Damaged Goods

Quelle domage…

What Damage!

Goods

It’s all about the

goods

Import Export, hormones hormones

Mighty Memory

Repeals the Ear Twist

She cannot stop

her brown-shoe tapping

Camouflaged to look organic,

Like Free-Run eggs

She smiles and twirls,

Like a lively tornado

Lovely Little lady

With reverent revenge

Damn her

She sickens with repitition

The same tired scene

wants to lay down

It needs rest.

And She, like a slave driver

(not the kind that sings the ‘wheels on the bus’…)

She demands attention

Attestation

to her interrogation

Do not deny her

she is ruthless,

Relentless

And either way

She does not sing.

I knew I Liked Keynes for a Reason

Not only was he a brilliant economist who integrally reshaped the post-WWII American economy, and who didn’t think that numbers and humans were mutually exclusive concepts, he was also a tabulating homosexual!

His sex diaries, of which he has two, are written in code which has been left uncracked, much to the world’s dismay. He’s inspiring, really. I wish I had the motivation to keep a sex diary, but I know myself well enough to know that it would quickly turn into a fantasy manual of some sort, or a tabulated, encoded list of fantasies left unrealized, (Now that Heath Ledger is no longer among us, and I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that I stand no chance with Ani di Franco.)

Keynes is the one on the right:

rraaaaauuuu, Maynard, grrraaaauuuu…….. Ooooohhh yes.

i AM the peanut gallery

dear fucking haloha.

I’ve been staring at the same untitled word document for the last three hours, and for the life of me, cannot bring myself to sully its pristine white illusory page with my ill typed words.  I’ve eaten Junior Caramels(TM), I’ve breathed into a paper bag, I’ve danced to Smokey Robinson, I’ve gone for innumerable cigarettes, and still nothing.

 ”What do you have to do to get a thought around here???!!” I inner monologued, just to hear an echo. For jeebus’ sake. 

Great, now I’ve got gas. Fucking predictable.  

To errrr is human

I’m taking an excruciatingly remedial ‘intro to Canadian Democracy’ course, in which the T.A. is trying to impress all the girls with his *expertise*. He gave a half-lecture last week, and this week, I overheard him chatting up one of the girls. He spent most of the time talking about the “rush of public speaking’ while she nodded and smiled, and occasionally threw in a “no, you were really great, honestly…”

And then he said: “it’s a hard balance to strike, because if you humanize yourself too much, then you lose the respect of your audience.”

This phrase bears repeating, because it is such a poignant statement about our society. It’s so sad that showing your humanity puts you at risk of being belittled by other human beings. I tend to have the opposite reaction. I don’t ever trust people who are too smooth, who carry on as if they’ve got it all figured out, and especially not those whose hair is never out of place. I never trust these people because I suspect that they are human impersonators – silicone robots, gathering information about human frailty for mischievous ends. I’d much rather surround myself with the sort of people who make it a daily goal to rock out with their frock out. I’m convinced that I feel this way not only because I, myself, am human; but because I like it that way.