Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Someone told me I should write a poem about my vagina

A small village has colonized my vagina
There is an elementary school
And a mayor
Every summer the mayor organizes an all-village picnic
But I'm never invited
So I sit in my little room in the attic
Regulating temperature
Afraid that masturbation
Will destroy the school and the park
I think about organizing an insurrection
Inside my vagina
About rallying anti-mayor factions
Kidnapping the children
And holding them hostage at the elementary school
Until we hang the mayor
For war crimes or something
Then maybe explode myself
And get famous in all the newspapers

Monday, December 04, 2006

I wake up and everybody's dead

I am in an office. I am on the floor looking at the acoustic-tile ceiling. Somewhere, an alarm clock beeps. I sit up.

There are many desks in the building and at every desk is a dead body.

I try to remember the last thing I did.

I went grocery shopping, I think. I needed to buy milk and ice cream and an apple, I know I needed an apple.

I touch one of the dead bodies. It moves strangely, rollingly, and it makes me step away and look at a different dead body, but all of the dead bodies look very similar, with similar colors and similar clothing made to similar cuts.

I say, "It's not right to wake up surrounded by dead bodies."

I watch the dead bodies like I expect them to say something but they don't say anything and after a while I walk to the elevator. I take the elevator down to the lobby, forty floors below. Music is playing in the elevator, light music with a soothing beat and with no words, but the feeling like there should be words, and really the music is terrible and stupid and I hate it but I can't explain why I hate it so I spend the trip down to the lobby arguing for and against this music, debating the merits of lyrics versus no lyrics and passive versus active listening or something, and all the arguments seem true and perfect just until they are deflected by newer arguments that also seem true and perfect.

I walk through the lobby and outside. Cars drive somewhere with people in them and the people don't say anything or wave.

A boy walks along the sidewalk and stops in front of me. He says, "Can I borrow two dollars? I need to buy some milk."

I tell the boy about the dead people in the office building.

He says, "You should come to the grocery store with me and we can share the milk together, and we can be a team and steal it if we don't have any money. We need milk to survive."

"Okay," I answer.

The grocery store is empty and there is no milk so we steal sodas from the stockroom and hide behind a stack of pallets. The pallets are old and dirty and we construct a fort from them. We use cardboard boxes and old milk boxes and aprons we find hanging in the employee lounge.

I sit cross-legged next to the boy, inside the fort and we drink our sodas and lay back and stare at the roof of our fort and the aprons, which are blue, but not like the sky, and we throw our empty soda bottles as far as we can and listen to them clatter around on the concrete floors, and the boy smiles at me and I smile back at him and we forget about the dead bodies in the office building and take a nap in the fort. Later, I wake up. The boy is still sleeping. I stare at the blue-apron roof for a while, then roll onto my stomach and go back to sleep.

Saturday, December 02, 2006

I think about teleportation

I am hungry I am tired my fridge is empty
So I teleport to Wal-Mart and rob Wal-Mart
I steal the Wal-Mart tractor-trailer and sell it in Tennessee
I buy a new cell-phone and destroy the cell-phone
Then buy another cell-phone and destroy the cell-phone
I teleport to Oregon and hijack a Greyhound bus
Then drive the bus to my mother's house
And crash the bus into my mother's house and destroy the bus
I pull my mother from the house I tell her "I destroy everything"
There is car on the road I destroy the car
I am happy today I think
I will quietly destroy my apartment
I will imagine my apartment is 'global terrorism'
And quietly destroy it
I am afraid I will destroy everything
Because everything is afraid of me
Or everything is afraid of everything
Or I don't know so I have to stop now