So, what did I look like from the side?

“Slight” 

(break) 

“all of your bulges were subtle and so it was easy for the eye to follow you from top to bottom without much deviation from a straight line.”

So it was a pleasure then, to observe me?

“Indeed, I enjoyed it very much, while you were mine to look at.”

And now?

“I would not go so far as to say that I miss you, although I do of course think of you in private from time to time, if that’s what you are asking.”

And in the end?

“And in the end you were cold, both in attitude and to the touch.”

I wonder why..

“Because you had begun to despise me, I suppose. Remember what I said about everything becoming annoying? Everything had became annoying.”

I remember. 

“I used to especially dislike this about you - 

What?

“I was about to tell you”

No don’t, I’m already embarrassed about too many things.

“That’s not true”

You don’t know. 

(break)

And at the beginning?

“At the beginning I was surprised by how intelligent you were. I usually like sleeping beside successful but soft bodies that I can teach things too.”

That’s boring, are you ever bored?

“I find it thrilling, I don’t know boredom. I refuse it.”

That’s brave. 

(break) 

Why does this exchange of information, or intellect never feel equal?

“Because it isn’t. One of us is always smarter. I guess with you I wasn’t sure. Sometimes your silence made me question whether you were completely dumb or if you were more clever than you let on. That you were just making fun of me all the the time. That’s why I had to kill you.”

(break)

Anyway, what about in the middle?

“In the middle I don’t know. You did some things which I’m ashamed to say made me view you differently. I guess it has something to do with embarrassment. I am very aware of my image you know, reputation? What the people expect of me? You don’t have a lot of regard for that and I must admit it disturbed me.”

disturbed.. 

“Yes, disturbed, it means to interfere with the normal arrangement or - ”

(interrupting) I know what “disturbed” means

“Okay well, that’s what it did to me, on occasion I found myself disturbed by you.”

I think that’s okay, replace disturbed with a word like, challenged or surprised by and I think those are signs of a healthy relationship” 

“Yes, I suppose you would think that way.”

So you wouldn’t be interested in hearing how I feel about all this?

“No.”

(break)

“You like seeing yourself in certain lights, you know what I mean?” 

I don’t know what you mean. 

“Certain warmer lights turn you on. You’re like a stupid lizard.”

I think you’ve got the wrong girl, I’m very active. You’re the one who lies around in bed all day. 

“I don’t like it when you try and teach me things about myself. I mean, you’re correct most of the time but I can’t understand how you don’t see that it’s a waste of time. I’ll never listen!”

Yes, that much has become clear to me.

“You have an air of superiority about you, you know that? and it stinks, like, I can actually smell it here in the room with us? 

Now you’re just getting angry. 

“Yes, but anyway, this is all becoming very boring for me.”

The conversation is? 

“Sure, all of it.”

my father’s shaking his head back and forth furiously. “no no no no no”

I put another piece of sashimi in my mouth. It melts a little when it hits my tongue. As it should. Good sashimi does that. Bad sashimi lies fake and chewy between your teeth and waits to be taken care of.

I don’t know what he’s talking about. I lost track and started on my own train of thought. About a dream I had where I ate the pinky toes off both my feet and fed them to you. If your parents are wealthy and expect something of you, you disobey and become unsuccessful and poor. If it is the other way around, you either fall into place or you become RICH and delicious to prove them wrong.

The pond by my mother's home is deeper than any place in the world. If you like you can swim from there to the center of the earth. It is the only place in the world where you can do that, I’ve been told all my life.

He has chunks of foie gras which he’s spread on toasted brioche squeezed between his cheeks, making room in the rest of his mouth to keep talking and then, to have another large sip of his drink. The alcohol is purple and syrupy. It cakes a little in the corners between his lips. He keeps talking. A hallway from his stomach to me is formed through his mouth for this information to pass.

Up on stage I feel as though I know a lot. Also - I am the stupidest one in the room. Before going up I order champagne from a butch lesbian bartender and she seems upset with me rather than sympathetic. I order two glasses and she says she can only serve one per person. I tell her my uncle is coming from Florida to watch me read tonight but she doesn’t believe me. She spits in the second flute as she hands it over and then sorta winks at me. I get mixed signals from everyone in the room.

It’s July and I’m visiting my mother for her birthday month. I spend a lot of time alone and sometimes that makes me feel like a queen. This afternoon I’m sitting in the pond. The pond overlooks a cow field and it smells fresh and mossy. It is filled with toads and salamanders. They sit the way I do, along the edge with their arms on the sides, all our heads falling slightly back so as to look up towards the sky through the tree branches, which sway and touch fingers a little. One toad beside me sighs gently. The salamander next to him is smoking a tiny cigarette. He mentions to no one in particular that he has to go on a business trip soon. “Japan” he continues. “Tokyo”. The salamander begins to cry quietly and tears fall on his cigarette. He mumbles that he gets so frightened, that everything is too bright and too big. That he nearly choked to death on a piece of udon last time he was there. That he doesn’t know the language, can’t read the street signs. He’s so scared. The toad sighs again and brings his toes to the surface of the pond. He wiggles them a little and makes rings in the water which reach out away from him. He thinks to himself, privately, that he is actually very resilient and good at being in places where he is not comfortable. He smiles a little for being so strong, stronger than the salamander who has stopped crying and is now looking down at his paws.

I met my parole officer at Odessa and sat her down. She had a coffee and I had a big eggy breakfast. I told her : I know you’re here to tell me all the things I can’t do but I am going to do them anyway so I just thought I should come clean now. My parole officer is in love with me and so she lets me do whatever I want.

The little girl’s in the corner watching soap operas and eating cherries. She eats them like apples because her mouth is still so small. She finishes each one in three careful bites, until she gets to the pit, sweet and bloodied. She walks over to me and spits the seed in my hands, like a gift. She smiles big and there are lines of red between her teeth. A killer! She looks too small and mischievous. Her mouth curious, moving constantly, searching for the center. I take the pit and pop it in my own mouth. Bigger and smellier. Deeper. Older. There’s a little flesh stuck to it still because she’s not careful and doesn’t regard the fruit as sacred yet, like the rest of us do. I chew the skin off and swallow the pit. It sits heavy in my stomach and makes my belly puff out a little. At night in bed alone under warm itchy light I play that I am pregnant. I lay my hands on my skin and take deep breaths and imagine milky leaking and whole fertility. The little girl gave me the gift of motherhood but I am still very alone, still resorting to playing dress up and make believe. I never begin to show, although I do remain swollen for a few years, most likely self induced.

for a little bit of time I had a lot of money. It was strange for me because I came from nothing I mean

NO-thing.

I became very confused. I started living differently. Doors opened wide and then wider. The door even looked different. heavy and it almost sparkled. For a few years, during my time of wealth the city seemed very new to me. I navigated it with boring ease. The dirt didn’t touch me. I came home clean and then bathed anyway in an ivory claw foot tub which sat in the middle of my condo. Impractical but chic. It was always white in there - I suspect I had a cleaning lady although I do not recall hiring one, you see, at this time I was being very well taken care of. It felt sort of as though I was being carried everywhere, and fed by many small white hands, and massaged constantly. I can’t even remember how this wealth had come into my life. A vague memory tells me it was through some strange business deal which I’d unexpectedly cashed out on.

Old things become re-familiarized and it’s half comfortable half jarring. I wonder if I can ever be fully at ease or committed while I’m here. I always have a little fever which turns me slightly mad. When I look around and see a lot of wet half moldy things, sopping, I tell myself : you like this too much and that’s why you can’t live in cities like Paris you want the dirt in the gutter the muddy stuff that collects in the corners you wanna eat it I don’t know if I’m right. I like the city I’m from I like the city I’m from I been told how lucky I am all my life I feel big now when at dinner slurping oysters I say “my boyfriend is moving here and I wanna plan a sweet little trip for us when he arrives sluerpppshlurppp oh darling where do you suggest, you and Bobby are always going on the most wuuuuunderful vacations slubperdopbulp” I’m very bloated underneath my dress from all the bread I’ve been eating dipping it into leftover juices from the white wine mussels but I don’t let anybody know I am so elegant and so at ease when I get home

I slip my slim shapely body under silk sheets I’m like the embodiment of the sensation of tongue on clean pink cunt and I go right to sleep close my eyes and I’m gone.

Girls are always telling eachother their dreams as though anyone cares to listen. I started seeing someone new and I killed all her friends accidentally so now every morning when we wake up before we fuck she relays what happened to her the night before in sleepy half sentences I kiss her just to shut her up and stuff myself into her morning breath body. I think she thinks I am so enamored by her stories that I can't help myself but

God,

can she run her mouth.

It was the coldness of the place. She looked around vision half blurred and shiny. The way it gets when she starts thinking the rain is fake, when it starts glitching and someone’s coming after her all of a sudden. All the cliches. The mental break halfway to insanity. Like some sick leaking out of her ear and pooling pink around her feet. No one else seemed to be paying attention. She sat in a lot of wetness like a dog. A dog wouldn’t mind. A dog is nice when there’s some dew on it, looking out across the green so satisfied. Limp tongue hanging out of wet mouth. White teeth and strong lungs. Some dogs, she thinks - like german hunting dogs - are soooo healthy. They remind her of red meat and of sheep. They remind her of purpose and satisfaction. She’s more along the lines of ‘decrepit’ or some other word which hints at deterioration and illness. She smells like backed up plumbing. She’s picking the hairs out of her eyebrows and even eating them, sometimes. She doesn’t look good. She’s got little holes in her face which fill up with black sludge and then harden and then get pushed out of her skin and then get filled again and the holes get bigger and the sludge gets a little more grey and green maybe. Mmmmm. It’s strange how she’s so public about her death. She walks right out onto the field under flood lights and stands kind of twitching in the middle looking out across the green. She’s kissing her mother goodbye kindly and saying thank you for all your help you really didn’t do anything wrong you know, and she’s jacking off her lover one last time because she can’t help but keep giving until every last circuit gives out. Finally they do and she grunts and her knees give, they buckle. Her face hits the wet grass and slips to the right, mud stain on her cheek, some dirt sneaking itself into her ear. A voice comes on over the loudspeaker ;

“alright folks shows over” and it crackles out and the few people in the audience drag themselves home unsatisfied and sleepy and go to bed and sigh, good riddance.

there was a recurring theme for her -

- here’s the problem -
- here’s how I’m feelin’ -

A plane overhead bursts gently into flames and there is a sudden warmth which makes the city feel quiet and easy for a moment. She thanks the sky and ash begins to fall around her. Sweet. She looks ahead towards her lover and offers a weak smile. Once she had tried tickling him and it had been so hard to get a natural laugh out that she had stopped abruptly and found a place to throw up instead. He slipped his hands beneath her blouse and felt along her skin for a specific mole. Upon finding it he fingered it momentarily and then withdrew himself. His touch was clinical. Didn’t come back for seconds. The city didn’t give much either. It was hard and gray. All cement. It was sulfuric. And salty. On occasion something broke and let a warmer thing in but this was rare and never lasted. She had to leave often to make it tolerable. When this wasn’t possible she had to build a cave and stay put, turn the heating up high and manufacture a fake and sticky fever. She took long bathes and let herself get soft and malleable. Her pores opening up wide enough to stick a finger into. All the windows steamy and the air like milk.

“It’s a shame”
she thinks,
“that all of my teeth are rotting out of my head so early on in life.” I wonder why that is and if anyone else can taste it.
“if I am not talented now”
she thought
“then I am a lost cause”

talent does not come later in life. it is innate. I am like a rock. I am so bland and embarrassed by my smell. I wonder how many people I can make fall in love with me before I am passed my prime. I wonder why I am so selfish and so greedy.

“At least” she thought

“I’ve stopped finally with that intense and secret gluttony. At least I can move on from such unrestrained consumption which at times had felt so wild.”

she unwrapped the chocolate cake she’d picked up on her way home. Maple Bourbon Buttermilk Icing. She slid the black mass onto a white plate and peeled back the plastic sheet with which the baker had wrapped the cake for safer travel. It was wet from trapped moisture. She threw a silver fork onto her bed and placed the plate beside it. She pulled her pants down from around her hips and sat on top of her duvet. She brought a forkful of cake to her mouth.

PART THREE

It was easy to imagine him falling in love with someone else and in the moments when I no longer wanted him to be mine I relished in the possibility of it. It brought up a sad kind of longing for something which I still had and that tickled me. A sweet kind of torture. Jane snorted a line in the bathroom and came back burning and even prettier than before. He wanted boiled pierogies and then he wanted to hold my boney hips and fuck me in the ass. My father, in his older age has become very afraid of this ugly encroaching ‘intellect’ and of breaking. I try to think of what to say and something sad comes out. My tongue dribbles. Something squelches. In a quiet room in which no one lives a candle burns and the base spills over letting hot wax drip down the window pane. “what’s happening” he asks, finally. “it’s not working” - she says - “it’s the end, probably”

Jane lies still on the ground in some residential area in London, posh. I cut up three fat lines of coke and they look pretty. Her mouth is a dusty red, a slit. A gash or something equally violent. Everyone around me is desperate for a brainless kind of wealth. A sticky overripe peachy kind of desire. Everyone is side eyeing each other. Everyone is sizing each other up and disguising their weirdness as a compliment or as a gross lust. No one wanted to fuck me when I went home I was like a gaping hole that everyone looked away from.

I suck my lips into my head and my teeth stand out white, then I relax and I am beautiful again.

Paris’s gray sits on my shoulder and purrs. Hums to me. Becomes sexier and slithers down the divide in my back. Slips between my toes - then withdraws. This city invokes a lazy beauty which lounges by the Seine, maybe rolling in accidentally. Unaffected ease. Sleazy motherfucker. Slow yawn. The babylike rise and fall of a puffy belly. You’re a beautiful sleeper, like a drunk or something.

Buy a horse. Buy a better horse. Buy a donkey cause it’s a funny juxtaposition for the garden. Be greedy because you can be, because you’re making so much money now. All the leftover things which come out of certain smaller crevices, where some genuine earwax can be squeezed out still - are stolen and mass produced. I’m sick. I’m lying in a big beautiful hotel room and I have all these starchy brand new things around me in bed. Kissing me and making me full. A bubble bath is running and I’m going to be so clean and then I’m going to go back to bed because I can. Buy a horse. Then buy a better one.

Ankle kisser. Gobsmacked little bitch. I think out of all the girls Maria likes me the best, because I dress alright and because we use the same coconut creme conditioner. There’s a comfortability in smelling yourself on someone else, it can be something sweet. It can be porous, can remind you of conception or consummation or some other “c” word that’s not coming to mind. Ooh Maria. I wanna consume you. Cuddle you. Corrupt. Control you. MMMmmmm. Kidnap you. I wanna kiss your ankles. Kiss your knees. Hey, I love you. Maria!

What I noticed first was that my once ravishing mother was now old. I rang the doorbell. I hadn’t been home in 16 years. The fact that the house still stood, albeit slightly more lived in then I remembered but no less confident, was astonishing. It was a sort of beaten-in teal. Next door my late aunt had lived. And next to her, another aunt. Across the street, some in law or another. All the backyards were connected by doors built into wooden picket fences. A hereditary lack of privacy. I didn’t have a taste for this. It felt creepy on my skin. What did the house smell like? It smelled like toast, I like it in big homes when there are so many people that there’s never not someone eating. That feels good. That feels full, like a small safe version of infinity. My mom is 68 years old now. I think she’s pretty tired. When she opens the door she’s wearing a light pink dress that she wore a lot when I was a kid. The fabric is thin enough so I can see her body underneath. Women age strangely, a lot of skin gets thin and loose, almost translucent. I used to worry that I’d rip you somehow. When I met my mother she was 33, not a young mom. Pretty average. A good amount of life lived before me, and still a good amount ahead of her. She spoke 3 languages fluently and had a soft round voice because of it. Germanic, primarily. A little stuck in the throat maybe. Deep. My old mother invites me inside. I imagine I look pretty bad myself. I’ve been living in cities and on the highways between cities for the past decade and a half. My

mother’s nearly seventy years old. I let that idea kick me in the face as I walk into the living room. Not a thing has been moved since I’ve gone. In these beautifully consistent cul-de-sacs things don’t just change. Husbands get bonuses and then they re-do the bathrooms or something. Add a kitchen island for your teenage daughter to get fucked on when you’re out of town, if she’s that kind of girl. Or just get a new toilet, a bathtub, a faux marble sink. Whatever’s in. My momma brings me a beer although I didn’t ask for one. She looks cool all of a sudden. I wonder sometimes if there’s an age between young and old where you don’t feel the direct signs of death but you understand it’s approach, and so you just sink in and enjoy it. I look forward to that. Quiet and self assured. On the other hand I’ve been reading a lot about people who know they’re dying. All that confidence goes out the window, you’re an infant again. Throwing a temper tantrum cause you don’t have the capacity to ask for what you want. Or the capacity to know. I take a sip of my beer and sit on the couch.

You’d look good with a hole in your head. A thumb up your ass. You weird fool. You say yes to a lot of things, don’t you - no questions asked. There’s this guy in the corner who’s desperate to say something but he doesn’t know how to get it out. On the edges of the room are all these hungry vultures and they scare him into submission. “keep your fucking mouth shut you dumb shit” they got hot blood bubbling out of their mouths, bits of old meals between their teeth. All of a sudden there’s a lot of chaos, the guy said something loud and stupid and for a moment the whole room stopped breathing. A few men and women threw up right there in the middle of it all, sometimes it doesn't matter where you get sick as long as it’s out of your body. People’s teeth started falling right out of their heads and into their palms - they came out clean, expatriated with such force and necessity that no bits of gum held to the ivory. Clean socket. Pink and juicy. Some people cried but this was a lame and unsatisfying bodily function in comparison to the more brutal ones happening around them. Organs ruptured internally. Things ripped and became infected and oozed pus and began already to heal, the process sped up by fear. This kinda chaos is pretty thick, it’s edible. It tastes nutty. A precursor to the apocalyptic frenzy. It’s coming! He’s coming! I, personally, hope we burn to death. It’s more romantic than freezing. It’ll look good on film, makes a more convincing and demonic headline too. What DID turn Mr. Normal into a mass murderer? The hair-like tendrils of flames in all these hellish paintings lick the bottoms of the worn in feet of sinners. Like you! You put my big toe in your mouth and growl. We could still fuck in heaven bby, the devil can watch ;)

It was undeniable that her beauty depended entirely on her lips. Of all the disgusting things I do, which is the worst? I find my lying especially deplorable. I am the biggest girl in the room and I look for every way to make myself even bigger. Stupid kid. Everyone’s avoiding you because you’re dirty, now only the little kids will play with you cause they’re small and grubby anyway and love that you’ll really get down on the ground with them. You’re good at that. There will come a bitter age when they too will turn against you but don’t think to hard on it now. Mom called the other day to remind you that happiness really does lie in the now, so, forget the rest or whatever. I fell in love with my last guy on the beach, that’s when I knew it had happened. He never complained about nothing, everything was “beautiful” and after a while I think that’s what drove me crazy. In the end he left me for my mother, so I drilled an inch deep hole into the small of my back which, whenever I want to be reminded of him, I stick my finger into. I have never had my heart broken, towards the end I always become very hard and mean on the outside and

this prevents me from feeling anything at all. That wet and desperate hiccupy cry makes its way out of the other guy’s throat and again, I’ve won.

I’m busy, I need you not to touch me like that. My gut is backed up so that when I speak you can see some of my lunch coming up at the end of my throat. You know, you can probably smell it. Ah! You’re so horrible to me that in the end, like a good woman, I fall in love with you. Like a monster, slack jawed and stinking I order my filet mignon rare while you eat a delicately arranged salad and sip wine. I’m playing footsie under the table but not with you, with someone else. I’m crazy now for real. I’m quiet though and so it’s a secret and so everyone thinks I’m fine. The role I’m supposed to fill is simple - when I stay still I look very beautiful and it is easy to fool people into thinking that there’s a lot going on behind these glassy eyes.

My mom takes a seat across from me in the ‘lounge’, her pink dress settling slightly around her thin body as she does. She looks out of place. This is my perfect suburban house and everything is pastel. Marzipan white chocolate pinks and greens and blues fill the space. Perpetual baby room stink. Pill popped softness. My American dream is crock potted in the back round, pre- packaged, shrink wrapped, delivered. She says “Baby, tell me, where’ve you been all these years” My pants are leaking but the sofa is wrapped in a thick sheet of plastic so the dirt just slips off the sides and onto the floor. They hit white and reanimate, dirt balls crawling off into corners and shivering a little when they get there. Not used to this kind of linoleum. I look up and we catch eyes, sudden and awkward. How much responsibility do you feel for your family? I say none, and it’s true. Now, look how pretty you are when the answer you get is not what you expected! A guttural kind of snagging in your throat. A juicy hiccup at the end of your laugh. It’s a genuine response though and so I love you all the more for it.

Daisy’s knocked up.
She looks so good in her summer dresses all big with these wonderful swollen ankles. Man,

I’ve never seen anything like it.

Her self awareness is stupid and does not allow me enough space for manipulating insults and revealing disgusting bits of truth to her about herself, the ones I find when I’m dick deep slobbering licking salt out her pits and all that.

I’m looking at Mama. I’ve nearly finished my beer and it’s warm at the bottom in a gross, salivating way. Back washed. She tells me my father will be home in 20 minutes and that I should best be getting along, that he wouldn't want to see me here, like this. That it would affect his health badly. My father's been dead for 6 years. As a form of punishment I take the last sip. There are little pieces of soggy bread at the bottom which catch in my throat and stick in the ridges.

I’m back at a bridge I went to a lot as a kid. It’s not a bridge really, it reaches out a mile into the ocean and then meets nothing, just stops out there in open water. I guess some people jump, or just walk to the end and sit for a bit - then walk back.

Dear Diary,

 

“the water and the liquor feel goooood”

she’s running through the fountain, letting it take care of her.

Jack wont kiss me on the steps of the church because he is very religious and it would be blasphemous to do so. It is this prudity which makes me love him even more. his total innocence. his holy control. I lie there and I turn into a version of myself so desperate to be had that it becomes mostly just humorous. my purpose singular. animalistic. vulgar. he hates me for it but he’s starting to pull my hair a little in the rare moments when he does succumb to me, and for his small effort I am grateful.

i let the plastic handle rip into the tan fat of my forearm and i feel more self sufficient than ever before. i make mean fuck me eyes at all of the TFL employees and they look almost scared - like they hadn’t known about that humiliating gagging noise i find myself throwing up sometimes. occasionally I find myself refreshing.

“yeah it’s satin - touching goddamn monkey skin chest”

I don’t know what he meant but it sounds cool and mean in my mouth. Sounded even better in his.

Some girls I knew in elementary school started saying “the LES doesn’t have anything for me anymore” and most of the time I don’t feel like I have the right to call anything mine. most of the time I think I’m the problem.

I got heavier.

I ate all the stones at the beach while I was waiting for you to finish teaching your surf lesson and I laid on my back and I let them press against my spine from the inside.

In the meantime everything tastes less sweet
than ever before
my mother washes the makeup off of my father’s face and I drink the bath water after they’ve gone to bed. clean. sweet.

I like to think of myself as “resilient”
but I am rotton

Jerome is divorcing his wife
they don’t sleep in the same bed anymore but
when we look at him weepy eyed and sigh he says
“it’s no big tragedy”

Dana tells me that the day before her mother died she asked if she’d live longer if she just tried eating a little more.

I threw up in the tent on the beach that morning. 
Our baby in the bile. 
You more pink than I remembered

I liked watching him after he’d been fed

full in a milky way,

his skin getting even nicer, like I could see the outline of his organs - slightly swollen from food. 

he reclines on his mothers couch

puts a hand on a warm brown belly, satisfied. I get a good look out the window behind him and it’s a strong view down 28th street.

while still on the couch he tells me :

“ohhhh and in the summer she was always a little damp…”

I lie there naked and make myself edible. There are ways a woman can do this, because there are dips in our bodies which are reminiscent of butter, or something. 

I see his mother on the train and tell her that her son is very talented. 

“In what?” she asks, 

sweaty in fake leather shorts which stay stuck to the subway seats after she gets up. 

“hmmmm” I say, 

and step out - avoiding conflict. 

I live in a hot hot city, and so everyone is always fighting. I like it in the winter when the buses get steamy, everyone inside them hot and bothered, wrist deep in their neighbors and not really sure why. 

I always try to enter space with a sense of authority. Left foot first, then left again, then nose - then the right foot follows. 

In a couple of decades (not very many) scientists perfect the technology necessary to create a stable embryonic sack in which a full term pregnancy can take place outside of the female body. 
This changes our understanding of the role of the woman in our society. 
Some feel we should just take the eggs and dispose of the bodies - we don’t need then anymore. 
It’s a mans world after all.
Others cling to the romanticized image of female flesh - they can’t let go. Their dreams are occupied by fleshy grabbing and entering and the now nostalgic notion of cumming. 

Creamy dreams.
Sticky sheets. 
Some wonder if we can really live in a womanless world. For others it is no question at all.


In a couple of decades scientists have also perfected the technology necessary to make the perfect robot. Life is equal parts productivity and pleasure. We do not wash our dishes or caulk our bathtubs. We go to work - to the good, stimulating jobs left over after the robots were appointed the others. 
And then we go home, read the news and watch films. Cook yourself dinner - if you still care for that sort of thing. 
When you need it - you’re welcome to stick your aching dick in one of our fleshy computerized holes, the perfect fit every time. Bush or Brazilian. Brown or pink. Tight or loose. You can curate your cunt. It’s all buttons on a machine sweetie. 
Of course some men miss the chase before copulation. Some men have rape fantasies they can’t shake. Others simply get off on humiliation. They crave the vile possibility of rejection. So we make a robot for that too, we’re working on her now and she’s a mean little bitch. 
In a couple of decades we have the answer to everything :)
But for now we still have our women. The tiresome human condition comes with empathy and love and so we find it too hard to kill off our sisters and mothers and daughters just like that.

The women are kept on edge. Or perhaps they’re left unbothered. We can’t really tell and we don’t really care. It’s a funny thing, knowing that you’re physically un-needed - that it is only the tenuous emotional strings to Daddy keeping you attached to this society. They go through their work day to day, slightly bored. Waiting for eventual annihilation. Some have given up, damaged deeply by the suggestion of their uselessness. Imagine all the lazy hopeless women on the sides of roads. It gives us even more incentive to get rid of them.

It has been several years since this plan was leaked to the media, so the idea has been rotting in the corner for some time. The smell is awkward and stale but few dare to address it. We don’t allow the birth of female children anymore and so our homes are filled only with the last born generation of women (the ones who will die youngest) their sisters, and those who birthed them. Small men however, are born all the time. While the women are still here, they may as well churn out a few more. These are the calmest babies born to date, so settled in their immortality against the impending death of the women that they feel no need to cry. Instead, they drool dumbly down their chins and sit sparkling in pools of snot. Sweet smelling, that milky baby odor everyone talks about emits much more strongly with this batch. Some suspect it stays for good. Healthy and round their giggles reverberate against the walls of weird homes. Male homes. 

In bed I can only assume there is little romance. Like making love to a corpse. Although in fact, it is divided. Some men’s wives lie dry and unwilling besides them. Others cum with a force and desperation the men say they’ve never experienced before. 

SOMETHING MY MOTHER WOULD’VE WORN IN HER EARLY THIRTIES

SOMETHING MY MOTHER WOULD’VE WORN IN HER EARLY THIRTIES

Opening Scene

begins black

[ sound of bath noises (water being moved) very prominent ]

1st shot opens -

CAMERA IS POSITIONED DIRECTLY ABOVE BATHTUB
SOFT WARM LIGHTING

A man - heavily made up in drag is in the bath
A woman - sitting to his left is bathing him - she dunks his head under water and begins washing his face.

No dialogue . Very intimate .

back to black - loud bath water noises continue

Scene Two

WE SEE A SNOW COVERED FIELD ALMOST COMPLETELY WHITE . THERE IS A WHITE LAMB WALKING IN THE SNOW HE HAS A CUT ON HIS NECK AND IS BLEEDING RED INTO THE WHITE SNOW.

This scene goes on for a while silently as we watch the lamb bleed out.

scene switches - We see a girls face - she has just opened her eyes.

“I was thinking about a bleeding lamb walking through the snow leaving a trail of red behind it.”

She speaks quickly and with excitement. Almost out of breath.

She is sitting in at a table with 3 other people in a kitchen.

The rest are boys.

The first one says :

“I watched grandpa walking on a treadmill naked for a few minutes then he shooed me away.”

The second one says : 

“I was in a field. I don’t know. I was picking glass out of my foot or something.”

The third one says :

            “I don’t like this game.”

The girl says : 

“Phew. Let’s try again.”

( we assume the goal is to all be seeing the same image.)

SCENE THREE

we see a woman on a bed in a nice room. It is warm. She looks puzzled or bored. She is not bad looking, she has small tits which have fallen slightly to the side of her chest because she is lying on her back.

Woman :

 “Oh. I didn’t know that.”

The woman is naked and playing with / touching the skin on her stomach. There is a man in the room but we can only see the bottom half of his body. He is moving around frantically, uncomfortably. Touching things, getting dressed. He throws a rag at her to clean the cum off of her belly. She still looks puzzled.

(we do not understand what she is talking about)

Scene 4

In the backyard of a suburban looking house there are 10 - 15 boys. They are between the ages of 13 and 19.

All of the boys are kissing, or caressing each other’s bodies and faces. They look very average, some are more beautiful than others but mostly they look very normal. There is no talking in this scene, just the sound of
kissing, maybe music playing low in the background, as though coming from some garden radio in the distance.

This scene goes on for a while, we watch as the boys test the boundaries of each other’s bodies. It is sexual but it feels innocent, as though it is their first time doing something like this. 
Some are in pairs of two. Others are in larger groups, switching between kissing and watching.

Scene 5

In this scene Jack is dancing in the middle of the shot.

The song playing is “He’s The Greatest Dancer” by Sister Sledge.

Scene 6

A man and a woman are walking through an exhibition in a big museum. They are older and maybe a couple but maybe just good friends. 
The man is blind and the woman is walking him around the exhibition and explaining each painting to him in detail.

We come back to this image throughout the film, as she describes different pieces to him.

Scene 7

My mother is 17 or 18 years old. She is inside of a messy apartment, where she lives with her boyfriend. She is sitting on the floor among bed sheets which have come loose off of the bed and are tangled besides and around her. The bed is flat and also on the floor, a few feet away. There are some beer cans and empty bottles of vodka in corners. A few pictures are tacked to the walls. The front door is knocked down. 
The apartment is in Germany. My mother has recently dropped out of high school, because she is disinterested and young and angry with her parents and their lifestyle, and in love. Her boyfriend is older, 22 or 23.

My mother is sitting on the floor and she is alone. She is kneeling with one leg up and the other beneath her, sitting on her right foot. This way of sitting is like when you are a kid looking at something small on the ground. She is resting her head on her right knee and cutting things out of a magazine.

Her boyfriend walks into the apartment through the broken down door. He is holding several dozen roses. There are enough of them so that he is struggling somewhat to carry them all and they are blocking his face when we first see him. When he comes in he goes straight to the bathroom and throws the roses into the bathtub. My mother turns her head towards the door but does not get up.

My mother’s boyfriend comes into the room where my mother is sitting. He stands above her and she leans her head on her knee to look up at him. We only see his bottom half and the hand which gives her one of the roses. She takes it and sniffs.

Boyfriend :

 “We’re going to sell them in bars, to couples or whatever”

She keeps smelling.

“I think we can probably make some money from it”

She hands it back to him and nods.

Mother :

“Yeah, probably.”

He walks back into the other room.

Boyfriend :

 “I think I am going to kill myself tonight”

My mother nods her head along to a song we cannot hear.

Scene 8

This shot is taken from below, so that the statue looks big, as though she is standing above us. From below, we are looking at a statue of the Lady of Sorrows. 
She is being rained on and so it looks as though she is crying.

Scene 9

My mother is standing outside of the bathroom door now.
(this door can lock, unlike the front door which is broken down) 
She is afraid that her boyfriend may slit his wrists in the tub. 
(this is a very romantic image, him in the red tub with all the roses)

When she realizes that nothing is going to happen she goes back to the other room and continues cutting out pictures from magazine on the floor.

Scene 10

Three girls are sitting in a bed, criss-crossed legs above the covers. It is warm. They are in pajamas (thin tee-shirts and loose shorts, tank tops and underwear) they are young, 12 or 13, pre-highschool.
One of the girls is tall and blonde. One of the girls is small and blonde. One of the girls has long brown hair and is medium. Tall blonde and medium brown are looking at each other. Small blonde has her eyes on her hands in her lap. They sit like this for a moment.

After a moment -

Small blonde :

“I don’t think we should talk about it”

Medium brown and long blonde continue looking at each other. Tall blonde gets up and leaves the room, she comes back in a moment and sits down on the bed again - peels a banana and eats it in three bites. She is peppy and says :

“Yeah, sure, I don’t mind. We won’t talk about it.”

Medium brown nods.

Small blonde smiles, a little unconvinced. Long blonde smiles big, banana in her mouth. The girls laugh.

Scene 11

In this scene a girl is in a bathtub and she is masturbating under the water. One of her legs is up over the side of the tub and water is dripping off of her toe onto the wooden floor of the bathroom. The shot is very still. The sound of water being moved for body very prominent. Some moaning. There is a shot of just the foot with water dripping off of toe. There is a shot of hand on cunt. There is a shot in a mirror which is leaning on the edge of the tub in which we can see a fragmented view of body.

Scene 12

A girl and a boy are on the street. The girl has fallen slightly behind the boy. She is holding a peach with both hands and she is looking at the peach. She is in a direct stream of sunlight. The boy turns around and sees that the girl isn’t behind him anymore, he stops and watches her. She takes a moment, and then takes an bite out of the fruit ( a close up on the fruit ) (maybe lots of close ups on peaches / first bites of peaches, as though she’s remembering many different bites as she takes this one ) 

the boy walks towards her now, he is tall and long. 

Scene 13

This is just a scene in which two people are showering together. 

They take turns getting under the shower head so they can both get wet and they do not pay so much attention to one another, as though they do this all the time.  

Scene 14

In this scene Pink Floyd’s “Money” is playing LOUDLY as a camera pans through an empty house. 

Scene 15

This is just a scene in which two people are showering together.

They take turns getting under the shower head so they can both get wet. They are slow. The girls hair is parted at the top where the water is hitting her head and she doesn’t bother to move it. The boy holds the back of her head and they look at each other for a while, with lots of water getting in their eyes. It’s romantic but they have to blink a lot so they can see better. It’s good lighting, yellowy and warm. The boy holds the girls back and she puts both her hands on his chest and watches. They pay a lot of attention to each other, and this is the first time they are showering together. 

Scene 16

Lulu is sitting in a bathtub with flippers on. They are green or orange. 

Scene 17

A boy is sitting in a bath and he is eating Christmas oranges. He has four of them balancing on the side of the tub and is peeling another. One orange peel is floating in the water. He is very focused on the oranges. 

Scene 18

A young girl is lying on the bed stretching and is covered with small tattoos which resemble stitches. The shot is very close up on her body and the tattoos. She’s relaxed and comfortable, and you can hear the sound of the television talking in the background. The camera pans over her body as she moves around. Once she settles into a position we linger for a while, then stop.  

Scene 19

I fuck my boyfriend at his family's New Years Day party after drinking too much and telling him about how sometimes I sleep with my best friend which I know gets him hot and bothered and not jealous because girl bodies are so soft. I leave after he cums on my stomach and little in my mouth and I go to meet my other boyfriend. He is sleepy when I get to him and I undress in the dark and get in bed next to his warm boy body. He tells me about his day in a half dream voice and momentarily I feel like this is what it’s like to be married. I like both my boyfriends but I only admit this to myself and so everyone else just thinks I’m confused and filled with their gross residues. 

Inside of me the two of them don’t mix well. They congeal because they’re a little jealous of each other but mostly just shy. 

Neither go up inside me or down and out. They stay sticky in the middle. 

After a few weeks I get sick, from the rotton cum stuck to the walls of my cervix. Half hardened, half oozing. I don’t taste good anymore - they tell me. 

My body skips ripeness and goes straight to another kind of sweetness which is best spat out immediately. 

When I open my legs it smells kindof like a wet basement and I have this desire to be able to reach up inside of myself to pull out the stink. It’s hard though, getting you’re wrist in there - the angle isn’t right. 

I decide that maybe I’m pregnant and the baby is mad because it’s confused. I sit in the bath which is the only place I smell good anymore. I cover myself in soap and lay my hands gently across my belly. There are bubbles on my face and when they get in my eyes they sting. I think I can feel the baby kicking even though he would only be the size of a kidney bean at this point. I say “shhhh” calmly, like a good mother and he screams “fuck off!” from inside of me which is a funny thing to hear from a tiny kidney bean baby voice. 

THE LADY OF SORROWS EATS ALL THE CHEESECAKE FROM THE FREEZER WHICH GOD HAD BEEN SAVING FOR THE ANGELS FOR DESSERT.

now she’s embarrassed and full, lying on her back and digesting badly.

a lover she doesn’t like very much offers to digest it for her.

she calls him and idiot and shoos him away.

Drag Mama

I dress mama up in drag and put her hair in a wrap. She looks beautiful smoking her marlborough gold backwards in the garden. A real vision. I tape the skin on her forehead back, tightening up her face. She looks 24, max. Earlier in the day she says she is jealous of my relationship with sex. How casually I have it. How little I mind when I am not in love. I nod and tell her sometimes I feel sneaky, getting so close to people when maybe I don’t deserve it. She laughs. We are taking a road trip together to an empty town, to find a very special face cream.

Back home we make dinner. A raw chicken placed on each of our plates, a twig of rosemary set atop. A cup of tea. A glass of cranberry juice. Mints and another marlborough gold smoked backwards to finish the meal. Mama and I are the best cooks in the town and everyone agrees.

Mama’s been alone since Papa and her split. I remember it still, the year of mangoe eating in the orange room. She says I lived mostly off of fish sticks when I was 3 because she wasn’t sure how to cook for me yet. It’s easy to hate the father but we did not. I told her : 6 weeks and they’d be back in love! He came over weekly to kill the centipedes in my bedroom and to flush them down the toilet. Can’t hate anyone when they still do that for you. I was wrong about the 6 weeks though. Sometimes after dinners together they kiss goodbye on the lips and my father smiles in a way which makes me happy. Soft.

Mama’s head wrap is a thin veil with purple polka dots on it. Her lips are drawn on small but they smudge bigger as she eats her dinner. By the time there are only chicken bones on her plate her mouth takes up most of her face. A real vision! 
We eat by purple candlelight. My nails looks like thinly sliced radishes. On the television behind us plays a documentary about 9/11. We all sing along to the commercial jingles when they come on. A small comfort.