3G's pt. 1

if i had three thousand dollars.

if i had three thousand dollars i would take the bus to union square and wander into stores asking where other stores are because i'm not used to having three thousand dollars and i don't know where to spend it. inside the store where everybody with money goes to spend it, i would grab armfuls of clothing; leather, tweed, cotton/poly blends, and struggle and drop things and ask the clerk do you have a bag or a basket i can carry these in. i would spend hours going back to the fitting rooms with the maximum number of items. the lady-boy in charge of them would roll his eyes at me behind his frosted flat-ironed bangs, and i would feel a little embarrassed because my real clothes aren't as nice as the ones i'm trying on and my hair is a mess and i'm sweating from running around the store grabbing everything i can. i would squeeze into so many pairs of jeggings, all of them beginning to look the same, asking myself did i already try these on? telling myself they'll look better at home away from these unflattering fluorescent lights and i have to have them.

girls would wait behind me in line with their one or two or maybe three items while one clerk rings me up and the other tries to fit all of my things into one bag. they would all wonder where i got the money and the funny part is that so would i. after all of this i would feel so high and so tired at the same time and chase after the bus with a cigarette in my mouth getting wet from the rain and then i would sit on the bus where it's warm with my stuff in my bag on my lap. i would look at the people on the bus like a hungry dog with a big bowl of food looks at a bunch of hungrier dogs.

i would do this all over again on a different day. but this time my shopping clothes would look more like my buying clothes and my real clothes would sit in the back of a drawer smelling like wood.

elephants and nomads

11:38. I get a text:
"I really wish you'd come over, though."
Like I ever needed to be coerced.
"Wanna come watch
a movie?" You ask.
Like watching movies together
is something we like to do.
Although, I can vaguely recall
Patrick Swayze
saying something bad ass then
jumping out of a plane
that time I spilled wine
all over your bed sheets.

So I say "Okay.
But first I have to finish
my homework."
I read three lines of an
essay on kinetic
landscape, stopping
at the phrase
"necessary evil".
I ride my bike
to seven eleven.
I take a shower
with a Coors Light.
I think about elephants
and nomads.
How they migrate
in circles, eating everything,
moving on when there's
nothing left for them.
One year later
they're back where
they started again.

I ask the cab driver
if I can smoke a cigarette.
He says, "No."
He says, "There's
a new law
about cab drivers
and prostitutes."
"Well is it cool
if I drink
a beer then?"
He says that's okay.
A few blocks later,
I'm still confused.
You know. About
elephants, nomads, life.
But mostly about the whole prostitute thing.

I take a hearty swig of the
silver bullet, then ask,
"What's with this new law
about the drivers,
and the prostitutes?"
"Now," he says,
"they want me to pay
two hundred and fifty dollars."
Which is a lot, I think,
for a BJ or whatever.
But then he says,
"I tell prostitute:
You want to smoke
you can pay the two fifty."
And it hits me:
Ohhhh,
Passenger. He thinks
he's saying passenger.

There's not much to say
about what happens next.
We sit on the same stoop.
Smoke the same cigarettes.
You ask me the same questions
you asked me last year.
Your room, your bed,
your fucked up grill,
the same, but different.
This must be how the
elephant feels. You read
me a blurb for the movie.
It sounds awful. Still,
I'm impressed that
tonight's invitation
wasn't contingent
on you being too fucked up
to read. Baby steps, I think.

Baby elephant.
Mouth-kissing, neck-gripping,
ear-biting, hair-pulling,
bored little baby elephant.
I say, let's take it slow tonight.
In fifteen minutes
you're snoring. I tip-toe
to the bathroom, where
one year ago I ran
us a bubble bath and
we soaked in the grime
and listened to Tom
Waits and ashed our
cigarettes in the water
and then sun came up
and you fell asleep.

But the bathroom is
fucking spotless. I can't
even recognize it. I want
whiskers in the sink.
I want filth. I want
a trail of rust bleeding
down the side of the tub
from the can of shaving cream
I emptied on your chest
while you slept, one year
ago. I want to wake you up,
walk to Safeway, make out
in front of the beer cooler.
I want it to feel like home.
But I am an elephant;
I am a nomad.

home movies

Bile. There's more. It fills the bowl, spills onto the floor. Your mom stands in the doorway. Your face is covered in dirt, she says. Over and over she asks, what happened. There's more. You can feel it. There's something hard inside you and it won't come out. It clings to your insides. This big, hard thing. You collapse on the cold linoleum, spewing. But it won't. Come. Out. What happened, she says again.

Bubbles. Family Video Two. You sit on a big wooden deck at a beach house in Ocean City, New Jersey. You blow bubbles. Your dad stands over you with a video camera. Your mom sits next to you in a floral one-piece bathing suit. Sunglasses; big smile. You're wearing neon green swim trunks over your diaper.You spill the bubbles, start to cry. There's more, she says. Don't cry.

Bottles. You hide the bottles. Under the bathroom sink, in kitchen cabinets, in the garage. There are too many bottles. You tell your sister you want to play hide and seek. She counts, you hide the bottles.

Broken. You're afraid of the basement. In the basement, your dad has a work bench with a broken panda waiting to be fixed. It's dark and smells funny, but it's a good place for hiding bottles.

Bathophobia. It rains a lot one summer, the basement floods. After the flood, your mom reads you books with pages that are warped and stuck together.

Box. On Christmas morning, your dad passes out on the couch. Your mom pours beer down the kitchen sink. You find a puppy in a box under the tree.

Bipolar. This is the greatest day of my life, your dad tells you. You go swimming in the ocean together.

Behaviors. Signs or behaviors associated with drowning or near-drowning: Head low in the water, mouth at water level. Head tilted back with mouth open. Eyes glassy and empty, unable to focus. Eyes open, with fear evident on the face.

Bubblicious. The detectives give you a pack of watermelon flavored gum. You put three pieces in your mouth at once, stare at a miniature lighthouse on the mantle. What happened, they ask. They say it's not a rescue anymore. It's a recovery. You unwrap another piece.

Broadcast. Family Video Five is taped over with a segment from the local news. You and your sister walking hand in hand down to the beach, helicopters circling overhead.

Body. Found two days later by a fisherman. Hearing this is like being woken abruptly from a very long, very strange dream. Words like bloated, spongy, and yellow are used to explain why the funeral is closed-casket.

Butcher. His friend Phil says a few words. He talks about sharing an apartment with your dad. Phil worked as a butcher; Dad was a vegetarian. Everyone laughs or cries. You just sit there.

Brothers. Herald, Pierce, Jimmy, George, Willie, and Frank (deceased). Your dad's brothers are all dying. Everyone thought Willie would be the next to go. Yet no one is surprised by what happened.

Bewildered. You often wonder if it was intentional. More often, you wonder if he wanted you to drown, too.

Buspirone. Some anti-depressants have been found to work better when used in combination with another drug.

Benzodiazepine. Tranquilizers and sedatives are prescribed to ease anxiety and promote sleep. Because of the high risk of dependency, these medications are intended only for short-term or occasional use.

Belnap. Every week he changes the doses. He says you should take more Fluoxetine, less Xanax. More Xanax, less Fluoxetine. This week, Dr. Belnap says, you should start feeling better.

Blame. This is a word your therapist advises you not to use. Or think about.

Bricks. You like your job laying tile. For hours, there's nothing but tile, grout, tile, grout. You lose yourself in the elaborate geometric patterns you arrange.

Boxing. Your mom thinks you should take up kickboxing to help channel some of your rage. Meet new people. A week later you go downtown, start a fight, get five staples in your head.

Bunny. Family Video Three. You're a bunny on Halloween, skipping down the hallway of Montessori school. You watch the footage: heaving, sobbing, gasping, like the boy who spilled his bubbles on the deck.

lucid dreaming for beginners

1. the only mistake

I stretch out across the table, legs dangling over the edge. A shrunken head hangs from the ceiling. It stares at me with red, wooden eyes. It has dog's mouth; a pink lacquered tongue, big yellow teeth. Dillon shaves my leg.

The first time I kissed Dillon, his place was cold, damp, like a cave. We watched a show about sea creatures. It filled the room with soft, blue light. We laid there, stuffy-nosed, mouth-breathing. Breathing on each other's faces. And then I asked. And then I pushed him off the mattress. I kissed him on the cold, hard floor.

He fills little plastic cups with ink. Everywhere is buzzing, like a swarm of steel bees rushing around the room. He stands over me, looks at my thigh. Dillon doesn’t ask. He just does it.

2. i remember nothing

I reach back, grip the edge of the table, clench my teeth. There's a little skull on the shelf next to me. I think it's a fox.

He took me to the Academy of Sciences. We ran around the aquarium, made faces at each other through the jellyfish tank. Later, on the train, I put my head on his shoulder. He smelled like peppermint soap. I fell asleep. That's how I remember it.

A fox. Or a weasel. Or something.

(We probably just sat there, not saying anything. The train shrieked through the tunnel. I wanted to get closer, to smell the soap on his neck.)

3. love will tear us apart

I get nauseous, look out the window.

It was morning. Cool air drifted in through the open window. I traced the skeletons etched on his pelvis. I knelt on the floor, helped him stretch out a canvas. He ran his fingertips across my back. I got goosebumps.

I talk about graduating. About a story I'm writing. About leaving the country for a long, long time. I just keep talking. I say I'm kind of seeing someone, now. Try to sound convincing.

There was a knock at the door. Then it was over. We never really talked about it.

4. the sound of music

I tell him it hurts. He says, "Yeah".

Tink Tink. That's the sound a bottle would make on the steel in his nose. Tink Tink. Then a cold hand searching for my leg under the blanket.

He sets the needle down, cleans my leg with cold water and a paper towel. He puts the jelly on his fingers, rubs it in. Slowly, deliberately, gently.

5. isolation

We stand in the mirror. "You want this?" He hands me the stencil. I go home, hang it in my bedroom.

Tink Tink.

One week later, I throw it away.

untitled

at blurry picnic
table, you always
look the same.
lights reflecting
off your head,
plus the shade
of your character.

i go back
to the place.
where you let me
down, easy. you
thought you were
eating pancakes.
i can pretend
you're there.

i sit, stare
at the jellyfish.
he looks like you,
with tentacles.
minus the sweater.

lurker II: dark son of night

i gave you
the bottom
of the bottles
red and white
in plastic cup
made pink.

you were late,
you said
"thanks."

then i
stumbled
home
wine-drunk
through the fog.

(i left out the
part where
i chased you
and you
vanished
or maybe hid
in the bushes.

it's not
important
anyway.)

my sweater
was red
and white too,
that's kind of
funny.

ha ha.

sexual dimorphism

Anglerfish are weird. The Anglerfish is a deep sea fish with a light attached to its head. It uses the light to lure prey into its mouth. For a long time, scientists didn't get why they were only finding female Anglerfish. They figured out that the male Anglerfish can't survive on his own. When the male Anglerfish is born, he finds a female Anglerfish. Then he bites her. The male Anglerfish attaches himself to the female, becomes a part of her body. He fuses his bloodstream with hers. Then the male Anglerfish slowly atrophies, loses his lungs, brain, heart. He atrophies until he's just a pair of gonads. Scientists used to think male Anglerfish were parasites.

I wonder how this all goes down. The baby boy Anglerfish is born, hatches out of a jelly egg. He swims and swims until he finds a girl Anglerfish. He can't look at her because the deep ocean is really dark. And the baby boy Anglerfish's eyes are really small. He doesn't see her, he smells her. He thinks she smells pretty good. So the baby boy Anglerfish bites her. They swim around together. He digests some of her skin, some of his lips. It's nice. Pretty soon, some prey comes swimming along. Maybe it's a deep sea shrimp or something. The girl Anglerfish wants to eat the shrimp. She lights up her light. The deep sea shrimp starts to swim toward the light. Now, for the first time, the boy Anglerfish can see the girl Anglerfish. He looks at her, and her face is, like, really gnarly.

I wonder what happens next. I wonder if the boy Anglerfish says something like Hey. Thanks for keeping me alive and stuff. It was really fun. But I just remembered, I'm late for an appointment. I gotta get out of here. Then the boy Anglerfish swims away. He swims and swims, then he smells something. He thinks it smells pretty good.

neurolux

where everything
is a little
more intimate

hands
gestured wildly
like someone
was watching

you were
wrapped up
in masking tape
and you
were watching

five minutes
turned into
lots of minutes
turned into
my shirt my
glasses
off

i sat there
on the hood
said this
is what you do
you laughed
and you
said
yeah

i think
maybe
you're still
standing
on that same
corner

i turned
kind of pink
turned the keys
you turned
and just stood

there

where everything
is a little
more intimate.

i'm like really into your friend

One time I went to a Japanther show with my friend Maggie. This guy from school that I liked said he would be there. I drank Tecate. I threw myself in the pit. I drank more Tecate. I bruised my shins on the edge of the stage.
I talked to Matt at the bar. "I like your big hair," I said. "I like your big hair," Matt said. I twirled some of his big hair around my finger. Then I took this picture of the other one:

Maggie and I went to Delirium after the show. I talked about books with a guy she knew. He didn't drink. His face was all fucked up from a bike accident. I got him a Shirley Temple. I put my hand on his leg. He whispered something in my ear.

Challenge and opportunity.

stella was a diver and she was always down

It oozes. Smells kind of funny. The flower is from outer space. I think I can hear it ooze. I try to memorize the rhythm of Ed's breathing, watch him sleep for a while. Then I watch the end of Purple Rain. We ate a bunch of something like ecstasy and only made it to "long haired faggot". Ed misquoted the movie, felt me up. I work on the twelve pack I bought with a bad check. He wakes up, grabs my ass, goes back to sleep. The bed is really high up. I draw a butterfly on the ceiling with my toes. Look at my belly rise and fall. Lint and hair are stuck to the flower. I crawl down the ladder in my underwear. Slowly, carefully. There's a sleeping German across the hall. I rinse slime off space flower in the bathroom sink. It oozes some more. My clothes are piled up by the bed. If it would piss him off I'd get dressed now. Leave him sleeping there. It won't. I drink and drink til there's nothing left, think about the time I met Ed's mom. Pass out with my feet next to his face.

Macarthur station: smoking on concrete bench. I lock gazes with this guy. I can't tell if he's eyefucking me or just contemplating intensely whether or not I'd give him a light. On this concrete bench. Full of artichoke hearts and hefeweizen. Piss and vinegar. This morning the sleepy eyed,
two-year-old light of my life asked, "Frances do you know that your body is full of blood?"

cut and run

If you were hungry enough.
Curious enough.
I could hook you.
Reel you in.
Throw you back.
Catch you again.
Put you in a tank and just look at you.
Or gut you.
Toss your insides under the porch.
Scrape the blood off your spine with my thumbnail.
Cook you, eat you.
Or shellac you.
Mount you on the living room wall.
Hey, everyone, look what I caught.
But you are not hungry.
You didn't even finish your cereal.

fly me to the bright side of the moon and meet me on the other side, oh dreamweaver

The show was sold out. Sweat accumulated in flannels and beanies. The band was Delta Spirit. They weren't who I came to see. There was a rip in my tights. There's always a rip in my tights. The critters in my belly were swimming in whiskey. Then I saw him standing at the bar. In the black and white striped t-shirt from a thousand photographs, I saw him. He was glowing. He's always glowing. And the room was spinning around him. It always does. Before I could think of what to say, there I was tapping on his shoulder. I said everything. I told him I'd drawn his portrait, that it was hanging in my bedroom. He said he wanted to see it. Made it hard to breathe. Everyone was watching Delta Spirit and I was transfixed by the arrangement of his crooked teeth. Everyone was listening to Delta Spirit and all I heard was my name tumbling off his tongue. There was fog and swirling lights. I remember goose bumps, weak knees. I remember my heart busting out of my chest, hot blood spilling onto the floor. Everyone was standing in it, but they didn't know. They'll never know. And that was it.

let's talk about spaceships

Not that song. The
other one. The one
with the hand on my
thigh. And the sun.
And the grass.

Practice making empty
perfect. Thirty days.
Write it on the bed
room floor. Forget it.
Not that song.

Trade. Blood for wire.
Make pretty machine.
Fix it. Electrical
tape. Gears don't
need. They just turn.

the polish didn't shine the hole

It just floats there. It's sick.
And you were writing it. But you were all drunk. So it was bad.
It makes these noises. You know. Like, sick manatee noises. Manatee watches piece of seaweed for like three hours. It moves all slow cause it's like, underwater. It's going through some stuff. Existential stuff. It wishes it was a different shape. One that's not a manatee.
I don't want those things. Things that turn into stuff I wish you didn't tell me. And there's this picture I don't want you to see. It's of a kitten. The baby kitten is in a box of poptarts.

baby's clean conscience

forces of evil on a bozo nightmare

We sit in the tub discussing that one guy. I squeeze dish soap under the tap to make bubbles. Ed falls asleep. The water gets cold but I don’t get up. I like it cold. I light a cigarette and empty a can of shaving cream on his chest. I finish his Budweiser, open a fresh one. Ed’s snoring. He has me in his hairy, soapy arms. A pin-up, a pistol. I trace tattoos with soggy fingertips. The sun’s coming up and Jeremiah’s doing lines on the living room table. He’s looking for his liquor. I can hear Tom Waits singing something gay out there. Dirty towels heaped on the floor next to me. Maxim magazines, soap scum, Ed’s hair. He mumbles something about ringing my neck. I LOL, on the inside. It’s Halloween morning and I’m getting Swine flu. Tonight I’m Cookie Monster drinking whiskey in the street. I don’t want him to brood. I don’t want him to feel. I want him to stay asleep.

no epiphany

box elder