I want to rush in and take over.
I want to sweep it all under the carpet.
I want to stay up all night and rush with the feelings of a get-up-and-go drive, drive, drive!
Fire, inner heat and energy move me under the cold mothering moon; blue sphere, moody witness.
Music pounding in my ears, heartbeats matching the rhythms of Lola Rennt.
I don't need your tears. I don't need your salvation.
I like the wind, the movement, the pleasure of not knowing.
I like the moment.
I like the darkness in between the trees in rough forests, in places not found on the map, in words that mirror places seen in nightmares.
I want the pulse to quicken, jump and sound out into the night.
I want to dance and dance and dance and keep on moving.
I want the skulls to break through the soil, the dead babies to dance on the streets, abortions to be as beautiful as candy laid out in shops, chocolate to taste like piss, enemies to kiss and fuck, happiness to be sold in bottles, light as air...
I want dreams to be boss universal (but all we do is produce nightmares), I want the meaninglessness of another conversation to hit us like a ton of bricks and squash us flat against the pavement.
I want pain to not mean much and joy to be a take it or leave it kind of thing.
And...
I want my fist against your face, I want to see the blood flying. I want the sickening crunch of teeth cracking, I want to smell the stench of urine on your trousers as you plan your escape and I beat you to it. I wanna be, wanna be, wanna be your demon with a dimple and a denim skirt and long lashes. I want to suck your lollipop till you burst.
You hit me first and then we can begin this properly. Mind your manners. No blood on the carpet. Save it for the grass out of doors or the hardwood floors. Oh you think I am joking? You think this is more playing? You think I don't do this? You think I can't be both sweet and bitter?
And....
Don't understand me. Don't ever understand me. Don't fall behind - but don't follow too closely, either.
I like the boys who tease before they please. The ones I think about years later, when the severity of their no's still leave me in tears.
Up all night, the darkness at all angles, the chill crawling up the walls and into your bones. Skin retracting and soft, not your own these days, of some other world. You want your body back. You want to float in your own brain again. Whole. Complete. Resolute. What are you waiting for? Dive in.
Seconds tick by, the moment doesn't change much but you move and keep on moving. You search not for any particular point of light in the horizon but for a slight ripple in the universe. Body bends, mind screams out, mouth mocks in quiet salutations, hands free themselves from pockets and gesture wildly, legs move from left to right and hair circles your face...
And....
Aren't you just a little curious, boy?
Don't ya, just a little, want to know how to wind up this clock? And turn down the sheets?
Would you take up the sword and divide mother and son, father and daughter? Would-ya, could-ya break me in half? Torso split left to right, or top to bottom. Or better yet, rip the psyche from the monster's belly, separating mind from body...or soul from character.
I want to break things these days. I want to shatter and drop and dissipate.
I want to strike you in the deepest part. I want the one blow to your mind and your ego to be the one that remains sore for the rest of your days. I want to hurt you and I don't know why. I don't need a reason. I just want. I. want. this. And you cannot stop me. Not the way you keep smiling and offering me kisses.
Or....
I want the perfect words, the perfect smile, the beautiful walk, the glossy hair falling in cascades across a slimlined shoulder. Beautiful breasts that peak with glee from angelic-curved silk and steel. Sparkly eyes, glowy features, moist lips, flat tummy and rounded hips, long legs to walk miles with, haute couture melted onto me and mind made of sharp, absorbant wax, brimming over with thoughts, ideas, and mathematics.
Hands that paint memories. Black boots to press the earth under me. The kind of cool efficiency and poise and assuredness that gives me many roads to choose from... and I always choose the right and hard won (and effortlessly accepted) path.
But this is not me. Not by a long shot.
Not I, said the fly, Not me. Not ever.
Damn logistics and messy hair and clumsy limbs and gluttonous eyes and greedy belly and wandering mind and no interest in money or possessions and a constant drive to create and showboat with my arrogance in all the wrong places and the slow, steady poison of insecurity ... and a libidinous mind with an almost saintly body...
So....
Still there are the fantasies. The illusions of grandeur. The delusions. The wishes. The masquerades. The words which tumble out and impress (or frighten them away).
This is my siren's calling card, I suppose.
I want ownership and later a complete and utter breaking away.
I want freedom. Now and always. I am Uma ... 'no-one's bride'.
I am the terrible beauty you were warned of.
I am as imperfect as I am violently charming. Sid and Nancy post-mortem.
Silly, malleable, fiery.
I change as easily as I remain exactly the same throughout my life.
I am forgetful, but I never forget what really matters.
I am both honest and a liar.
I sleep and I feel you near me.
Awake, I am as remote as an island.
I will listen to your troubles but in the end you may just fear me.
Labels: 2002, watch out boys, when I was all wordy and moody and stuff