Tuesday, May 31, 2016



"I'm just thinking about the void," I said as he snaked his arms around me, closing the physical gap that is more than physical. Hands lowered to the ass, flesh selected and grasped.

"Oh, yeah?" muffled through a mouthful of net, attempting to kiss my sternum through the halter bra. I bought it because I wanted to feel young and stylish.

Oh, yeah? He used that sex voice, the one that sounds as if the speaker is simultaneously attempting to calm an agitated dog and tempt a child into a large van.

"Yeah.” Chin resting against the crown of his head, his hair partly buzzed and partly long. In fantasy, a kelp forest.

"Yeah, just the nothing!" I said, chipper, almost shrill. "And how the nothing lasts forever!"

"Mm-hmm," his placating affirmation, his everything everywhere, face gone down.

I suppose I felt a little ignored. It's a specific neglect, when one is speaking and thinking, but all of the focus- that ephemeral force field- is zoomed in tightly on the body’s parts, abstracted, like groceries, or goals, items on a treasure hunt checklist finally within grasp.

The neighbor with her cupful of sugar, patient smile for the child and his child’s game.  

Like having a lover that so obsesses over the vagina, it begins to seem as if he actually believes it's food.

And all of the fledgling pride that one feels, for embracing the void of death, and trying to imagine that the void might be real, and how one might feel about that, -such new bravery- is effaced, because this momentary partner, bearing witness to one’s little, profound moment, has known about the void for a long time. He is a bit ahead, and thus, not in the same state.

He wants to just be alive as he eats the body and fucks it, to consume, warlike. All his femininity (that French lisp) discarded.

To be so ignored while somebody is literally inside of the body is very strange. There are many kinds of voids, I think now, and they are not all technically death.

There are many failings of language, many triumphs of physicality, little erasures and collisions.

I wonder at the fact that every street on Earth isn't teeming with people walking with slight limps.