage to approach you and tell you I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.

You take it from here.

the stick

This is a twig. Take the tip and scrape it along my vertebrae. I am built for this kind of life. A bundle of nerves can be removed. I can lift you off if I feel the need to.

the stick

This is a twig. Take the tip and scrape it along my vertebrae. I am built for this kind of life. A bundle of nerves can be removed. I can lift you off if I feel the need to.