Saturday, August 04, 2018

Sustenance (For Julia Haw)

Nakedness yet another modest means to the end of flowers and dark chocolates dipped in blood and motor oil
Stood there in her jeans knowing her perfect silhouette would draw onlookers and sketch out the beginnings of another imperfect storm
I bet watching her in front of the canvas is like watching her open a can of sardines except the fishy smell has been traded in for the rotting white noise of embittered tyranny and the pampered longing of another gilded lily newborn, swaddled in death’s grip of time blazing

The actual real artists are so very different than the dime a dozen Clydesdales that sell piss like beer and never accept the status quo for what it truly is, lost and forever stoned on heaps of lazy opioids
If you think her paintbrush is just another facsimile for a cock well then you’re clearly missing all of her most enlivened points of anti-matter because she has been beyond gender fluidity long before a Breakfast of Champions became an article of ridicule and Kilgore Trout was so much more than an anti-hero passing himself off as a hacking reminder of America the rustic and resigned
We can play word games until the salad is brown and weeping or we can pick up our crunchy croutons and go home, either way no one truly wins when the shirts have been scalped and the skins cannot remember where they parked their trophy wives

I desire to sit with Julia in a doughnut shop where the doughnuts still sweat red, white and blue equity and the coffee is sarcastic, but there are no notes of bitterness when swallowed and then later spit out simply because making a mess has always been the American way
I wish to taste all of her frozen bits and I’m not talking about Salinger’s frozen peas or The Catcher in the Rye who always intended to kill somebody when the coast was clear and the big police had had their fill of speed traps and A Raisin in the Sun hegemony
Biting off more than you can chew is always the way to go when the map’s coordinates only lead you down another blind passageway and the GPS is no longer speaking to you on account of you always spilling the beans at the most inopportune and enlightened of radicalized eras

Charles Cicirella

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