wrangled and wrinkled.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

The cutest fat girl I ever seen works at a gas station and keeps it clean. Sometimes she works the register and rings me out. 1 dollar here another there 50 cents to end it all. As I piss my checking account away. I don't know if she really notices that. Don't get me wrong, I'm no big spender. But she isn't into money. If she was, she wouldn't be working at a gas station, right? Today she had a hole in her shirt. I don't think the gas station tends to really fulfill all uniform requests on the dime. Most likely there is a box in the back. Behind the refrigerated drinks to the right of the candy. Or maybe that's her lucky shirt. Maybe on the days she wears the shirt with the hole in it customers act cheerier, gas pumps flow faster, the ready made hot foods cook themselves. Maybe with extreme luck little birds fly in from the out doors land on her shoulder and tweet along to the light rock 90's songs which play daily all day. That'd be a site.

Saturday, April 24, 2010

Electric Ode

Be my girlfriend. I ask and ask and ask in my head. It's only because you are in my head that I ask. It's a bit like "Across the Sea" by Rivers. I only know you a little bit, the little bit you know someone from connections only made electronically. Maybe we could be the first to electronic synapses to fall in love. We have only really known each other from posts made, and emails made or pictures tagged from friends neither of us know. My computer sends a bit to my internet which sends it to the web and you read it and smile. I smile all the time when I read you. I wonder if you smile when you read me...We're across the web and I wonder how you do you hair. I wonder what you say with your voice and how you choose your glasses. I wonder how you ride your bike and where you put your keys. And you have the only cat I've ever loved upon first site. How do you fall in love with an animal with only meeting it on a picture on a screen?

I've looked at you a thousand times. But please don't read me wrong, I'm not obsessed. I'm just curious. My thoughts always exist in possibility and I know you aren't a real one. You live all the way on the east coast. I'm going to Australia to ride my bike and eat Vegemite sandwiches like Men Without Hats. You're going home to eat pizza that's defined by location. Which city has the best pizza? Which ever city you live in. I'll live in that city by the lake. If you'll let me when I come back from living in the Asian capital of the world outside of Asia it's self. Let's ride bikes and I'll by you gifts from 25 cent machines and you can love them for awhile and throw them away. I'll buy you groceries and candy bars and fatty meals at popular restaurants. We can share an onion bowl from somewhere.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

God breaks day break on me like an egg breaks on the side of a skillet. The cloudy egg white moves back and forth over the sunny yoke. They combine to make the morning sky and set a new day. I'll lie there unaware for seconds more. Until the eggy sky becomes brighter and I'm forced to make my way to the next room. When the light flicks on I'll brush my teeth. Pieces and parts each in different places complete a uniform for the day. Hat on the hook on the door in the room. Pants underneath my bed across from drawers where my shirts are found. I'll do everything but put on my shoes. When I walk I try to make my walk my prayer. I can't always promise when I say I will be better that I will be better. Diagonally through the wet grass, over the gritty pavement, past the bird poop canoes, and finally I walk beside the stocked shelves of the discount store. I see soaps, body wash, sunglasses, milk, cash registers, isles and isles of the unopened store. Security lights still dimmed, and doors still locked. Afterwards I'll approach the blossomed bushes and the tulips which highlight my final path. The smell is always the last encouragement towards work. The smell is also the last smell of freedom when I get out. Then I'll walk past the window with the soaps, past all the overpriced bikes, diagonally through the lot and grass, and up the street where my door greets me.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

From a dream V:

The setting was a Catholic church. We went together and with friends to a music festival there. Another car ride and we were alone in the back seat in an old 70's sedan. Three people sat up front in the large bench seat. Or maybe it was four, but I only knew one. Jesse peeked back at us and after laugher and mutual adoration we held hands. He caught us when he peeked and then whispered it to the others up front. I wasn't ashamed though, because to me in that moment it felt right. "It just felt right." Isn't that the explanation people give to others when they speak of love? Well this was just a dream, but as far as I can tell the dream me was as slow to feel as the real me. So we'll call it like for now.

There were many pews in the church. I don't remember walking in, only feeling excited for the bands that were playing. For some reason, I was very excited to see the Suicide Machines. The first band I can recall was the Sex Pistols. Although long broken up with their bassist dead, they still performed that night. Sans the guitarist and the drummer Johnny Rotten sang and the deceased Sid Vicious played drums. I was really into it. I was so into it I climbed up on the stage and was bobbing along to the beat with Sid. I was so into it that they became annoyed and removed me from the stage. When I came back to our seats I asked if you had seen me up there and I don't remember you replying, but I don't think you were as pumped to see the two member (one deceased, but apparently available to play the Catholic church festival) Sex Pistols.

We got up and wandered to a side hallway. I was excited to have you alone and not in a group. We soon noticed a very ornate door. We then went inside to discover more doors. Each door was labeled as an office or a study for either the head priest or others who helped to run the church. Looking around we discovered a red button. Decidedly we agreed that this was the emergency Pope button. Every Catholic church has one. Just in case they need the Pope's immediate attention or advice. How novel, how useful.

The wall at our backs then changed into a woods scene. We saw the head priest of the church and a bishop riding bikes together in the wilderness. This was a total normal occurrence and we thought nothing of it. The head priest was in front with the bishop behind and kind of keeping an eye on the priest. Sort of how a bridesmaid carries the train on a wedding dress as to not let it dirty on the ground. After watching them ride by the wall turned two dimensional again. Four to five men dressed in black Puritan type clothes approached us. Some had long hair, some had facial hair, some had unsightly moles on their cheeks. None of them were particularly good looking. Although none struck us as ugly. Just somewhere in between, with the old time settler type look in their eyes. I don't remember if they spoke to us.

You were thirsty so we decided to go out and get a drink at a restaurant. Before we left while walking through the side hallway we saw through a number of doors and Tears for Fears was performing at the church. The song? "Head Over Heels". After exiting we found a restaurant quickly and it was almost as if we were beamed there. It was a dimly lit, semi crowded, semi formal atmosphere. I believe we were both enjoying the dinner and each other's company. Maybe you have been the girl from my dreams this whole time. The nameless, faceless one who is neither judgmental or completely taken by me. At least, though, I know who you are.