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Paint up my body in grease.

Paint up my body in oil paints. Brush stroke my silhouette. All shoulderblades, highlights and lowlights. The body is a vessel. The body is a singular structure in a larger collection of structures.

To want is to burn metal, to scrape rust. A red white thing it is to want.

Someone once told me the difference between admiration and attraction is this: do you want to be her or do you want to be with her. I want to go back and hibernate inside her.

I wake up with my face in vomit. I wake up with my head smashed against the cold base of a toilet. My restraint balled up in my fists. She wakes me before anyone can find me this way, to protect what? An image of a body. A projection of an image of a body. Anyway, we take the car to get coffee, but one of those boys, you know, the ones with the sharp teeth, wakes up and follows us.

I once bit down so hard on a wine glass that it broke in my mouth. My restraint, the taste of blood, the creases and folds of a body examining itself, picking at its nail beds.

The body fuzzy at the edges, the body sweating out night. The body next to these other bodies. The body stands rigid, the body pious, hair twined together, the body greased with color and black smudges.

Fauvism was an art movement that emphasized strong color over realism. Fauve in French means “beast.” We studied Fauvism in middle school, when the body is most beasting. This is where the wild things are. My father would poke our elbows with a fork or sometimes a knife at the dinner table if we rested them too long.

When an animal experiences conflicting drives, such as a desire to approach an unfamiliar object (exploratory behavior) while at the same time being fearful of the object, it may display an irrelevant behavior, such as grooming.

There are these conflicting impulses to die and to never die. There’s this dog on my block and he’s gray and made up of bouncing rings of fat. He stands completely silent while the other dog barks and barks and never stops, never gets used to me walking by. The grey dog’s fleshy rolls have overcome his body and when I looked in his face I discovered that there were no eyes, only pink crust and visceral squint. I want to scrub myself raw pink.

Posted 09/15/14
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love this
09/25/14 1:01pm