A through i – Purple gums.
November 27, 2013 § Leave a comment
A – A is for Asshole. Because I have one. And Almond milk.
B – B is for bitches. Fuck all the bitches.
C – C is for the crack I did all night one night when I was twenty three at some junkies house-I went into the bathroom at eight am and saw in that junkie’s dirty sink mirror that my gums had actually turned purple. I then showed my purple gums to others in the back room (Africa bambaataa in the background) who’d also been smoking crack all night, “Dude, look at my gums!” whom did not comprehend the gravity of the situation. C is also for Coffee and caramel and coughing. (Those are not my gums)
D – D is for Dogs. People love their dogs, which is great. I, do not. I just don’t. I’ve tried but I can’t. They pee and fart and shit where they’re not supposed to and then you step in it when you’re sleeping or when the grass is too high to see it. Then it’s on your bare foot, or your shoe and now you smell like shit. They always need something when you’re too busy to stop what you’re doing. They beg for your food even after they’ve already eaten an entire mountain lion-and you have to share because you feel like a fucking shithead aristocrat if not. They roll around in dead things and feces and mud then jump up on your bed where you fucking SLEEP! The big ones knock you down and leave permanent imprints in the carpet-fuck it. I put up with having dogs because everyone else in the house adores having dogs, but I don’t like it.
E – E is for Eggs. I wish I loved eggs. I wish I went to bed dreaming of eating my usual eggs in the morning. I hear they’re good for me.
F – F is for fish. I have those too but I don’t dislike them, I empathize with them. Can you imagine being a fish in a tank? They’re either swimming back and forth, or hiding, or just fucking sitting there. Just slit my throat.
G – G is for Greg. Greg was the first boy I put my mouth on. He lived next door me when I was twelve or thirteen. We’d sneak off and make out in the wood where we, and my sister and his sister built a club in the wings of a colossal tree that looked like a pine tree but wasn’t, behind the apartments across the street from our house. His sister was older, fifteen or sixteen and a girl I wanted to be just like (She had neat things from peir1). One day they both came over and we all went to the basement where Greg and his sister tried to talk me into “laying on the couch” with Greg. When I wouldn’t do it, (mostly because I didn’t know what to do once I was on the couch with him) he and his sister proceeded to show me, what to do. I stood aside my own sister, both our mouths agape, I imagine, and we watched them dry hump each other for like ten minutes. I don’t know why we didn’t walk away or tell them to stop. We didn’t hang out with them after that. I should write a narrative about that whole time in my life because it was bizarre.
H – H is for honesty. Honesty is virtuous and crucial and disputable and not always necessary but still just as crucial.
I – I is for Itch. When my daughter started school, she came home with fucking head head lice, within a fucking week. My head was itching so bad I fucking shaved it. I could have treated my hair with lice shampoo like I’d done with my daughter, but shaving away (Maniacally), that nest of infest was my way of taking back the power. “RUN BITCHES!” Plus I was going through other shit, mourning the loss of things, so shaving my head seemed appropriate on many levels. I kept it shaved for three years, but left girl bangs and sideburns, which looked bad ass, but I was the only one who thought so. Every time I visited my mother she’d stroke my girly bangs and say, “I wished you’d just shave that off.”