the body has its own story she said. oh yes? i said. the body she insisted doesn’t care that it doesn’t fit your theories. no i said i suppose not. flesh, too, had a voice and is quite articulate it says - yes i say i know what it says. it says the end is the end no matter how you slice it. precisely she said. she was herself quite eloquent. we were sitting in the cafe. the street disappearing behind the rainy plate glass window. behind us hovered the waiter and the good smell of coffee. she was beautiful. bookish. i loved her serious glasses. she was trying to explain about the flesh and i did not want to hear it but she persisted. your stories. yes? utilise the latest methods. they disrupt everything! strike out in new directions! nothing is certain. death to tradition! why thank you i said. at her back to the city wept with rain and to the dominant paradigm i said death to the dominant paradigm. of the beginning of the middle all that sad etcetera. of course she continues severely. the body is. i looked at her as the earth and i said of course the body is. a thing having a beginning and a middle and an end and is what my text struggles against and so the body and i are like two people in a cafe arguing about the way the story would go. i argue my position vis a vis. the end and beginning. and the body argues. hers yes she said. but let’s face it, no matter what you say the body wins
“There is a cult of ignorance in the United States, and there always has been. The strain of anti-intellectualism has been a constant thread winding its way through our political and cultural life, nurtured by the false notion that democracy means that ‘my ignorance is just as good as your knowledge.
— Isaac Asimov”—
I like listening to the leaves rustle. The faint smell of gasoline and the sun on my face. Weezer filling my soul. I had a boy who pissed me off and I did what I do best - I let him go. I got mad at myself and let it fester until the sun was up and it was time to strap on my boots. I saw my most favourite person of all perform for a world wide audience. He called late and I hope he felt my heart expand. Grumpy Gus was my name for the day. I am a writer without the words to write. I sip words such as vither and mischance like tea from my cup. I want an afternoon in the park with a good friend. Soak up the sun and indulge in spine tingling conversation. Fill my brain with big words and foreign language. Run my hands over my collarbone. I have a few great friends that I’d go to the ends of the earth for. My heart really is too big
i’ve got a list of goals. it is short and plausable. my heart, body, soul and mind are hungry and nothing is going to stop me. cancelled my trip to FL and bought a ticket elsewhere. my hair is gnarly full of too many curls. appointments for tattoo reworking have been made. the switching of roomates has been on my mind too much for my liking. my bed is unmade and my curtains are wide open. i dance infront of my mirror everyday and saunter my way down Valencia. i wish you’d stop comparing me to other girls. i don’t fit your mold, nor will i ever. i am happily comfortable being unassuming and unabashed in your presence. don’t make it otherwise.