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I make monosensory porn.

Tuesday, February 23

Selling the Future

here, everything is topsy turvy, here, people go swimming in the sky, they jump and flail their skinny arms and up and away they fly.
once i had a friend who's mother was the moon. his father was the wolf that howled the prettiest tune.
so she came down from the night, on to the earth and they had a little date, nine months later my friend was born, he had rough hair and a pale face.
we used to play this game, we'd swim out into space. we'd paddle to the edge of our stratosphere, where the air was thin and clear.
getting past this was the biggest hurdle, we'd huddle in synergy to conserve our energy,
see, out past this thermosphere and exosphere, out past that queer fear of never knowing if you'd ever get back to topsy turvy here,
out here in the greater universe, our bodies would transvere and our voices would converse.
you could just lie on your back and float on and get lost. past this solar system and into the next, into different galaxies, balancing our bodies and steadying our breath.
it'd be just the two of us together, not needing any other, we'd soar amongst the comets and asteroids, we'd dodge black holes, star births and voids.
oh these cheap thrills that spilled with reckless danger, this was life without a doubt, but these interplanetary joyrides, i would always chicken out.
i'd start kicking back with all my worth, towards our far flung earth, but my friend would stay so serene, he would float on and on and just enjoy the scene.

here everything is topsy turvy, people are walking sideways, no one can move forward, no one can go back.
i went to have my future told, but it was missing cuz i'm changing at every step.
my fortune teller said my aura was strong, but she took my hands and gasped.
she said, girl, make a decision on where you're going in life, i said woman, i'm just here to enjoy the ride.
but even in this topsy turvy land, demanding hands always pushed for something grand.
so, sick of just smashing shit up, refusing to let this bitter clairvoyant tell me what's what,
i bought ten pots of glitter, and high and half wild with predatorial gleams in our eyes,
my friend and i, settled for nothing less than the superfluous.

see, i suppose people get lost in their own different ways, some just blaze away the days.
see, when i was young my mother always had a big bright pair of silver scissors,
she said i used to weave the fabric of my imagination so tightly i'd lose all my receptors.
everytime she came to find me, i'd hide and watch her look for me inside my mind.
she'd have to cut through the tapestry of my made up world, to come inside and get me as i swirled, twirled and whirled.


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