...WHAT chair?

So I’m looking at her with that look- she tells me that when I use it she melts, she’ll do whatever I want- but its not working right now. I try to pass the message to her telepathtically, ‘get your roommate out of the room’.

I think she understands.

But then, messaging me back through her eyes and her thoughts and her kisses, she cuts my legs off.

‘what roommate?’

Time Traveling Across the Dinner Table

“You know when I was in college, we never learned any of this smarmy wishy stuff. What did you say you were studying? Never mind…when I was in college, we studied the real thing. Conrad. Kafka. The best was philosophy—ah philosophy! The days of discussing Descartes and the nights with Freud by my side—one in the same we were, even my professor said so! I was his prized student, his most precious possession he said. Professor Brightman. Good man, good student. I mean that as no disrespect! The best teachers are the best students, never forget it. But Descartes! Socrates! Nights of heaven, who needs sleep or food when you have philosophy! Of course you probably haven’t advanced that far, you probably won’t understand this story, being only a freshman…but I’ll try anyway…Have I told you it before…? Well I’ll tell you again. Final of senior year, the last philosophy test I had to take before venturing out to mortgage payments and marriage annulments. We walk in, class of 100 or so, and the tests are at our desks. Professor Brightman is not at the front of the room like he usually is, but a straight-backed chair is in his place. We take our seats, sit down. The paper is blank except for one line, one question: Prove that the chair is in the room. People begin scribbling, breaking pencils over hypotheses and rushing for more paper to fill with theorems and theories. Well you know what I did? I wrote “what chair?” and walked out of the room. Professor Brightman told me he has never been so proud, never been so excited. A student after his own heart! A natural teacher to be sure! If only your mother hadn’t gotten pregnant so soon, I would have made it! Professor Thea, I would have been extraordinary! Well now that you’re off to college and out of the house, I can get back to my dream! When you come back from college next, you better plan on going to Pennsylvania to live with your mom, because I’ll probably be TAing at Columbia or something....plans for the future, make a note. Your dad is going to be big news! So no Descartes or Freud for you yet, too bad…but I guess you’re being distracted in other ways at night, huh, my boy? That girlfriend of yours, how is she doing?

His son looked up from his chicken and smashed potatoes. His eyes scanned the scratched linoleum floor, the pile of thumbed classified ads in the corner next to the trashcan, and the wall hanging clock with a cow that jumped over the moon. His eyes came to a rest on his father, still un-shaven and un-showered, smelling like the beer fest from the night before.
“What girlfriend?”

It's like Candide

run run run run kelly work me you outrageousness candide route home route to you route to me route me out you better have a good reason this better have been pretty serious rude ridiculous disappointment unappreciated slow fuck slow down crazy child haha mr jones it's the end of the world 7:30 11:30 sleeping until then you better have been partying you better not be 6:45 mikie's park you laura disco yes you dance you dance now tiny dancer pass me the bottle
stay happy there's still time oh time for the important things important to you important to who not important whoa responsibility only so much time to live i felt your heart for a moment i saw your glance for a moment god how i love you for a moment 12 miles we only live for a moment there's only this route home route to you route to me route me out you better have a good reason, god for one moment you better have a good reason to run run run run kelly work me you become empty live lies how to swim with the sharks break a heart get ahead in the game throw a curveball bring me my long sword ho run because you're slow he loves to tell that part of the story want to know what part of the story i like to hear is how it all ends you're ordinary you want to be good you want to be extraordinary you think you're the only psychotic one i'd like to disagree on that point all i want to do is make you happy.

I used to hate birthdays, christmas, easter, and especially valentine's day. I used to hate the idea of expressing thought through something that had been manufactured and packaged and put on a store shelf without any thought. What turns your pocket change into something thoughtful, something of value? A penny for your thoughts, a dime for your cares, and $20 for your friendship.

The problem was I used to express these feelings, a lot. "All I want," I would tell my friends/family/whoever asked, "is for you to make something." And I usually got the explanation of how they weren't artistic or creative. "I don't care." I would say. And it's so true. And as a result, some self-proclaimed non-creative people have done some pretty amazing things. I've had paper mache ballerinas made, paper scissors collected in a russell stover box, amazing letters and picture collages, treasure maps and handmade books of the self-help nature.

I feel bad though, because I have been given some really beautiful and thoughtful things that have been bought, and I realize there isn't a clear cut line between the two. Granted that line may have been crossed when my first boyfriend gave me bath soap for my birthday (don't try to redeem him with sexual innuendos in that one, either. We were in 9th grade.) But there have been some amazing presents too. A ring passed down to me that was originally my great-great grandmother's. A shotglass with "some days I wish I were a missing person" written on it. Some pretty spectacular books. A build-your-own Mummy kit, though I think that was originally given to my little sister.

I was asked last night what I wanted to do for valentine's day this year. My answer was surprise me, and even that I realize was creating a challenge for someone that I know doesn't need to prove anything. I realize that my approach before was stupid and silly and wrong, and last night too, because all I want to do is be with the people that I care about and care about me, but instead I just seem to be confusing them.

My Rules of Attraction

may the strongest survive.

This is not a metaphor

Da Vinci thought it was an ordinary canvas. What he did not realize was that the sheet was threaded with angel wings and stardust strands, frozen with time and enveloping an electric connection. Each painted stroke had an equal and opposite effect on the back of the canvas, sent through by the pinpricks of light and energy (which is understood to happen when working with natural surfaces) but not seen because it had already been mounted on a mahogany support. He painted what he saw already in the canvas, his reflection, in the eyes of a water nymph. A skeleton of whispered promises gave her cheeks depth and sunk her eyes, the faint rose of her lips a telltale sign of stolen fruit and sweets, and a fleeting glow ebbing deep from her collarbone where the angel wings unfroze and shivered, not wholly free, and not wholly warm, either.