at the still point of a turning world

What fascinates you?

Men. mmMennn. Men. Oh yes. Fascinating. I can’t help myself. I’ll neva eva understand. And that’s tha thing. It keeps me hookt. It’s my drug of choice, sweet and lovely men, mainlined, of course.

Tis as I said: For me, the most provocative way to discover my true self is by understanding my complement. Men offer a means to a level that I would never know as a woman.

But. This doesn’t work with every man I meet. Sometimes, wow, ouch, the mirror shatters into a ten thousand shards of glass and each piece slices through my hands. Fingertips, missing. Abraded skin. Blood gushing pouring thick and slick and red and wet and the smell, it smells of earth and iron and fires of the deep and my stomach starts to wretch.

Good times.

That’s how it has been. Had been. Past is Past. I’m past this, forevermore, nevermore, quoth the raven. Edgar Allen reps the Bronx, my peoples go deep, ya dig.

I’m kinda dizzy. I mean. It’s hot. It’s that August lull where it feels like nothing happens only it’s a seismic shift. Maybe thas why I am so spaced. Waves knocking me over and pulling me under and tumbling round and who cares anymore. I realized something I cannot speak. But it’s kinda like this…