You chop, peel, shave, grate, exfoliate…steam, press, juice and preen. Your body is a smooth, scented, waxed surface awaiting to be frosted in fondant like a freshly baked cake, right out of the freezer…do you sincerely mean to please her? Somehow I doubt you, the label on the side of the box…interested only in getting your rocks off, on me…in me…what an endless waste of time and money and energy…the picking and poking, prodding and planning…in and out, over and over…and then sometimes your body simply rejects whatever you’re trying to put inside it which then requires needles and fluids and more drama than I care to acknowledge…all this fuss over a few bites not taken, and if I’m not mistaken, I said no! I am not your ‘ho, your bitch, your fool…food has never made me drool. It is a massive inconvience…just like your penis. Get it out of my face..put it back in its place…when the dishes are done, after you’ve scrubbed them, they must be placed in the cupboard only to be taken out hours later when the hunger returns…because it is rude to just eat out of the box…or come in your socks…I’m sure every one does it, but not in mixed company…put out the salted nuts…in a glass dish and let’s keep this shin dig classy!
When you pop the top and everything leaks onto the desk or the table, those are the moments where I just don’t feel able to swallow..let alone chew…but sometimes it’s easier to just take the screw, then to get all involved with my mouth…all those miserable textures and smells…and things getting caught in your teeth…let alone how you feel after it’s all over…stuffed like a pepper, like a pig, like a hooker (hook, line and sink her, master baiter; they’re all fucking traitors to those women of the sea; men)…fat and oily and sweating like mackerel, with an upset stomach and wrinkles…ashamed that you let desire get the better of you…it looked so good, maybe even felt good, going down…at the time…but now I can only think of where the nearest bathroom is… treadmill is…to get rid of it all..once and for all…Supermarkets are the brothels of my generation…pandering slutty boxes of frosted crack…you pay and you pay and you always come back..for more…you selfish, dirty whore..isn’t time to detox? Isn’t it time for a cleanse? You smell. You’re rotten inside! Get it out! Put it in! I am exhausted by this process of in and out…going in is just as filthy and miserable and tedious as getting it all to come back out…get his scent off your body, get the partially hydrogenated oils off your tongue, get the shit out-ALL OF IT! NOW!…and all of that sludge on your insides, pooling with pesticide and spermacide…the herbs, the teas, the tease…please…as soon as I get clean I am begging all over again…the hunger only feels good for a space of time before I long to be filled up again…cheesecake and skin…the same kind of sin…the only HOLY path I know is to go.. completely without…the hallowed hollow, I called it…now you know…the palpitations when they would talk about sex are the same ones I feel when they wheel in the cake…it’s getting late..haha..I have to go…I cannot say yes and I cannot say no…Yes I can. NO! Blow out your own!
And on occasion I come to a space in my time where it doesn’t phase me…I can take or leave you…I can swallow or chew…I can eat or dreamlessly sleep…I cannot feel you and I cannot feel me and a calorie is just a calorie…and then eventually I feel my own empty….I don’t understand the point of shopping, brushing, crushing, washing, rinsing repeating, eating and eating and fucking and eating…the fat and flesh, we are only here to resist and to tame and I came just in time before the turkey was shot..I do not eat meat…what part of this don’t you understand? I don’t kill for protein, don’t spill your skeet on me you murdering, wasteful pig…why am I in this body? Why? Why? God is funny? I hate money! I hate food! I hate sex! Is this a joke? Is this a test? I detest this…existance. An unpaid manicurist? A pubic landscaper for a private garden that no one is worthy of entering because I am not worthy of eating, Garden of Eden, paying for the sins of my curious parents; surprise! it’s me! I’m actually quite happy with my destiny, to be their child, but I would like to grow up…this is eating me from the inside out…minutely, daily, hourly, sweetly and sourly…with pork fried rice and fucking lice…both of them give you diseases, see(oh but not me), it’s just the fear, you see, that keeps me on the brink of insanity, knowing it’s out there…both of them come with warning labels…except organic pristine produce…oh she’s perrrfect…look at herrrrr..she’s so girrrly and skinny and perrrefct…some people eat maggots…some people say faggots. And I say fuck that and fuck them. Fine. Who then? Betty Crocker? Joe Cocker? No he didn’t and now we’re divorced. I mostly ate alone with the cats, thank you very much. The truth is I want neither. Not the cake and not your stake…take both and shove them in someone else’s easy bake oven.
It is not desire. It is not fear. It is the messy process…the sorting and courting and weighing and paying…it feels endless and unrewarding with only a narrow field of ‘rightness’ available, like the marginalized room for error…it is small, when you are small, and your house and car and budget and shoes and …well, it’s all small, which means you drop things and try and wedge things into place or you don’t take in very much because there is no room for it, and you get bruised often from banging into everything, slamming and jamming (which has too much sugar and you are anything but sweet) Vein. Plain. Bruised. Jane. You look so masculine and stringy. You look so girly and frilly. Fuck you for your opinions very much; the contradictions of my mother, and that guy and the FDA and the CDC, NBC,ABC, FOX, CNN, headline news: Holy SHIT! Sherlock! Sugar is bad for you! (and all the sweetness is gone from life and your pump is broken and we haven’t spoken)…and even when you have come to the right and most Holy and perfect consumable…it is too soon or too late or too costly..or you ate too much…or gave too little…or you burnt it…or it is just crumbs, as you had suspected it would be despite the shiny, deceptive packaging. I really don’t think it’s fun. I really do think I’m done…for now.