most every star in our sky was named by the arabs. the a-rabs. oh aye.
sitting out in the wilderness and looking at stars (where you can still
see stars, where you can still see) we talk about everything the dark
ages sucked up from us as a society and how islam is doing just the same
to itself now. it's sucking four hundred years of progress away from itself.
suck suck suck.

in the middle of the night i am squatting over open ground and looking at
the stars. there: aldebaran, the red eye of the bull. there: al hamal.
hamal. the sheep. the brightest star in the constellation aries. there:
wild pigs rustling through the underbrush. i piss into a puddle and avoid
my feet and it's chilly. i dream that i kill someone with the end of a
hammer you pull nails out with and later, that i have sex with a redneck.

i don't get alonesomeness so much, which is different from lonesomeness
in that it isn't lonesome, but alonesome. i am in love with too many people
and my alonesomeness reminds me of that: that i think of people and my
heart clenches up for some tiny thing they do. for their thinning hair
that falls in their faces, for their chubby bellies and their tendency
to tilt their faces down and look up at people through their eyelashes.

i feel like an animal prepared to rut and rut and rut, to burst through
people's lips and wrench them from their faces in unadulterated wanting.
i feel violently infatuated with the broader populations of my demographic:
cute or stupid young white males in slightly more-than-boring outfits who
will fall in love with me and make me feel desperately insecure. i want them
all. i want them all to want me. i want them all to try to trade cigarettes
for kisses and grab my ass underneath my skirt. i want.

01/06/2009

Author's Note: not my best work, but something had to start off 2009. this will be it, then.

Posted on 01/06/2009
Copyright © 2024 Eli Skipp