October 2009

You know how, in movies, there is always a hooker with a heart of gold? Or a criminal, a man with a difficult past who, if given a chance, would reveal that underneath it all, he is living kindness, he is some saint sent to save us or at least the female romantic lead of whatever story we’re being told? There are so many stories like this. The whore, the thief, the violent, the insane – if we would simply patiently dig through the negative, there would be the positive, the warm heart, the kindness, the cookies baking, the wife the mother the husband the perfect friend. But it’s never actually like that. The whore is a whore and that’s all there is to it and the thief is going to steal just as much as he damn well pleases with no regard for how much work you’ve put into helping him realize his true butterfly beauty. Everyone is fucking determined to remain a caterpillar, and no amount of love or self righteous support is going to change that. Even if you managed to find someone who had all that shiny perfect positive under their nasty negative, the golden heart might be fucking boring and it could turn out that the only real thing going for that crazy violent drunk was being crazy violent and drunk, and really, you should have known all along that if once you got rid of the surface what’s underneath is never as much of a prize as you thought it would be and it is no fun to fuck a saint, they are invariably bad lays. 

The night I met you was the first time I believed that the story might be true and maybe we weren’t all being lied to all. the. fucking. time and maybe just maybe ohgodplease there might be someone who was this and that, not this or that, and all I wanted to do was wade through you for as long as you’d let me or as long as it was still what I wanted to do, and I wouldn’t dig through your exposed negative, I promise, I would just watch and wonder and want and have fun with you, because what else is there, really, when it’s over?


What if every time you felt something about someone or something that you felt like you couldn’t say to that person, about that something, even though you knew it would make you feel about a million times better for at least one second, and that that one second of a million would make all the seconds of feeling like dirt and shit and saliva mixed together on a shoe shoved into a face worth it, totally worth it, you said that something to someone you didn’t care about at all? Do you think that would help? I mean, you wouldn’t tell them you didn’t feel it about them, you would just say whatever it is you think it would help to say, like “The sound of you laughing, throaty and low, is maybe the best thing I’ve ever heard and I would do anything, no matter how fucking ridiculous, just to hear it again” or “Immediately after I started loving you, I started hating you and just kept going and I don’t see any other way for it to have gone and now that’s all that’s left and I don’t even remember what loving you was like” or “yes, that’s right, it was me that killed your dog that time and I am not even kind of sorry and I would do it again” or “I hope you fucking die, but more than that I hope that everyone you love dies in front of you, you terrible fuck” or “I have never had sex that terrible in my entire life, what is wrong with you” or “when you smile, things go crooked and I can’t walk straight’ or “I don’t even ever want to have sex with you, I just want you to kiss me and then I want to keep knowing you forever” and then you would wait awhile and see if it helped. 
I do not understand why we are not all doing this already. Unless I don’t know, we are?