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