Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Release.

She dressed for hours so men could notice, and took offence when they did.

Sit back down where you belong, in the corner of my bar with your high heels on.

Through double-paned glass doors, they didn't seem so unattainable. Darting past in their greys and blues and blacks, good hair, bad hair, strut strut strut. They were equally lost, asking for directions for buildings they were standing in front of. Faces dazed behind glasses too big and smartphones, running to departmental orientations and pre-sessional introductory lectures, hoping for a private moment of reckoning.

The Arab would swoop in with his Bentley and drive along her, telling her she was beautiful. She would turn right and he would rotate his car around the world and bring it to her. She would walk past, but he would come again. She never stopped. The Frenchman would smile almost unnoticeably and say 'ooh la la'. The German would lean on his elbows against her desk and ask her why not. They said she carried Mesopotamia in her eyes.

Days she knew what was going on, was in control. Nights she slipped into an abusive, dysfunctional relationship.
They drove each other to the point of insanity and then held back.
No.
Yes.
No. I want to scream No.
I want to.
Yes?
I want to scream yes.
My scream will haunt you.
I'll put honeyloops in your mouth if you scream.
I want to kiss you. Till you die.
With honeyloops? Ew.
When I actually end up kissing you, keep your mouth shut.
You are such a turn off.
Like you know an alterative.
You don't have a turn-on button.
Want to frisk me?
You're such a porn star.
Haha. I love you. Good Night.
Night.
You don't love me?
You told me to keep my mouth shut.
Whatever.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Who are we fooling?




There's ash in my hair. On my shirt. In my bed.
Sounds decadent.


So gullible, so easily used. And so, so utterly disposable.
You spend a summer spinning a web. Later it's a song which hangs above your own grave.
You break a leg, you break your heart, you move past the point of no return. You fall apart in lonely nights. They bring in pockets of sunshine, throw in a rope and pull you out. Your spine becomes Freyja's cavity.
You give up your seat and stand in the aisle. People get on and off. You find another seat, give it up for a stranger again.
You walk bare-headed and bare-foot in crowded markets to fetch a price for Diana's tears.
What's bothering you is bothering me.



If I cannot have you, I'd never try to harm you? You'd go insane if I come closer. So let me build some barriers so we can spend a few more years together.

She looks at him, and his eyes prostrate.
It had been so long, you held the phone in silence, not remembering how to start a conversation.
A hut in the mountains. And there was a stream right next to the hut. And I slept to
Rakaposhi on one side. Nanga Parbat on the other. White snow in the day. Orange in the evenings. A ferocious red at night. And the sound of the rain on the roof at night. And on the grass. And the smell of it that seeped in from below the doors and through the gaps in the windows. I wish I could take you there.
You are acting like a man.
One of us has to.


Don't talk abour distance.
Don't talk about coming closer.
Don't talk about reaching anywhere.
However far away
However long I stay
Whatever words I say..
Ha-ha. Forget it.

She was a user, and you always knew it. She used people ad discarded them and retreated back into her indulgent habits. You just hoped and hoped she would't do it to you just because you were best friends.