“A beauty is not suddenly in a circle. It comes with rapture. A great deal of beauty is rapture. A circle is a necessity. Otherwise you would see no one. We each have our circle.’’
― Gertrude Stein, “A Circular Play”, Last Operas and Plays, 1920.
“I see better things, and approve, but I follow worse.”
― Ovid, Metamorphoses, 1st century AD
Memory smelled like pennies and batteries. Seven years, almost eight years now. I could barely see how backwards the days went.
This year too. I’m still not going home.
Missed opportunities, specific routes, the speed at which light attaches past and present tense.
It’s always the same.
Children when they use grammar incorrectly it can be cute, almost to a destructive degree.
To pose an alternate order where the coherence between language and reality no longer hold. Paradox becomes the norm and the structuring rule.
You get suffocated by wordless potential. Nonsense. Babble.
Linguistically it is sickening. So over the edge it is unpleasant.
There was a time when there were ten suns. This is what we did.
Cut our way through the eye socket, from behind.
Gut the creature, leave commas of flesh, use the remnants.
Another revenge performance and then another. Displaced urges often become primary means of gratification.
There is a Lamprey River in New Hampshire. In the beginning, every animal was born once without bones at all.
Spent all summer running away from the back-court of an air conditioned car. Defending against larger, longer, taller men. They are just stronger.
Costumes were left over from repeated performances: Ghosts in the wall. Giant immobile organs. We all too often confuse bulk with certainty.
How obvious now. The size makes a difference, to be frank. That’s what they kept telling me.
I am still not interested in men.
Some argue there are biological roots to our recognition of cuteness.
Big eyes. Full cheeks. Cues sculpted to trigger or release caregiving behavior in adults.
Rarely do monsters appear in folklore without some kind of warning or social message.
Facial structure: I often imagine myself without my jaw. Without any jaw. Jawless. You can feel another row of teeth growing, just by being overly aggressive with yourself.
Forcing an eye to the future. Should have lost a lot of years. Probably lost a lot of years.
Tales of transformation all tell the same thing: The true form is the one that appears at night.
Finally, all ten suns slowed down and she came up to my room alone.
“Is that all you are.” she asked?
“Aren’t you anything else?”
On the inverse of flesh: Jam the knife in. Remember to buy in bulk.
Animals are mostly just bags of juice. Sugar water. Milk. But states of matter are not fixed features of the universe.
King Henry the First died from food poisoning after eating a lamprey pie, in approximately 1600. It doesn’t matter the date. It’s not important.
The point is unexpected medical costs are the worst kind of surprise.’
I still have bruised tissue around each eye socket from an assault seven years, eight years ago.
You can still see depressions and cavities around the orbital bones. Little gray rings sunk around each eye.
A circular play. It always reminds me.
2 thoughts on “her gunpowder horoscope”
“It is not true that life is one damn thing after another. It’s the same damn thing over and over again.”
― Edna St. Vincent Millay, in an October 1930 letter
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Another Andromeda station, oh no! Vagina dentata, I see it like this: If abortion is ripping babies out, pregnancy sometimes is like jamming babies in.