Tuesday, June 22, 2004
apple core
i feel like all my creative energy is overridden by my sex drive. as if, a lack of imaginative expression and flowing words or productivity is punishment for not getting myself good and laid and over with. i never liked to get my hands dirty when i was a kid. i touched dirt and mulch so timidly in the park. those kids who would dig their hands and feet in
drove me crazy.
why would you want that under your nails and
so close to the next layer of your skin.
what if you had a cut and this cut was placed so conveniently
that the dirt became part of your insides,
and then you could never be president
or prom queen or
michael jackson
because
dirt
it's part
of who you are.
it echoes in my demeanor towards the opposite sex. boys are so much like mulch and dirt and produce anyway, it doesn't matter. it's all just splinters in my feet&fingertips.
nothing ever feels good or better. it just feels like nothing.
drove me crazy.
why would you want that under your nails and
so close to the next layer of your skin.
what if you had a cut and this cut was placed so conveniently
that the dirt became part of your insides,
and then you could never be president
or prom queen or
michael jackson
because
dirt
it's part
of who you are.
it echoes in my demeanor towards the opposite sex. boys are so much like mulch and dirt and produce anyway, it doesn't matter. it's all just splinters in my feet&fingertips.
nothing ever feels good or better. it just feels like nothing.
