LOVE POEM #46 – WHERE PIGS CAN FLY

I met a girl named Victoria

And suddenly I knew the meaning of euphoria.

It was like she had fallen from heaven

(‘Cause from one to ten, she was an eleven).

I thought, in truth, it was an angel I’d seen,

Because no one more perfect had ever been.

There was a shimmering smile in her eyes

That no mere mortal could have devised.

 

‘Course I’ve never been a religious man—

Never one to think there was a master plan.

But I was struck dumb on Earth that day,

And for all my words I could not say

What it was that she meant to me…

‘Cause together’s something we could never be.

 

Yes, perhaps there’s some perfect world

Where I end up being with that perfect girl.

Where hell freezes over and pigs can fly

And she breaks up with her perfect guy.

——

 

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THE PAINTING MODEL

“Hey, would you model for me?” he stammered. She was walking through the hallway as he spoke, on her way out the door.

“What?” She said to him, turning on her tall, black heels sharply. His cheeks reddened, and he felt his ears grow hot.

“I-I said, would y-you model for me?” Her eyebrows raised behind her oversized Chanel sunglasses, and she cocked her head to the left. “I was thinking about how er…what you said earlier, about how people had called you Amber Rose, and how…um…how you didn’t like that people said that because they never had anything to show for it.”

“And…?” There was a light impatience in her voice.

“And well, um, I was thinking that maybe I could, like, paint you or something?” He exhaled deeply, and the vibrant red that had filled his cheeks washed away. He looked down at the ground, ashamed, as the room filled with silence.

One…

Two…

Three…

The words floated through his mind like wooden planks down the Nile. Then, she clucked her tongue once and tapped her heel.

“I’ll think about it,” and she turned to walk out the door with half a smile. He listened in stunned silence as she walked down the hall, each clack of her heels fell with the same heaviness as the beat of his heart.

 

*          *          *

 

He scrabbled with the lock on the door; his arms were filled with bags and his myriad of keys were all jumbled together. When he finally got it open, he hoisted the bags up higher so he didn’t accidentally let one slip.

“Hi there,” he heard from around the corner. He walked in, set the bags down on the counter, and began unpacking

“Hello again, I picked up a few jugs of—” his eyes drifted up and his voice caught in his throat. She was standing in the room, fully exposed save for an exceptionally tiny bikini. He looked back to the contents of the bags, “I-I picked up a few containers of milk this weeks since everyone went through it so fast.” She laughed at him.

“Thank you,” she said, “I decided you can paint me—”

“I didn’t quite mean—”

“You didn’t mean today? Good. I wanted to spend this afternoon tanning.”

“Well I was thinking I could paint you, perhaps, in a little different setting?” He had turned to face her, and could feel the heat in his body rising.

“Oh?” She said. After a quick pause, her eyes lit up, and she reached behind her back to undo her top, “nude? I’m game to do nude.” His cheeks burned inside him and he turned his head away.

“No I was thinking something that didn’t…objectify you so much? Maybe something like sleepwear?” There was a silence. He felt the air grow cold around them. Then, roughly, she grabbed his chin with her thumb and forefinger and turned him to look at her.

“You want to paint me right?” She asked firmly.

“Yes,” He tried to look away.

“And why do you want to do that, hmm?” she pulled him closer to her, so that they were within a few inches of each other.

“Well I—”

“What, do you want to fuck me?” He tried to pull away but her grip was tight, “you want to fuck me? Turn me over, lay me out? You think coddling me with kind words and romantic pictures will seduce me?” Her thumb pressed harder into his chin. “Let’s get this straight. You won’t fuck me because you’re nice to me. You won’t fuck me because you’re mean to me. If you fuck me, it’ll be because I want you to.” She glanced down meaningfully. “And you’ll paint me how I want to be painted. Not how you want. Not how some man wants. Me. Ok?”

“Ok.” He said. She released his chin and smiled.

“Good,” she snaked up and kissed him softly on the cheek, then turned to walk away, twirling her top in her hand, “tomorrow it is then!” she called back, and put a hand up to wave goodbye.

——

 

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COMMERCIAL GIRL (AND OTHER HAIKUS)

By the Fountain

Palm trees in the spring

And clear blue summer fountains.

Seagull’s paradise.

 

Devoured

Buzzing mosquitoes

Evade flailing hands; they are

Eating me alive.

 

Overheating

Covered in hot sweat;

Wishing I could fall asleep.

This night seems endless

 

Heart Broken

Every other step

Feels like a thousand tons

When I’m without you.

 

Commercial Girl

One thousand eyes stared

As I walked you home tonight.

No wonder you asked.

——

 

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USC PUBLISHING WORKSHOP!

Oy vey! It’s been a long Monday (Monday? Cassady it’s Tuesday. And it’s only 3:00 PM). Shut up I’m sleepy (just kidding I love you). I’m writing this on Monday at roughly 9:00 PM, since it appears that I have a few hours every night to myself, which means I should HOPEFULLY be able to keep up the blog. Though we are expected to be starting various projects for the workshop I am at (oh yeah, I’m at a publishing workshop at USC right now, hosted by the LARB), so it is quite possible that I will be busy with that at some point. Regardless, I am settling in well, though I do have some stories to tell you. We had two speakers today (yesterday), one was Richard Nash, who is a famous entrepreneur, and the other was Henry Jenkins, who has done quite a lot of work in the various multimedia industries (you can click on their names to learn a bit more about them and their work). Both talked about a lot of interesting things, which I might share at some point, but it is a lot to talk about in this short period of time that we have.

What I found interesting was the stark difference between the two speakers. Nash, who started our day off (after a long three hour introduction to the workshop), was lively and upbeat. He had a PowerPoint that was not your general “oh cool, another PowerPoint,” but rather a meaningful addition to his presentation. He spoke with charisma, and carried that general “TED talk” kind of air about him. In some ways, it felt more like a performance than just a presentation. To contrast this, Jenkins spoke really quietly and deliberately. Every…word…carried…some…heavy…weight…on…it’s…shoulders. Though he didn’t speak slowly, necessarily. It just felt like he was trying to slug through a dense forest, where Nash seemed to be surfing a clear wave.

That being said, both speakers were very intelligent in their areas. At first, I thought Nash was the more interesting of the two, but the more I think about it the more I come back to the ideas Jenkins brought up and find myself wondering.

OK, secondary side tangent, much less related to my academic experience. I am staying in the USC dorms, and they are quite nice. But it is four people split between two rooms, and somehow all three of my roommates (housemates?) are women. Not that I have a problem with it. It just seemed a little bit odd to me that the planners would do that. Then again, I think there are only something like 9 or 10 males out of the 55 people attending, so it’s possible I am just the odd man out. Does it seem weird to you? I certainly like my roommates, and fortunately I believe I am a genuinely respectful guy…but they couldn’t know that for sure.

Regardless, I am having a wonderful time at USC, and the campus is lovely. Look forward to haikus tomorrow!

——

 

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TOO MUCH TO DRINK

Maybe I shouldn’t have had that third drink,

‘Cause words are pourin’ out faster than I can think.

The books, the movie, and the love affair;

The times, the weather, and the hooker’s stare.

Suddenly I’ve told them my life story

(Save for the parts that were a bit gory).

I’m breathing heavy and my cheeks are hot;

I’m feeling sweaty and my nose has snot,

And they all look at me with masked disgust

Like I was a braggart consumed by lust—

Like I’d raped and pillaged and tortured men;

And that I could never be one of them.

And maybe not—they are sipping good wine,

While my beer comes from somewhere much less fine.

 

But I would prefer not to be defined

By this cutthroat man and his fiendish kind.

——

 

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LOVE POEM #45 – LOUNGING

Picture that night,

Lounging with Bob Dylan

Neil Young, and Louie.

Quite a night to be alone

Together.

 

The dark, hazy room,

Filled with a slight tinge

Of cool-blue smoke,

Where time passed

At a walk, not a run.

 

That’s the place I want to go back to,

A night before the fights,

Before the jealousy;

Before we were consumed

By the need to be adults,

And we could just be people.

 

Laying on the L-couch,

With our heads cradled together,

Our glazed eyes watched

While the ceiling spun ‘round,

 

Can you remember it, dear?

The distance in your eyes

Was an adventure then,

Not a plague.

You were so beautiful,

So alive, so calm.

 

Can you remember it?

I can.

 

I can still smell

The midnight air

Drifting through the window.

I can still hear

The chorus chanting,

“Keep me searching

and I’m growin’ old.”

 

I can still see you,

Lying there like a rose,

Red-lipped and thorny.

I can even taste the wine

That lingered on your lips.

What a night that was.

Can you remember?

 

If only you could.

——

 

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GREETINGS TO THE SUN

Water trickled down through Stephen’s short brown hair. He could feel the droplets twisting and turning through the maze of his hairline, before eventually finding their way to his forehead. The soft, refreshing air chilled the water as it danced along his face, carefully falling between the groove of his nose and his right eye. He could feel everything around him. The wind brushed through the grass, humming its afternoon greeting, while the leaves of the trees turned about on their descent to the ground; even the roaring of the river in the distance, where the trickle of water had branched off of, could be faintly heard.

Many mornings went like this for Stephen. He would wake early, and spend the early part of the day staring out into space, until the world around him seemed to morph into something that was outside of the usual. His imagination became a guiding force for his mind, and eventually those quiet hums would turn into an opera of music, and the trickle of water would become the medicine beyond human creation. The massive fields of grass before him would spin before him, faster and faster until suddenly everything became a wild green color, and distance and time seemed to flow as one together.

Today, Stephen was focused on the sun. At first, his eyes had burned with pain, but as the water coated him, he felt cooled. He had closed his eyes, yet behind his eyelids he kept careful track of where the sun was. The supreme being road his chariot across the sky, and the more he focused on it, the more Stephen could make out the hooves beating against the unseen road. They galloped through the sky with vigor, and he could hear their breath heaving in and out as the pulled faster.

Eventually, as he focused, he could hear the breath of a man along with them. He sounded like purity itself. His breath was like a long drink of water after a trip through the desert, or the first drops of dew falling from a crisp spring morning. Stephen felt his own body relax at the sound. Then, unexpectedly, his concentration broke as he heard a voice.

“We have a visitor,” a voice more sweet and light than honey called out to him. Stephen’s eyes snapped open. Only he was not seeing through his eyes anymore. It was like his body had fled, and he was looking through the sky itself

“Hello,” the voice said with a calm strength, “it has been far too long since I was given the chance to speak to anyone. Who might you be?” Stephen felt his voice catch in his throat.

“Ah, unable to speak, is it? Not many get the chance to meet me anymore. Not many look hard enough. Look around you.” The great man had been shielded by light, but the outward gesture of his arm was clear enough. Stephen turned, and saw the world from a different perspective then.

It was so small, so tiny, and yet unending in its size. Through the clouds he saw the trees, the river, and even the tops of the cold mountains. They all looked so small; so beautiful.

“It has been a long time since someone saw the world as you see it now. Perhaps you can learn from it. It seems like such a big world out there, and yet to us it is all connected.” Stephen felt his stomach tighten, and his vision blurred.

“It seems your moments hear are to be brief today. But I look forward to seeing you again.” Then with a rush, Stephen felt his body travel through the air, and suddenly he was gasping for air. The trickle of water had dampened his cloths, and the sun was growing low in the sky. How long had he been gone?

——

 

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SUMMER WEDNESDAYS (AND OTHER HAIKUS)

Summer Wednesdays

The morning grows hot

On this dry summer Wednesday.

Good to be indoors.

 

Beckoning Waters

The sky blue water

Beckons the thirsty pilgrim

To drown in it’s cold.

 

Tree Secrets

Scaling up the trees,

I find the grooves in the bark

Hold untold secrets.

 

Paranoid

When she calls my name

I hear hues of another

Hiding underneath.

 

Sheltered

Oh, to be a root!

Enjoying the cool soil,

Safe from harms above.

——

 

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LIFE UPDATES

Ah, it’s good to be free. School is over. Weeks of freedom are ahead, for some. For me, I will be going to USC for a Publishing Workshop with the LARB (The Los Angeles Review of Books) for a whole month, starting next week, which is—in its own way—a sort of freedom. But, that does mean dubious things for my free time. I will be busy ALL day with the workshop, pretty much from sun up till past dinner, with speakers and so on.

Now, you may wonder why exactly I am bringing this up. I mean…cool, that’s my life right? Well, the main reason I am bringing it up is because I am uncertain how much free time I will have to work on this blog. To be as consistent as possible, I have been doing one entry per day, every day of the week, for over a year now. That’s quite a bit of time, and I have loved doing so—it has helped me grow as a writer and as a person. But at this workshop I will be doing just that—growing and developing. Which means that I will already be doing what I wanted to do with this blog.

Of course, I don’t PLAN to be going away. If I can find the time, I will be writing daily still. But I might miss a couple days. And I don’t want anyone who reads my work daily to be worried. Normally I can plan out exactly when I will have time to write a post ahead of time to do so (see last year’s vacation posts), but this year I was caught up with graduation and other things, and couldn’t prewrite a month of posts. Plus, that’s less fun.

Anyways, I figured I could take today, my slow day, to post an update about the future, and update you on my life. I went to Las Vegas last weekend for a short vacation, which was super fun (no I didn’t go to EDC, but I certainly dealt with the traffic on the way home). We went to the Peppermill twice, which was incredible, and had Brazilian…BBQ? All you can eat food. It was amazing. I ate WAY too much. I also finished in the top 350 of a 4000-person tournament I played in, which was a fun experience, albeit not how I would have adored.

Well, that was my week. Let me know how you are spending your first few weeks of summer in the comments below!

——

 

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SWARMS

Watching the people flock

To the Los Angeles food vendor

Is like watching the cockroaches

Swarming across the stairs.

The sizzling morsels,

Greedily devoured by

Greasy fingers and hungry mouths,

Are like crumbs for starving pests.

Oh, there are polite ones,

To be certain. They drift by

At a distance, with calm aloofness.

But the pack is like a mob,

And would turn on you

In a heartbeat, if it served them.

The screech of brakes

And the roar of horns;

Deafening to the average ear,

Remind me of our own insignificance.

That we are, at the heart of us,

Just another swarm of insects

Infesting the cracks in the world.

Our world, as we claimed it.

Though we have yet

To claim responsibility for it.

Oh hey I’m on vacation and can’t copy my normal stuff here.

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