10 Commandments for Dating – for Women
1 ) Thou shalt return calls promptly.
It’s important to return a gentleman’s telephone call within 48 hours on weekdays, or within 72 hours on weekends or holidays. Busy men become perturbed if they don’t hear back from you within that time frame. They will lose interest in you and move on to the next girl if you do not return their calls in a timely fashion. (As a member of the “Millionaire’s club, if you don’t like him after speaking to him on the phone, or meeting him email the club within 24 hours and they will notify him and handle the situation discreetly.)
2 ) Thou shalt honor thy dating commitments.
When a man calls you, he will offer you dinner, but you have the right to reduce the date to drinks, lunch, brunch, coffee, etc. If a gentleman does not offer you a five-star dinner on the first date, please notify the club immediately. You can say, “I will get back to you once I know my schedule.” The club will then make sure that the man’s manners improve. However, If you suggest less than dinner, that sends the clear message that you are auditioning him and you don’t have time to share an entire meal with him. If you are marriage minded, know that this will turn off monogamous men. Please do not make other plans immediately following the date. He will notice if you are constantly looking at your watch, and he will be unimpressed. It’s important to remember that even if your date is not your dream guy, you are gathering information and experience, called Dating Data, that you will use on future dates with someone more to your liking.
3 ) Thou shalt let the man take the lead and shalt avoid bringing personal baggage to the table.
Let the man lead by suggesting a restaurant and making plans for the first date, but let him know in a gracious manner, if you would rather go to another establishment or do something else. If, after you meet him on the first date and you really like him and you both feel chemistry, he can offer to fly you to his city and you may accept. Politely but firmly tell him that you would love to go, but you don’t feel comfortable staying at his home yet, so you would like him to book you a hotel room, at least until you feel you know each other better and are in an exclusive, committed relationship.In the beginning, it is best not to bring up any of your deep personal issues; he’s not your therapist (and you’re not his). This often happens with when excessive alcohol and/or chemistry are present. Deep, personal history is simply too much intimate information for him to process in the beginning. If you want to be in a healthy, loving, committed relationship it is important to let the man lead the conversation in the beginning and ask the questions. Acquire all the information you can about him. The conversation should become a ping-pong match, with the gentleman serving and you responding with information about yourself when he asks.
4 ) Thou shalt not, under any circumstances, talk about any other romantic relationships.
Men don’t want to hear about their competition just as you don’t want to hear about yours. Focus on the date at hand. Men want to date trustworthy women in whom they can confide. If a gentleman questions you about other men from the club, please reply with, “That’s unimportant. What is important is that I’m here with you now.” If he persists, notify the club.
5 ) Thou shalt be engaging.
Respond to his questions with positive energy and enthusiasm, and stay on neutral subjects like the arts and current events in the beginning. Witty banter is very important. Ask interesting questions, be a good listener as well as an active participant, and get to know him. Eye contact is important, too --- let him look into those baby blues, big browns or gorgeous greens and make sure you look into his.
6 ) Thou shalt not drink too much on the first date.
Although it may be very tempting, in order to relax, drinking more than two alcoholic beverages could cloud your judgment. Stay clear and focused, and never allow yourself to become sloppy or drunk.
7 ) Thou shalt not be a gold digger
Never ask or hint for anything of monetary value. If a gentleman offers to buy you a designer watch or handbag or anything else of worth, you may accept --- but DO NOT bring up the subject.
8 ) Thou shalt act like a lady.
This means being polite and follow common laws of etiquette such as saying “please,” “thank you,” and “excuse me.” Do not cuss. Men admire, trust and respect women with good manners. This includes not chasing him by calling or emailing him excessively. Remember, however, that for you to be a lady, he must be a gentleman. A gentleman will ask you for a weekend date by Wednesday. If he asks you out for the weekend on Thursday or later, the ladylike thing to do is to schedule no more than Sunday brunch with him. Or if he really needs to be taught a lesson, schedule a Monday night dinner. A lady will not allow a gentleman to make last minute plans, even if he tells her he loves a spontaneous girl. If you accept out of eagerness, he will feel you are too easy, and will move on to someone who makes him work harder.
9 ) Thou shalt (if interested) express some interest.
Don’t play hard to get if you like him. A man likes genuine compliments just as much as you do (maybe even more)…so don’t be afraid to tell him he’s handsome, interesting or funny. Once you have decided you like a specific male and you have gone out with him four times, it is important to show your appreciation and reciprocate. But do not offer to outright pay for something: once a woman touches money/credit card in front of a male she becomes “masculine energy,” which is undesirable.But this does not preclude showing thanks by purchasing him a CD, book, theatre or concert tickets, just don’t do it in his presence. Offering to cook a meal for him is an exceptional, appreciative gesture. The number one small request a wealthy man makes of a woman is a good “old-fashioned” home cooked meal. If you are not a great cook, we suggest you order food from your favorite take out service and top the evening off with a back massage. Once you are in a committed relationship, however, paying for things in his presence is perfectly acceptable as long as it is four-to-one. On the other hand, if a male client insists/complains that you pay out of your own pocket for any part of the date, please report this male member and the incident to the company. It is against company policy for a male member to insist or expect a woman to pay for anything. Remember, when a man has set the precedent of being the masculine energy in the relationship, the utmost reward for him is love, affection and availability. But every now and then he too would like to receive a gift, home cooked meal, or back rub that shows that you truly care.
10 ) Thou shalt not become intimate on the first date.
If you’re interested in him, a hug and kiss must suffice. Millionaires Club suggests taking it slow and getting to know your perspective mate for three months before diving into the waters of intimacy. Never get into a sexual situation unless he tells you in the sober light of day (and not in the bedroom!) that he wants to pursue a committed, monogamous relationship with you. He must verbally ask you that he desires for the two of you to be monogamous to be exclusive. Do not assume you are exclusive unless he asks you.As long as you are not exclusive, you have the right to date as many men as you desire until you are off of the market. When it comes to sex, it is important that you realize that “In is in.’ In other words, any kind of intercourse, whether oral, vaginal or otherwise, is considered sex, and should not be indulged in until you are both monogamous. NEVER assume that you are monogamous, unless he asks you to be monogamous, committed and exclusive with you, and he tells you that he isin a platonic setting. (For great advice on handling this, see Getting to I Do by Dr. Pat Allen, page 130) It takes four seasons to get to know someone well enough to delve into marriage. If a man doesn’t propose to you by the end of one year, you must end the relationship and move on, unless he agrees to therapy.
February 27, 2008
what guides men's decisions.
apparently, its always the penis.
so i was watching millionaire matchmaker on bravo.
and the woman fixes up millionaires.
and typically they are 40 somethings looking for 22 year old/blonde/model slash actresses - y'know. Eye candy. Arm candy. Whatever.
So she meets this guy, peter, thats all into tai chi and meditation and shiat.
and he's 40 something and looking for women HIS age (which shocks and impresses the hell out of the millionaire matchmaker). Women who dont wear makeup. Women who arent model slash actresses.
So the matchmaker sets up this cruise for peter and a typical stereotypical millionaire looking for arm candy. 20 of the women are the woodsy types that peter is looking for and the other 20 are moreso your typical millionaire fodder.
so who does peter choose? not the pilates instructor, not the journalist, but a 22 year old model slash actress.
and the matchmaker was telling him he was making a horrible choice and he was like "will you just stfu, bc i get along with her!" and then peter and the model slash actress went on their date and had a horrible time.
guess peter thought not with his heart but with his peter.
two words: typical male.
so i was watching millionaire matchmaker on bravo.
and the woman fixes up millionaires.
and typically they are 40 somethings looking for 22 year old/blonde/model slash actresses - y'know. Eye candy. Arm candy. Whatever.
So she meets this guy, peter, thats all into tai chi and meditation and shiat.
and he's 40 something and looking for women HIS age (which shocks and impresses the hell out of the millionaire matchmaker). Women who dont wear makeup. Women who arent model slash actresses.
So the matchmaker sets up this cruise for peter and a typical stereotypical millionaire looking for arm candy. 20 of the women are the woodsy types that peter is looking for and the other 20 are moreso your typical millionaire fodder.
so who does peter choose? not the pilates instructor, not the journalist, but a 22 year old model slash actress.
and the matchmaker was telling him he was making a horrible choice and he was like "will you just stfu, bc i get along with her!" and then peter and the model slash actress went on their date and had a horrible time.
guess peter thought not with his heart but with his peter.
two words: typical male.
Circle of Hate
Ironic Circle Of Hate
1. Get fed up with where you were born for either being too
A) Full of themselves
B) Back-asswards
2. Pack up and move to someplace the diametric opposite to
A) Experience the true 'simple life'
B) Go where your sophistication is appreciated
3. Become rapidly disillusioned because
A) Asshats are everywhere, with
B) Brain-death in tow
4. Find yourself trying to change where you are to match the mythical ideal of
A) Honest, 'salt of the earth' people instead of just-as-corrupt redneck retards/ghetto garbage
B) A place where honest, reasonable discourse can take place instead of intellectually dishonest propaganda recitation
5. Burn out completely, and return to an area akin to that from which you originated, bearing
A) A fabricated tale of how things were in accordance with your imagination
B) A grudge to those who might come after you
6. Make everyone miserable with drummed up pride for where you are because you
A) Won't admit how you fouled up
B) Have glossed over that entire chapter of your life
7. Correspondingly make your incidental accrued offspring, or those of friends
A) Believe all the BS
B) As a result, want to do the exact opposite, leading back to stage 1.
1. Get fed up with where you were born for either being too
A) Full of themselves
B) Back-asswards
2. Pack up and move to someplace the diametric opposite to
A) Experience the true 'simple life'
B) Go where your sophistication is appreciated
3. Become rapidly disillusioned because
A) Asshats are everywhere, with
B) Brain-death in tow
4. Find yourself trying to change where you are to match the mythical ideal of
A) Honest, 'salt of the earth' people instead of just-as-corrupt redneck retards/ghetto garbage
B) A place where honest, reasonable discourse can take place instead of intellectually dishonest propaganda recitation
5. Burn out completely, and return to an area akin to that from which you originated, bearing
A) A fabricated tale of how things were in accordance with your imagination
B) A grudge to those who might come after you
6. Make everyone miserable with drummed up pride for where you are because you
A) Won't admit how you fouled up
B) Have glossed over that entire chapter of your life
7. Correspondingly make your incidental accrued offspring, or those of friends
A) Believe all the BS
B) As a result, want to do the exact opposite, leading back to stage 1.
January 2, 2008
My Boyfriend by ...
My Boyfriend
by Camille Guthrie
His Exterior
toes like blue glass marbles
nails like wax shavings
feet like those of an elephant
heels like narrow escapes
soles like yellow sponges expanding in water
legs like longitude and latitude
knees like neon headlights
thighs like open desert in a movie
hips like a leaping horse
a belly button like a luminescent watch
pubic hair like frontier instances
a penis like overnight mail
balls large as a boar-hound’s
seminal vesicles like tulip bulbs in a paper bag
testicle muscles like rising chords
an asshole like an undiscovered planet
buttocks like a fleet antelope’s
a sacrum like plein air painting
a back like a chalked sidewalk
a spinal column like a suspension bridge
ribs like a bookcase
a sternum like gum
shoulder blades like kitchen tables
a chest like a stuffed animal
pectorals like floating bars of soap
shoulders like observed facts
arms like lassos
fingers like sparklers
wrist bones like a shipyard
elbows like antidotes
hands like passports
an Adam’s apple like a great circle course
a beard like Whitman’s
a chin like a lichen-splotched rock
ears like a full bathtub
a nose like a birdcage
nostrils like subway tunnels
eyebrows like a captive audience
a birthmark like a stop sign
eyelids like a partial eclipse
eyes like effervescence
optical nerves like an orchid
a forehead like a window display
temples like singing crickets
cheeks like party invitations
jaws like handcuffs
teeth like sweet tea
a tongue like watercolors
a mouth like a silk lampshade
a face like a moving picture
a head like a jar of pennies
a skull like a geode
skin with a black line running down it
epidermis like a wool sweater
whiskers like a street sweeper
and hair like a cloudy day.
His Interior
cerebellum like a coffee grinder
cerebral lobes like a house on fire
cranial membranes like a construction-paper diorama
optical nerves like a developing Polaroid
cerebral fornix like colonial maps
pineal gland like a giant pinecone
circulatory system like cello strings
eardrums like a still life with oranges
forehead like television
backbone like a fiddlehead fern
nerve channels like transatlantic cables
uvula like a propeller
palate like a telegram
saliva like a rotating sprinkler
tonsils like action figures
stomach like professional wrestling
trachea like pirate radio
throat like a bold headline
lungs like plastic bags caught in a tree
heart like a supernova
pulmonary membranes like dirigibles
arteries like rush hour
diaphragm like the sound barrier
liver like a public trial
veins like Japanese characters
spleen like a rogue
bowels like surrealism
guts like an inheritance
small intestine like fake pearls
large intestine like stolen currency
colon like reliable data
rectum like a fade-out
kidneys like a barrier reef
loins like a mowed lawn
renal veins like gossip
sperm glands like lava beds
prostate like a fissure vent
bladder like a fish bowl
abdomen like a leather suitcase
muscles like an assembly line
tendons like pickpockets
ligaments like safety pins
bones like bones
marrow like realism
cartilage like strips of kelp
lymph glands like sentimentality
urine like sugar water
blood like melted crayons
and sperm like flies in amber.
How He Acts
If he laughs, it’s spontaneous combustion
If he mutters, it’s a retreating glacier
If he pouts, he sharpens his horn on stones
If he jumps up and down, its hard to look away
If he scratches himself, it’s with an aspen branch
If he gets angry, he fights with tooth, horn, and heel
If he spits, he fights his own kind
If he blows his nose, it starts a riot
If he sweats, it’s monsoons
If he coughs, it unlocks doors in the next room
If he argues, it’s over lost rituals
If he sighs, it ruffles goldfinch feathers
If he whistles, it’s overheard miles away
If he snores, it’s over nostalgic reveries
If he scowls, spears launch from his eyes
If he snorts, it’s over gilt lion-head spouts
If he shits, it’s historical documents
If he belches, it’s a diary
If he vomits, there’s finger-pointing all around
If he walks, it’s Chaplin
If he writes, it’s manifestos
If he goes shopping, it’s for lentils and peas
If he dances, it’s the Rites of Spring
If he swears, he’s a ryght cruell beast
If he drives, it’s among the Mountains of the Moon
If he bathes, it’s in deceptive surfaces
If he dresses, it’s a white linen suit
If he wonders, it’s if his own reflection
If he’s jealous, it’s of birthday parties
If he lies, it’s about mathematical errors
If he spends money, it’s on magic lanterns
If he goes to the movies, it’s Vertigo
If he listens to music, it’s the sound of running water
If he falls, it’s down a slope of turf into the bushes
If he recites, it’s from the Beast Epic of Alexandria
If he is seduced, it’s a river of electricity
If he is curious, he attempts to draw
If he calls, it’s about weather patterns
If he sings, it’s ‘Tyger, Tyger’
and if he escapes, he’s swift of foot.
by Camille Guthrie
His Exterior
toes like blue glass marbles
nails like wax shavings
feet like those of an elephant
heels like narrow escapes
soles like yellow sponges expanding in water
legs like longitude and latitude
knees like neon headlights
thighs like open desert in a movie
hips like a leaping horse
a belly button like a luminescent watch
pubic hair like frontier instances
a penis like overnight mail
balls large as a boar-hound’s
seminal vesicles like tulip bulbs in a paper bag
testicle muscles like rising chords
an asshole like an undiscovered planet
buttocks like a fleet antelope’s
a sacrum like plein air painting
a back like a chalked sidewalk
a spinal column like a suspension bridge
ribs like a bookcase
a sternum like gum
shoulder blades like kitchen tables
a chest like a stuffed animal
pectorals like floating bars of soap
shoulders like observed facts
arms like lassos
fingers like sparklers
wrist bones like a shipyard
elbows like antidotes
hands like passports
an Adam’s apple like a great circle course
a beard like Whitman’s
a chin like a lichen-splotched rock
ears like a full bathtub
a nose like a birdcage
nostrils like subway tunnels
eyebrows like a captive audience
a birthmark like a stop sign
eyelids like a partial eclipse
eyes like effervescence
optical nerves like an orchid
a forehead like a window display
temples like singing crickets
cheeks like party invitations
jaws like handcuffs
teeth like sweet tea
a tongue like watercolors
a mouth like a silk lampshade
a face like a moving picture
a head like a jar of pennies
a skull like a geode
skin with a black line running down it
epidermis like a wool sweater
whiskers like a street sweeper
and hair like a cloudy day.
His Interior
cerebellum like a coffee grinder
cerebral lobes like a house on fire
cranial membranes like a construction-paper diorama
optical nerves like a developing Polaroid
cerebral fornix like colonial maps
pineal gland like a giant pinecone
circulatory system like cello strings
eardrums like a still life with oranges
forehead like television
backbone like a fiddlehead fern
nerve channels like transatlantic cables
uvula like a propeller
palate like a telegram
saliva like a rotating sprinkler
tonsils like action figures
stomach like professional wrestling
trachea like pirate radio
throat like a bold headline
lungs like plastic bags caught in a tree
heart like a supernova
pulmonary membranes like dirigibles
arteries like rush hour
diaphragm like the sound barrier
liver like a public trial
veins like Japanese characters
spleen like a rogue
bowels like surrealism
guts like an inheritance
small intestine like fake pearls
large intestine like stolen currency
colon like reliable data
rectum like a fade-out
kidneys like a barrier reef
loins like a mowed lawn
renal veins like gossip
sperm glands like lava beds
prostate like a fissure vent
bladder like a fish bowl
abdomen like a leather suitcase
muscles like an assembly line
tendons like pickpockets
ligaments like safety pins
bones like bones
marrow like realism
cartilage like strips of kelp
lymph glands like sentimentality
urine like sugar water
blood like melted crayons
and sperm like flies in amber.
How He Acts
If he laughs, it’s spontaneous combustion
If he mutters, it’s a retreating glacier
If he pouts, he sharpens his horn on stones
If he jumps up and down, its hard to look away
If he scratches himself, it’s with an aspen branch
If he gets angry, he fights with tooth, horn, and heel
If he spits, he fights his own kind
If he blows his nose, it starts a riot
If he sweats, it’s monsoons
If he coughs, it unlocks doors in the next room
If he argues, it’s over lost rituals
If he sighs, it ruffles goldfinch feathers
If he whistles, it’s overheard miles away
If he snores, it’s over nostalgic reveries
If he scowls, spears launch from his eyes
If he snorts, it’s over gilt lion-head spouts
If he shits, it’s historical documents
If he belches, it’s a diary
If he vomits, there’s finger-pointing all around
If he walks, it’s Chaplin
If he writes, it’s manifestos
If he goes shopping, it’s for lentils and peas
If he dances, it’s the Rites of Spring
If he swears, he’s a ryght cruell beast
If he drives, it’s among the Mountains of the Moon
If he bathes, it’s in deceptive surfaces
If he dresses, it’s a white linen suit
If he wonders, it’s if his own reflection
If he’s jealous, it’s of birthday parties
If he lies, it’s about mathematical errors
If he spends money, it’s on magic lanterns
If he goes to the movies, it’s Vertigo
If he listens to music, it’s the sound of running water
If he falls, it’s down a slope of turf into the bushes
If he recites, it’s from the Beast Epic of Alexandria
If he is seduced, it’s a river of electricity
If he is curious, he attempts to draw
If he calls, it’s about weather patterns
If he sings, it’s ‘Tyger, Tyger’
and if he escapes, he’s swift of foot.
New Year's Resolutions
Okay so here they go.
My intention for 2008 is to acknowledge
Some of my resolutions:
- lose weight - isnt this everyone's resolution? I mean, I wouldnt be a human being if I didnt have this as my resolution. Virginia and I had a good laugh about this last night when we talked about our weight and what we had eaten. She was cracking up at my failures and so was I. My eating is just plain illogical. Thats all there is to it.
- go to gym more. This is along the lines of the first one. But we all know that going to the gym does not equal losing weight or vice versa. Well, some of us know that.
- be more sociable. I stay home because I dont want to meet new people. I get frustrated because I dont meet new people. Do you see where this becomes a problem?
- read more.
- learn more about yoga. Well, up until February when I graduate anyways.
This image sums things up nicely! With the cow and the circular self fulfilling prophecy attitude about it.
Im doing okay on my resolutions so far.
Will go to an AYR meeting and then Im going to the gym. And will study yoga stuff tonight. Which involves reading. Right?
Right.
Pats self on back.
But its only day 2 and there's still 363 to go.
My intention for 2008 is to acknowledge
Some of my resolutions:
- lose weight - isnt this everyone's resolution? I mean, I wouldnt be a human being if I didnt have this as my resolution. Virginia and I had a good laugh about this last night when we talked about our weight and what we had eaten. She was cracking up at my failures and so was I. My eating is just plain illogical. Thats all there is to it.
- go to gym more. This is along the lines of the first one. But we all know that going to the gym does not equal losing weight or vice versa. Well, some of us know that.
- be more sociable. I stay home because I dont want to meet new people. I get frustrated because I dont meet new people. Do you see where this becomes a problem?
- read more.
- learn more about yoga. Well, up until February when I graduate anyways.
This image sums things up nicely! With the cow and the circular self fulfilling prophecy attitude about it.
Im doing okay on my resolutions so far.
Will go to an AYR meeting and then Im going to the gym. And will study yoga stuff tonight. Which involves reading. Right?
Right.
Pats self on back.
But its only day 2 and there's still 363 to go.
shopping.
i like this bag.
but i like the other one, too.
Hmmm.
that girl just picked up
the one i liked first.
now, i think i like
that one more.
i'll just wait...just wait...
until she puts it down.
then...
but i like the other one, too.
Hmmm.
that girl just picked up
the one i liked first.
now, i think i like
that one more.
i'll just wait...just wait...
until she puts it down.
then...
More really nice poetries.
I Love the Way Men Crack
I love the way men crack
open when their wives leave them,
their sheaths curling back like the split
shells of roasted chestnuts, exposing
the sweet creamy meat. They call you
and unburden their hearts the way a woman
takes off her jewels, the heavy
pendant earrings, the stiff lace gown and corset,
and slips into a loose kimono.
It's like you've both had a couple shots
of really good scotch and snow is falling
in the cone of light under the street lamp—
large slow flakes that float down in the amber glow.
They tell you all the pain pressed into their flat chests,
their disappointed penises, their empty hands.
As they sift through the betrayals and regrets,
their shocked realization of how hard they tried,
the way they shouldered the yoke
with such stupid good faith—
they grow younger and younger. They cry
with the unselfconciousness of children.
When they hug you, they cling.
Like someone who's needed glasses for a long time—
and finally got them-they look around
just for the pleasure of it: the detail,
the sharp edges of what the world has to offer.
And when they fall in love again, it only gets better.
Their hearts are stuffed full as éclairs
and the custard oozes out at a touch.
They love her, they love you, they love everyone.
They drag out all the musty sorrows and joys
from the basement where they've been shoved
with mitts and coin collections. They tell you
things they've never told anyone.
Fresh from loving her, they come glowing
like souls slipping into the bodies
of babies about to be born.
Then a year goes by. Or two.
Like broken bones, they knit back together.
They grow like grass and bushes and trees
after a forest fire, covering the seared earth.
They landscape the whole thing, plant like mad
and spend every weekend watering and weeding.
Mating Saliva
A girl in a green mini-
skirt, not very pretty, walks
down the street.
A businessman stops, turns
to stare at her ass
that looks like a moldy
refrigerator.
There are now 200,000,000 people
in America.
Platonic Love
We dine at Adorno and return to my Beauvoir.
She compliments me on my Bachelard pad.
I pop in a Santayana CD and Saussure back to the couch.
On my way, I pull out two fine Kristeva wine glasses.
I pour some Merleau-Ponty and return the Aristotle to Descartes.
After pausing an Unamuno, I wrap my arm around her Hegel.
Her hair smells of wild Lukacs and Labriola.
Our small talk expands to include Dewey, Moore and Kant.
I confess to her what's in my Eckhart. We Locke.
By this point, we're totally Blavatsky.
We stretch out on the Schopenhauer.
She slips out of her Lyotard and I fumble with my Levi-Strauss.
She unhooks her Buber and I pull off my Spinoza.
I run my finger along her Heraclitus as she fondles my Bacon.
She stops to ask me if I brought any Kierkegaard. I nod.
We Foucault.
She lights a cigarette and compares Foucault to Lacan.
I roll over and Derrida.
“What Do Women Want?”
I want a red dress.
I want it flimsy and cheap,
I want it too tight, I want to wear it
until someone tears it off me.
I want it sleeveless and backless,
this dress, so no one has to guess
what’s underneath. I want to walk down
the street past Thrifty’s and the hardware store
with all those keys glittering in the window,
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old
donuts in their cafe, past the Guerra brothers
slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.
I want to walk like I’m the only
woman on earth and I can have my pick.
I want that red dress bad.
I want it to confirm
your worst fears about me,
to show you how little I care about you
or anything except what
I want. When I find it, I’ll pull that garment
from its hanger like I’m choosing a body
to carry me into this world, through
the birth-cries and the love-cries too,
and I’ll wear it like bones, like skin,
it’ll be the goddamned
dress they bury me in.
I love the way men crack
open when their wives leave them,
their sheaths curling back like the split
shells of roasted chestnuts, exposing
the sweet creamy meat. They call you
and unburden their hearts the way a woman
takes off her jewels, the heavy
pendant earrings, the stiff lace gown and corset,
and slips into a loose kimono.
It's like you've both had a couple shots
of really good scotch and snow is falling
in the cone of light under the street lamp—
large slow flakes that float down in the amber glow.
They tell you all the pain pressed into their flat chests,
their disappointed penises, their empty hands.
As they sift through the betrayals and regrets,
their shocked realization of how hard they tried,
the way they shouldered the yoke
with such stupid good faith—
they grow younger and younger. They cry
with the unselfconciousness of children.
When they hug you, they cling.
Like someone who's needed glasses for a long time—
and finally got them-they look around
just for the pleasure of it: the detail,
the sharp edges of what the world has to offer.
And when they fall in love again, it only gets better.
Their hearts are stuffed full as éclairs
and the custard oozes out at a touch.
They love her, they love you, they love everyone.
They drag out all the musty sorrows and joys
from the basement where they've been shoved
with mitts and coin collections. They tell you
things they've never told anyone.
Fresh from loving her, they come glowing
like souls slipping into the bodies
of babies about to be born.
Then a year goes by. Or two.
Like broken bones, they knit back together.
They grow like grass and bushes and trees
after a forest fire, covering the seared earth.
They landscape the whole thing, plant like mad
and spend every weekend watering and weeding.
Mating Saliva
A girl in a green mini-
skirt, not very pretty, walks
down the street.
A businessman stops, turns
to stare at her ass
that looks like a moldy
refrigerator.
There are now 200,000,000 people
in America.
Platonic Love
We dine at Adorno and return to my Beauvoir.
She compliments me on my Bachelard pad.
I pop in a Santayana CD and Saussure back to the couch.
On my way, I pull out two fine Kristeva wine glasses.
I pour some Merleau-Ponty and return the Aristotle to Descartes.
After pausing an Unamuno, I wrap my arm around her Hegel.
Her hair smells of wild Lukacs and Labriola.
Our small talk expands to include Dewey, Moore and Kant.
I confess to her what's in my Eckhart. We Locke.
By this point, we're totally Blavatsky.
We stretch out on the Schopenhauer.
She slips out of her Lyotard and I fumble with my Levi-Strauss.
She unhooks her Buber and I pull off my Spinoza.
I run my finger along her Heraclitus as she fondles my Bacon.
She stops to ask me if I brought any Kierkegaard. I nod.
We Foucault.
She lights a cigarette and compares Foucault to Lacan.
I roll over and Derrida.
“What Do Women Want?”
I want a red dress.
I want it flimsy and cheap,
I want it too tight, I want to wear it
until someone tears it off me.
I want it sleeveless and backless,
this dress, so no one has to guess
what’s underneath. I want to walk down
the street past Thrifty’s and the hardware store
with all those keys glittering in the window,
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old
donuts in their cafe, past the Guerra brothers
slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.
I want to walk like I’m the only
woman on earth and I can have my pick.
I want that red dress bad.
I want it to confirm
your worst fears about me,
to show you how little I care about you
or anything except what
I want. When I find it, I’ll pull that garment
from its hanger like I’m choosing a body
to carry me into this world, through
the birth-cries and the love-cries too,
and I’ll wear it like bones, like skin,
it’ll be the goddamned
dress they bury me in.
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