Hawkeye (Not What You Think)

Gold, frankincense, myrrh, and the miles I placed at your feet.

All these things given in the name of hope.

A second in your time, a millennia in mine.

I am now on the other side a continent away.

Chipping away at a life more lost than the last.

The blood that is not there feels warm at my ankles.

Can I walk through that wall? I don't know, til I try.

If I thrust these shears into my thigh will I feel better?

Can I somehow balance it all out?

You're not there, but you are there.

Chasing my thoughts between the alien and surreal.

I think you might have been real.

I think you could have been more at ease with that fact.

It doesn't matter.

Woodland spires stretch above, as I read Hawkeye with a tiny black dog.

This is me now.

I'm here.

If I Was A Wrestler

I've always had an off again, on again relationship with wrestling since third grade.  The last few months I've entered another on again phase and I've been taking notice of the Divas more and more. Male wrestling gimmicks range widely from menacing to comedic.  However, the female half seems to stay on the girly and sexy side.  The tedium of this has begun to bother me, perhaps because I, myself, am so dislocated from my body.  

I know in theory, the world looks at me and sees me as female.  I often forget this as I don't see myself reflected in society.  I don't feel female, nor do I feel male.  Inside, I'm a habitation of twists of vines, lumpiness and scales.  I've latched onto the closest description that feels right.  I am a velociraptor.  I tried sexyness on once like Cinderella's glass slipper for a time.  It worked for a while, until it didn't.  Fine lines and chinks began to spread upon the facade of glass.  One day it shattered completely under the weight of self.  Now sexyness feels cloying and claustrophobic.  My tiny hands itch to open doors, and devour what's behind them, and so I do.  I can't be sexy for you.  I'm too busy eating.

It's hard not to want to see reflections in society.  Little things that you can hold and say, I understand this, all while you look through the world with me colored glasses.  Much like the things I want most in life, I have to daydream those things simply because they rarely exist.  So, today I daydreamed of being a wrestler.  It's not a terrible stretch.  Wrestling dogs, wrestling people, tomato, tom-a-to, at least, to my mind.  

I think I would be called The Hadron Collider!  I believe this to be a sensible moniker as various bodies would indeed be knocked down in collisions with me.  I'd of course be wearing a cape, at least for part of the time on my way to the ring.  I believe I would go with my summer cape, pictured here.  It's my lightest and most festive one.  Not to mention, there's dragons on it.

I don't think my ring gear would deviate too far from what I generally wear.  I would wear a different sci fi or comic related shirt each match.  The only thing I would add that I don't possess would be a retainer with headgear just for the sake of added drama.  This way if a match got really heated the announcers could say "Uh-oh, the headgear is coming off! They're in for it now!"  Then after a most devastating volley of fisticuffs I could paraphrase from Stone Cold Steve Austin and say something like "The Law of Thermodynamics says I just kicked your ass!"  Which doesn't completely make sense, but it's wrestling so it really doesn't have to.  Then after winning a match, in the most Downton Abbey-esque manner possible, I would celebrate in the ring by sipping a cup of tea. Earl Grey. Hot.  

Oh and for intro music it's probably obvious and goes without saying but...

Throw off the cape on the way to the during the really synthy part, "Science!"  If there's a videotron, there would of course be backwards walking dinosaurs.  Everything somehow looks better when you roll video backwards I've noticed.  Or maybe it just resembles my thought process, I've never been sure.

Anywho, the only question remains, are you ready to face The Hadron Collider? 

Maybe She's Born With It, Maybe It's Wolverine

"Tell me what you want, Bradley." Sandra said stripping down to a corset and panties.

Bradley answered "Do your hair just like Wolverines!"

"Wait, what?" That was not an answer she was expecting.

Bradley repeated. "Do your hair just like Wolverines. I've been thinking about it ever since you got it cut."

"And you thought, jeepers that would look so much better if... wait...are you sexually attracted to Hugh Jackman? I mean, I could understand if you were...I mean.."

"Wolverine isn't just Hugh Jackman pookie. Hugh Jackman is only one facet of Wolverine. For example have you read Savage Wolverine?"

"Uhm, no."

"But, it was Wolverine fighting dinosaurs for a while there. Why are we even together?"

"I don't know." Sandra shrugged tugging up her corset and adjusting her boobs in what she hoped was sort of a sexy way and less of a boobs are inconvenient and heavy at times kind of way. "Maybe because we have a shared Sam's club membership?" Sandra giggled.

Bradley smirked a little. "Yeah, that's exactly why I love you. Discounts on large reams of paper. Now how about you get in the bathroom and style your hair like silver age wolverine, maybe put on a little yellow spandex and we'll see where the night takes us."

"You got it Bub." Sandra said heading to the bathroom. What else did she really have to do? It was summer and everything on tv was mostly in reruns and she had already cleaned the kitchen

It took a while and a lot of product but Sandra found eventually she had some nice wolverine peaks going. She worried it might not be exaggerated enough. But, it was the best she could do. Rummaging in the laundry room she found some yellow shorts and a shirt, not exactly spandex but it would have to do.

Sandra burst through the door, and held a crouching pose. "You ready for sex? "I'm the best at what I do, and what I do isn't very nice".

Bradley paused taking Sandra in. After a minutes consideration he said. "You know, I didn't really think this through. Maybe you should shower."

Sandra stood up. "Yeah... probably a good idea. I didn't know where this was going either and my head itches from all the gel and spray."

Fin

My Dharma

When you were young we had adventures.

You bit the ocean, and dug at the lake like a surface of glass.

We hiked for miles and found new things.

I remembered the joy the first time I let you run, after only a few days together.

You flew and I giggled.

You were beautiful and free.

At times, I couldn't see you at all, only weeds moving.

The beach, the woods, overgrown fields and reeds, you tore through them all,

like they were nothing.

You were speed and joy.

You came back to me.

A playful spirit even in the house. 

You'd only play with another person, never a dog, never alone.

It's a myth dogs don't think we're weird.

I mean, it has to be, right?

I could see it on your face at times.

But, still, you always came back to me.

Because you were weird too.

You didn't bark and you disdained the noise of those that did.

You peed on too many of our neighbor dogs heads for me to suspect otherwise.

Your long suffering sighs spoke volumes as did your manners.

You nudged a hand, or a bowl just enough to make a clinking sound.

Sometimes a little cough or grunt, if we really didn't notice.

And once, you picked up an empty fiji water bottle and dropped it on my head to wake me.

But, you only barked if you really had something to say. 

A rare surprise visitor or joy these were your only occasions to be marked with sound.

You stole from me. I didn't mind.

Even those nights I woke up cold without blankets, I could only smile.

I caught you red handed once, my covers in your mouth, your sheepish expression.

You hoarded odds and ends like a magpie.

You never chewed, never destroyed, only tucked things away under your bed.

I'll never figure out how you got my debit card.

But, I'm glad it was under your bed along with seven pairs of tweezers.

I never knew what to expect from you.

I was impressed upon waking finding you wearing my exercise bra.  You almost had it on correctly.  

I put it on you properly and let you wear it for a few days just to try it out until we both tired of the attention.

You typically didn't like your own kind. 

You preferred humans, I preferred dogs, together it worked.

You had your moments of tolerance and your outgoing days.

We understood each other that way.

You loved food.  And well...eating poop but let's not mention that.

One of your few flaws.

You lit up when you found some new flavor you liked.

Any new experience required contemplation though.

The question evident on your face, "Did I like that?" 

Car rides were like running, while not having to run.

You backseat drove, grunting noises of disapproval at every long stoplight.

If you drove, we'd drive through every red light.

You were not always the cuddliest. 

A little Aspie yourself, at times you needed space.

But, if you ever heard me cry you were there, always there, nose a few inches from my own to ask me why. 

You came back to me.

In snow, in rain, on sunny days.  You always came back.

Until you couldn't.

You fought it, but I knew, you wouldn't come back this time.

Signs screamed at me, and I walked with a no, no, no, no, no running through my head.

I poured my heart out like I do now. My favorite memories with my face in your fur.

I sang to you a little, one of my weird songs, the one to the tune of Peter Cottontail, I sang sometimes.

Even though it was inappropriate to sing, it was ours.

And I told you how much I loved you and hoped you could feel it.

I stayed with you and watched you eclipse.

At the end, I'll be alone but I made sure you'd never be.

 I hugged you one last time, knowing you couldn't come back to me.

I call for you inside. Sometimes, it's a scream. I fight reality like the tides.

I can't help it.

I miss you.

There's been no friend so tangible and real as you.

No loss as great til now.  I could do them all in my sleep.

They all seem so paltry and merely dust in comparison.

I'd drain their collected life force in exchange for one more day with you, if I could.

But, in this weighted sadness there's also peace.

In a dream state you told me you have friends. 

I've had to try to remember who Ralph Waldo Emerson is as I struggled to wake.

Others I had to look up.

You can't come back to me.

But, I know you are somewhere else because you were always so much more than anyone would ever guess. 

I have to believe, the world is too.

And so I dream of you, in all the places I'd rather you be.

The Tub Pervert

(Based on one of my weird dreams.  Not that I have normal dreams, but this one stuck with me.)

After a life in apartments, it seemed unimaginable that such a large house could be had for so little.  The only caveat was that all of it's eccentric charms were to be accepted sight unseen.  Acceptance meaning they were to remain unchanged.  Seven rooms, for the obscene rental price of $150 a month in an area brimming with job opportunity, who wouldn't sign such a lease?  It seemed a trivial matter that the homes garden tub existed in a room the landlord intended to continue using for personal storage.  One could easily survive a bit of hoarders glory in exchange for a lovely old cottage.

Thus, I charged into this undiscovered country, books and action figures in tow.  Sparse furnishings and troves of empty shelves greeted me upon incursion into my new dusty wonderland.  The bathroom was a vast savanna plain compared to tiny apartment bathrooms of the past, housing a shower, a sink and two toilets. No, not a toilet, but a bidet!  What a delightful surprise and a new experience I was very much looking forward to.  No more OCD backside cleaning!

It was only entering the next adjoining room that gave me pause.  It wasn't the heaps of boxes, the piles of newspapers, the lonely baseball bat or the rack of stale clothes that bothered me.  It was the man in the crisp white shirt, black tie, and red nylon sleeping bag lying on his side on the ledge of my new garden tub.  I had to call the landlord.

"Hello, this your new tenant.."

"Ah, yes, how are you finding the place?  I'm afraid it's been vacant for a while now."

"Oh, it's lovely.  The shelves are great!  I have so many books and the bidet! I'm so excited about the bidet!" Best to start on a positive note, I decided.

"I"m glad to hear it.  Well, I've got to go..."

"Uhm...but the man?"

A huge sigh on the other end of the receiver and a pause, followed by.  "Just some things I'm storing. Nothing to worry about.  You're welcome to use the tub.  It is your tub, afterall.  Just don't make a lot of eye contact and you'll be fine."

"Wait, so you're storing that man?"

"Yes."

"So he...what? He just lives on the edge of the tub?"

"Yes."

"And I just take a bath with him there?"

"Yes, well, like I said just don't make eye contact and you'll be fine."

"Wait. Why can't I make eye contact? Is he dangerous?  Am I living with a dangerous man in my house?"

"No, no, no, nothing to worry about.  He never leaves the edge of the tub, although he is capable of moving about.  He doesn't even eat or use the bathroom."

"What? Seriously..."  I broke in.  My new landlord continued on, hardly pausing a breath.

"Really, I promise, nothing to worry about.  He's just this stray investment banker my wife picked up for some unknown reason when she was out getting aluminum foil. We didn't really know what to do with him.  Putting him out on the lawn with the garden gnomes just seemed weird, so we put him away.  Just pretend he's not there, like an old sock.  It's only the staring has bothered the other tenants. But, like I said if you don't make eye contact then you won't notice him staring. Have a good day!"  

The proceeding dial tone held no further answers.  I listened anyways, collecting my thoughts.  Then, I promptly ignored those thoughts and proceeded with unpacking.  Books arranged by category, action figures arranged by fandom, the mundane activity of organization and cleaning consumed the daylight hours.  By the end I was sweaty, dusty and tired.  Standing in a shower didn't appeal. Upon testing, the lackluster water pressure didn't encourage matters, especially to those of us that had the hair of a small alpaca adorning our heads.  Besides, I had dabbled with a bit of nude modeling.  I was no stranger to uncomfortable, fussy environments, I could bathe in front of a strange banker in a sleeping bag.  Of course, I could!

Green eyes opened as I entered the room.  His perfect, brown, weatherman hair remained unfazed by sleep.  He remained on his side, perched on the generous ledge of the tub.  His eyes closed as I removed my shirt. Was he being gentlemanly this first meeting, I wondered.  It didn't last, his eye lids opened a sneaky crack, as my shorts slipped down.  

"You may as well look." I said, turning on the taps.  Even at invitation, I wasn't prepared for the open staring.  Nudity held no scandal for me but, I could understand the complaints of former occupants.  The intensity was a little unnerving as I stripped.  

"Well, this is me nude!" I proclaimed doing a turn, arms raised in the air.  My attempt to break the ice was met with silence.  Perhaps, it was better to ignore him as the landlord suggested.  I slipped into the water and kept my eyes averted.  It was okay.  The water temperature wasn't to my liking but it was okay.  I fussed with the taps a bit more.  Old houses tended to have tricky plumbing.  The rush of ice water came to fast with too little of a turn.  I shrieked.

"Here, let me." He said.  

I leaned back and was rewarded with drifts of incoming snuggly warmth. 

"That's so much better!  Thank you!"

My tub pervert seemed a little stunned.  "No one has ever said thank you."

"Well, they should.  Do you have a name?"

His brow contorted.  "I think I used to?  I don't know...  I'm just here now."  He looked around at his garage sale kingdom and then went promptly back to staring at my vagina.  Somehow, his eyes seemed to hold more kindness now.  Kindness and lechery, I could live with this.  

"A little warmer?" He inquired.

"Mm, yes please.  I like it just short of scalding."  

He obliged and I sighed sinking into my steadily warming contained ocean and watched as he picked up my red spiderman body puff.  

"Would you like me to wash your feet?" He offered.

"Oh, that would be lovely!  Thank you so much!"

He smiled.  "You're welcome.  No one's ever been this nice to me.  I'm happy to do it."  

Thus began a beautiful friendship.  It never grew sexual.  There was only innapropriate staring, warm baths, and helpful washing.  He became a ritual at the end of the day to look forward to.   At least, until cops barged in at my suspicious lack of complaining and forced my tub pervert to join society and work at a record store.  If I had complained, or if I had been a liar I could have kept him.  But, because I hadn't, I was consigned to subpar baths for a while and he a life of explaining why The Cure's Disintegration is such a great album.  The fifth assault of glacial rush into lukewarm tub was the straw that caused me to seek him out.  Miserable, surrounded by hipsters, he looked positively wounded in his new role.  It wasn't hard to twist his arm, but, it had to be a secret.  He was part of society now and had a work schedule to keep.  Thus, I reclaimed him on Thursdays. The rest of the time I showered, and worried about the possibility of Norman Bates like shower murder, but on Thursdays I had the best baths ever.