guano mad and batshit crazy: a social history of feces and insanity

the first one was awful to her. accused her of being on drugs and they weren't even the right ones. he gave her a diamond ring and she left it as a tip for a diner waitress. on a set of mashed potatoes and gravy. for all it was worth. rich boys and the obvious dreams that girls have.

i don't believe you, continue.

after that one,
she was a red thong hiding in the world. he kept her inside the evil treasure of his heart. and even the bubbles in my coke got excited. it was the strong thread of ariadne. but it never left the labryinth. and though your hands were esau's, your voice was jacob's.

the next one was raw.
he said, "baby, let's tow some shit". i loved his machines.

there was another one i don't remember. we would leave the parties dixie fried and go to his apartment to fuck or not fuck.
and i am enthusiastic about that. about both. and about leaving. most of all.

one more i loved simply because he once mentioned that as far as he was concerned he liked me better without makeup. if you can believe that.

next time, we were the out-of-state-plates. i am, the song i sang myself. ray, a drop of golden sun, and you are dear.
when we became friends you spoonfed me with your eyes, from the garden of one strong rose.
where maybe someone else had died.

the one after that, he had the perfect hilarious neuroticism.

i don't believe you, continue. i don't believe you, continue.

his blood was made of salmon.
i kept a 3rd eye. on my underwear. i drew it there. every morning for a decade.

then dated a ghost for 30 years. i called to him late at night, he materialized, and i woke up missing money from my jeans. he would devour me. he kissed like he would eventually devour me. and i only know it ever happened because my lips would bleed, my clothes were torn, my skin was bruised and rosey with hickeys and i smiled all day like a good secret.

i don't believe you, continue.

brass tacks. a small self-torture, the next one after that. he didn't work on saturdays, so we had to split.
who would have thought tatami and tabasco would fall in love? i can't stop dripping. with a force more predictable than clumsiness, i think there's some strange chemistry at work. you be tatami, i'll be tabasco you be tatami, i'll be tabasco. the most unpredictable of bedfellas make good bedfellows.

more than men, she thought of them as a set of life philosophies.
all of them were frustrating by themselves. certain combinations could fill her.
but you can only marry one.
at a time. if you want to marry, and she did she did she did! over and over, red on red and red again before sundown. i'm comfortable with the one who knows things he shouldn't know and never says them and when he does talk it is often with his hands. a good strong drink calms my bucking hips. a drink with eyes of shell and lapis lazuli. who knows the difference between things you mean when you say them and things you are forever.

the one who broke into my apartment every night just to lay his head down on the pillow with mine. well, i had broken in to some of his private life to be near him so it made perfect sense. he will tell me he loves me or more and i will feel the words with my whole mysterious little huge body. we can sleep asscheek to asscheek or like creeping vines over each other we will sleep in many more positions we can press our foreheads together and lock eyes and not laugh unless we want to.

employment ruins your chances at employment. bosses can be so incompetent at telling you how to do the jobs they give you. but you have to think about screwing them on top of the things you clean on the clock.

i don't believe you, continue.

and i always come back here.
i hope your little soul and my little soul can sit in the dark theater and hold hands. i hope we don't listen to our contexts. i hope there's no reason to worry about life.
i don't believe you, continue. i don't believe you, continue.
i am the song i sing myself ray a drop of golden sun and you are dear.