If I...

were to lean toward you with unknown intent, but with a look that has implications, what would you do?

Would you bolt deep down into your hole like a rabbit scenting a fox on the prowl, with it’s glorious tail a plume of certain victory, and wait in trembling silence for the wind to say I am no more?

Would you slither snake-like into a rocky crevice to watch me in action? Safe and invisible, a stalker of the reptilian order…sssssilent, and amused, finding old warmth in the stone, settling in for the duration, and hoping for the beast to best beauty.

The word slither is so unsexual.

Sometimes.



Or would you lean toward me with a look of your own, and watch me fly away in alarm?

Ah, but we think too much, and vaporized heat dissapates in the chill of this room too soon for contemplation to bloom, while rain pounds at the place like a giant's tears of rage because his hand is stuck in the chimney, and he hungers for me as a snack.

The bitch goddess has her way with me tonight. There is no moon to guide me, and random thoughts are full of error and eros despite the cold draft that reminds me of impending doom, or an empty bed.

Images of dangerous anti-heroes, and mythic monsters full of warm breath and flame flood the mind with perverse pleasure.

A twist of something not quite right in absinthe, please. I need some oblivion to settle the ashes of yesterday.

To My Friend Ara

Querida,
Te amo.

In my eyes, you are strong and beautiful because you continue to live with such an immense stone across your soul, across your heart, and across your mind. You carry that which would break the so-called strong who are never so challenged by life as you are.

I make this statement publicly.

You are my beloved loyal treasure. You have understood it when I have fallen from grace. You have cared enough to send me Neruda, and to give me your gentle loving hand to hold in my own darkness.

Humanity lives in blindness Querida. They only see what is safe. You look into the pit of hell, and come back scorched to tell the story of what you have seen.

My sister Ara, I salute you. You are my honored friend.

Always,
Ann

Fantasy Shoes

Reality makes me sick.

After coming to that conclusion, I decided to quit reality. Reality on the other hand, likes me and follows me like a dog.

So, I started watching movies I've seen before, while waiting for a shipment of more movies to come by mail from a half.com dealer. Thirteen new ones to watch over and over.

Last night it was Bram Stoker's Dracula. I fell asleep just before they chopped Lucy's head off to give her peace, and to prevent her from eating more children than she may have eaten already. Coppola glosses over how many children she may have eaten before decapitation, which probably makes sense for the sake of theatre. We're sup
posed to feel sympathy for poor Lucy in spite of her shallow nature.

At 5 AM today, I chose Mississippi Burning. I stopped the tape before they found Chaney, Schwerner, and Goodman. I remember that day. Too much reality. So next I'm on to Wayne's World if I can find it. Not much danger there.

If movies aren't the answer, maybe I need fantasy shoes.

Fantasy shoes are colorful. A woman came to see me yesterday wearing green shoes. It was St. Paddy's day, so of course they fit in with some sort of reality. She assured me she only wears them for St. Paddy's day, which means that she might well be buried in them if she happens to die near the 17th of March, even 50 years from now. It all depends.

The fantasy shoes I concocted today are in shades of blues and greens. The greenest being chartreuse. They can take me anywhere away from all this, away from all that, all the way over the rainbow.

I can't think of any solution for the world as it stands on such shaky ground. Fantasy shoes have become the answer. You put them on your feet, and turn four again. You never have to leave there.

When I was four, I knew there was evil, but I believed in good.

[Original publication date March 21, 2004
at The Dream Tigers]

A. Murray

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