L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E

A rectangular concoction of synthetic fibers, molded plastic and rubber. Divided in half but no longer in the horizontal sense, and as certain in its destination as its contents’ desires to get somewhere. Carpeted with highfructosecornsyrup and now this niggahs Taco Bell that didn’t graduate past his lips. I’m on my way from somewhere to nowhere-trying-to-Be. Odd when you think about the concept of your body in movement without conscious thought. Being propelled through space with nothing less than casual courage. This one has a freckle above the muscle of her right thumb – a favourite part of the human body; literally what separates us from many. “animals”, she says. “I dunno, but something to do with animals”. In Long Island. Or Rhode Island. Not Ithaca, that’s what matters, ain’t it? Regression. That’s the side effect of this travel, a loss of Being; apart, alert, alive. My first optical scene this morning was of Matthew: wide-gray-eyed; as baffled by silence as by sound. Yes, sound – always, now. Ten percent natural, if you’re lucky. That thumb sure made us ambitious. We all nod slightly, up or down, acknowledge the human in you, in us, letting our eyes judge before our brains. I love you and still despise the humanity of us all – creators and creatures of waste and want. But dreams, if only they were edible might cure us of reckless companionship. Everyone has one. One has everyone. I wonder if the boy in the hat that’s more brim-than-skin despises the neurotic photography of his valley-girl princess-in-woolen-woven-blanket. Perhaps the taffy is enough. Perhaps we should reconsider sex. This? No, just the sex, the rest will be cross-examined later. Aren’t they intrinsically alike? The neurons show no signs of slowing down despite the illegal inhibitors. Nonsense is delightfully unfamiliar and the rest is merely heavy obligation. A scene with the title “Why Not To Trust Menkind” plays itself out before our eyes. More sound than sight. And I think, “There’re enough rings on delicious black fingers for us to take on our sisters’ foe,” and defend ourselves against terror. Mayhaps my facial scars are a blessing in disguise for wounds suggest trust and sacrifice. We raise the golden arches alongside state banners and the apathetic stripes with stars hangs limply – overshadowed. We want to know what words she says to make him kiss her on impulse and whether the little red phone mediates strife. Before we knew our parents also had privates (a word that betrays its secret with its last consonant) we laid our features to rest upon their laps and woke up feeling protected. She was, is, the same, only heavier and wiser. The elation of being seen beside her by strangers hasn’t died. For a leader, I have a weakness for strong-will women. They demand obedience, reliability, caution. Loving them whole with the skin they’re in. How did my delight travel from the nape to the collarbone to the thumb? Perhaps as my mild stream became a tamed, redirected, unmotivated resource stuffed with synthetic fibers, molded plastics and rubber.