11/14/08

Everything Will Be Illuminated in 27.3 Minutes

Yes. Yes. This post will be the one which will give me the long-sought, but ever-feared clarity I so coyly pursue. It is love itself knocking on my door, and I will be startled because it is so rare that anyone ever knocks on my door, because I reside out in the boonie-fucks and I may not even answer the door. I might decide that the unraveling of the fabric of my inner life is far too rich to be bothered with such things as answering the door. And so the love that is capable of being contained in this post will go on over to my neighbors' houses and they won't even recognize it. To them they will just see a woman with hairy legs and a mod haircut and a faint mustache and they will just think that she has the wrong house (and they will be right) and that she needs to take a shower and that they don't speak French anyways. They will offer her use of their phone and then they will each think that she is rather pretty, even if she is rude with her boldness to knock upon a stranger's door. And, then I will be sad because I am stranger than them and I would know that she likes to be kissed around that mole on her inner thigh, but she won't know I know.

And, it could be the case that within this these words my future at.one.mint. is already existent and then the illusion of physicality could be ended freshly, but I cherish it too dearly to be enlightened by it's curiously sweet taste, and yet rue, in its stacks and stacks of junk on my desk that Mr. Bee should think pertain to him too, such form. But I would rather no one touched my stacks but me unless they would do it just the way I like, and then even if Mr. Bee did handle my wares the way I so controllingly state is necessary, it still would not be the same as if Sophiè rode her bicycle over and asked me if I wanted her to pump me and I would say yes and we would ride off into the sunset that comes way too early as does this eerie wind that makes the trees scrape the roof, though it doesn't bother me. And, neither do nails on a chalkboard which cause for some a shiver down the spine that would also ensue were I to do "Criss Cross Applesauce" down So- as I now call her-'s back.

So, Quietly I Wait.

If I say nothing,
I will hear my answer.
'Tis not a cricket,
But an owl I hear
Crying, "Whooo
Are you waiting for?"
I mistakenly revere the owl,
The messenger,
While ignoring the knock again.
Impertinence, a mask falsely worn,
Belies significance,
Fleeting, opportune, apt,
And, then, even it passes.

14 comments:

enc said...

This is a poetic (forgive me) outpouring.

Romius T. said...

I liked.

Randal Graves said...

Well shut my mouth and call me Dick Cheney, this poetical essay is just plain fucking good, dammit.

Liberality said...

so if everything is illuminated here shortly but I am still blind, what then?

Anonymous said...

This post makes me wonder about my id. I can take a shovel to my ego, but it's my id that gets me into trouble.

Mauigirl said...

Very poetic stream-of-consciousness....thought-provoking.

Anonymous said...

I bet Randal is in a state of poesy envy that makes "penis envy" mere child's play. Oh that's right Penis envy is child's play. Never mind.

Who is the fetchingly cocky woman in the photo with the bicycle and the good hair (talk about Frenchy)? Is that you, Freida? My you are a sexy wench. Can Dcup and I help you in any way? We have been twittering about the possibilities you present so poetically and with such brilliance. Are you sure mathematics is your cup of tea? No disrespect Mathman, but you are such a complex literary type and all... Won't your talents be wasted there? Have you seen "Zack and Miri Make a Porno"? Hard times call for desperate measures. And who doesn't love a bit of hot woman on woman action?

Oh crap. Blogger hates me today so I must be a mystery woman today. I won't even sign this. It will be interesting to see if you can tell who I am just on style alone. Hint, I smoke...

Freida Bee said...

No Utah- That's not me. That's my frenchy girlfriend, Lætitia Sadier, lead singer from Stereolab. (You would recall what I look like more readily if you had accepted my friend request on Facebook, but I never heard back from you....)

Utah Savage said...

Oh I will have to go back and lear the Facebook thing again. I just couldn't get the hang of it. My admin was making me have three new things going at once and I couldn't get the hang of any of them. So now I'm at netvibes and Flock, I can read teh blogs off the RSS reader at Flock. I have a picasa web album, But I discovered that if I comment from the flock app I can't be identified. Neat huh? Mystery lady and nobody can follow me. I could turn into a real asshole with this new anonymity. I mean more of an asshole. I hate applications that make me sign-in, since being a gemini, born in the year of the monkey, and bipolar, I have three identities, two email accounts, two names, addresses, two passwords, and so it gets confusing. But I don't have to tell you that. You are my friend and we can email each other. We can ichat, or talk on the telephone. Fuck, with all that land I might move to.... Where are you? I am from Paris, TX you know. I'd fit right in, doncha thank?

Blueberry said...

She reminds of Rachel Maddow on Casual Day.

pissed off patricia said...

I shan't go into come deep thoughts here because I am just enjoying your writing.

Comrade Kevin said...

I do believe you are the reincarnation of Gertrude Stein.

Bubs said...

I feel compelled to comment, even though I don't know what to say. I had to come back to read this more than once, and I just really liked reading it.

dguzman said...

You're blowing my mind, Bee.