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a beautiful granola girl wrote me the other day telling me i was beautiful. i told her dead animals were cute. she didn't write me back. it seems that's the way things go for me. i'm never quite what people want me to be. (an odd note: oxalis says i'm terribly sexual. ephedra says i'm a prude. i think i'm both.) my spoken word professor says i'm a natural at performance art because i'm always doing it. "always?" i ask. "in life," he says. oh yes. i think for a moment that it would be romantic if i couldn't remember who i really was, but it's been done, so i abandon the idea. of course i know who i am. what a silly idea. i just don't let other people know. except hemlock, of course. of course.
ephedra starts on her third grapefruit half. "mmm," she says, "grapefruit is so good." i ask her if it's her new feel-good food, her drug of choice. "oh!" she exclaims. "you know what this looks like?!" "oh, yes." "i mean, look at it! all pink and juicy..." "yes, yes it does." "touch it!" she holds it out to me. "doesn't it feel like..." "sort of," i say. "except that it's cold." "mmm. it's soo good, the taste, the texture... i'm going to want another one after this," she says. "is that wrong?" have as many as you want, honey. |