Monday, May 23, 2005

The definition of a clothes horse. What comes natural.

Did I meet you last week? or was it yesterday?

I think It was a long time ago I regained my sense of taste.

It came to me as though in a dream just recently, that I may be regressing into the more primal me. Like another morning on the C-train on the way to the Bay.
Do you remember me then? Maybe not.
I had bleach blond hair, that I blew dry while I held my bony carcass half way upside down. The Security at the door would always greet me with a snickers bar, back then. I was Charlies Angels, clad in pink with tight white bottoms and constantly in a waivering state.
Perhaps you saw me then, 11am on the third floor of Bankers hall devouring a chocolate-chip muffin and a litre of chocolate milk (what I wouldn't give for some beatrice right now!)
After a day of familiarity, it was off to the video store for the newest Adult Swim cartoon...and home for mom's left over spaghetti and a bungalow with more rooms, and more rooms.

where am I now?
A science experiment for some young lass to question the boundaries of her sexuality...a true test indeed. I write to one of you, but not the one that matters.
All this could be translated into some poem with which I could get all these tempting feelings off of my chest while not being a bother (prefering an audience, but one lost in a web of intangibles and generalities)
I fooled even myself.
This is my fight.
The definition of a clothes horse.
Even as I scout the waters of a far away land, certain necesities always rear their yellow head.
Shopping
Eating
Sleeping

Will this experiment serve any cause...
every essay needs direction...

and so I write The great American novel.


Combine Harvester10:37 PM

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