Journal 33 - Invested Teeth

The Easter Bunny is hopping like a white frog into
the cheery dreams of my 2-year old blond-haired
daughter. Blue eyes are odd in this family and
odd are the words of her chatter. Therapy is
around the corner, and at such a young age - loss
is an abstraction of Pez denied or peanut butter on
the spoon refused, her loss is a thing conjured up
by the by-gone wonders of yesteryear's panoply. Loss
is the smoke that rises through the vents and sucks
the oxygen from the room – seeping in through the
accidental igniting of kindlin' from a backyard
beer guzzling fiesta with queso and piñatas. I
want to strike the head of a made-up animal
and be rewarded with fruity candy rotting out my
well-paid-for teeth. I've invested years in my
teeth – 401K be damned, see my white smile. -
how toothy. I do want to get in trouble – I do
want to start a fight. I can twirl this pen
around my hand and fingers, and etch out these words
with knee-jerk scratched on well-lined paper but
thoughts impressed are chalky and heavy with
eyelids and pressured lungs. The day was a big
grin from the child in your 1-year old's class who
pulls down the pants of another student – not
knowing the lewd compulsion that is being
fondled. The teacher laughs it away each time -
until her pants are pulled down by a drunken
daring date – she realized they being so early; guns
are known a-priori. Along with ridicule and
gross infatuation. There are châteaux in the left
bank of Bordeaux that will knock the latent
buds off your salient immature tongue; oh so
cruel in their war for your soul and your wallet -
not unlike the up-scale hooker. Would I pay
to have sex, when it is free as long as one is
paying attention? I guess I pay for television
and internet and movies; sex is more than mere
entertainment – it is a mixing of bodily drippings
such that no two people have sex the same way
with anyone else;- survival is key; lust is life.

4.11.09