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Here and Now (standard:humor, 0 words)
Author: AJAdded: Jun 04 2001Views/Reads: 2128/1Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Short, stream-of-conciousness poem inspired by my past lovers, and my fixation with Milano cookies

Here and now I feel stupid.  I can actually feel my I.Q. dropping
rapidly, like a thermometer when it gets near any of my ex-boyfriends.  
And thatís pretty rapid.  I think about this creative coma Iím in, and 
I cry.  Okay, I donít cry, but I feel pretty upset.  Actually, I just 
wish I felt upset, because I happen to be in an emotional coma right 
now as well.  What are the odds?  All I can think of are really bad 
things I could say about my ex-boyfriends which I wish I meant, but I 
donít mean, because my sincerity is a little off.  I picture all my old 
boyfriends standing around drinking coffee, bringing up intimate 
details about me as they nibble on Milano cookies.  Like how I shave my 
pubic hair, or how disappointing it was for them to find out that not 
all girls with tongue rings love giving head.  I donít know why I 
always associate sex talk with Milano cookies.  For the most part now 
though, my sex drive is a little wacky.  Iím in a sexual coma.  Which 
is not to say Iím not having sex.  Of course I am.  But itís all kind 
of fuzzy.  And not just because I havenít shaved in two weeks.  My 
toenails are pretty long too.  And I have some bruises which, for once, 
were not caused by any of my ex-boyfriends.  Although Iím sure that one 
of them is indirectly to blame.  They always are.  Anyway so they all 
just chill with their coffee and cookies, and Iíd like to break in 
there with a machine gun or something and shoot up the place.  I 
wouldnít want to hit anybody.  Okay I might want to hit some of them, 
especially this one guy Jason, but I wouldnít want to kill anybody.  
Except I wouldnít do that, because Iím in a dramatic coma, and an 
explosive thing like that would be devastating.  Mostly for me, but 
somewhat for my exes too.  Although I suspect theyíd soon get over the 
inevitable cookie breakage and blood loss.  Thinking about these guys 
makes me want to picket shit, and talk really loudly and knowledgeably 
about womenís rights.  Except it really doesnít, because Iím in this 
deep political coma.  I donít even like to read newspapers.  The only 
time I even come close to politics these days is when I fantasize about 
Mike Wallace, which Iím not sure is even healthy.  Thatís what comes 
from too many Milano cookies.


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