I've got to figure the universe is on fire, I've got to figure it fast and loose. My hands on the wheel and the highway like stars, the vroom vroom infinity. I figure it's reckless to be a woman, it has to be, otherwise women go mad from waiting to become themselves. My grip on the wheel is tight but not tense, I know the secret to the everything is how you hold it.
..His hands were like vice grips on my hips, his hair in my fingers like seaweed, limp from sweat. This is not pleasure. He asks if it's good, I moan from another body, one he is not burrowing into. Maybe I answer from Audrey Hepburn's body. I imagine that I'm the 60s sex-kitten, with pouty lips and a micro-mini and not with a pair of jeans around my ankle and a cotton sweater sticking to my back. In the other body, there is an orgasm building: my mind follows suit and I yell like..
I'm an archer and my quiver is empty. This is the state of the whole fucking world. Once I met a woman who had lost her baby, she was disappearing into nothingness holding her stomach. In two months, she wasn't anything. Half-dead, half-alive, completely invisible. Women are meant to be more than mothers. Women are soldiers and the war is.
..the universe on fire: cosmos like mouths and we're standing at it, praying broken prayers to the void. There is one body and one must use it. I was lying on the hood of his jeep and his skin pressing against mine was like fire. This is pleasure. Everywhere sparks were click-clicking into stars and I was full of a feeling like falling. I am not Audrey Hepburn. I am not a washing machine. I am
your girl, and I will protect you.*
*line from Xiu Xiu's, "Sad Pony Guerilla Girl"
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3 comments:
Lovely!! You gorgeous, you.
above was me, bendi
so let's do this:
1. you do the fire / loose thing a lot in the poem, and not in such a way that it seems like a minimalist repetitive motion - the universe on fire is a little NIN-sy, not bendi enough.
2.) I love the vroom vroom infinity, and generally the first paragraph is bitchin'. Here's the main issue I have with the exercise: the declarative statements that are everywhere are only occaisionally warranted. The "I am not a washing machine" line at the end is crazy-boss, but that's the only one I am in love with. Almost every other time I get the I, it isn't developed or different enough. Bluntly, at times it sounds like stereotypical woman / sex talk descriptions. This doesn't apply to every part of the story of course, I still like it, I'm just trying to give a bit of crit.
3. a note - not to get all gender-theory-y on you, but really the only two things on your girl's mind here are sex and pregnancy? most specifically, the only thing on her mind sexually is the satisfaction of her partner, not herself in any substantial way? Do you intend this? Because if she's talking about fire and infinity and falling and sparks, I'd figure she can be inside her body a bit more.
4. "vice grips on my hips" is too easy, the hair like seaweeed bit is just kinda gross and not really what you mean, i think. In the last paragraph I think the only things that are working are the last 4 sentences.
5. one last bit - they're having sex on the hood of a jeep and he's pressing against her, but his hands are on her hips? to make it visual, that means we've got dude in an uncomfortable full-body press on her, so much so that if you were looking at it from a distance, it'd just be an ass bobbing in the air. it'd be a ridic way to have sex, and no wonder girl doesn't think she's sexy enough - she's getting smothered by this guy's weight and sweat. Normally, I think, dude would have his hands on the hood. I'm also attributing paras 2&4 to the same time, an extension of the moment.
B$, good job for getting on with this paprika thing. and despite all of my cerebral comments, i viscerally liked this story, which I think is worth about a 1000% more. There's some really awesome shit in here.
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