fiction :: she blew me away

fiction

she blew me away, everyone would turn to look at her when she walked down the street, and here she was talking to me. the first time i met her she snapped my bra and said hello. it was all this bright purple hair and rattly chains and a lock around her neck. She was wearing a plaid schoolgirl skirt and 12 hold doc martens & she was laughing because I was blushing at the bra snap, she must've done it so much it was like art to her. she told me she'd been seeing me everywhere, who was I? who was I to talk to you?

The first few weeks, I was so nervous around her, how did we start to become so close? We would sit on the edge of the river, the edge of the city almost falling in, and talk for hours. What the hell were we talking about? I can't even say. That was still back when that part of town was a little sketchy, but we were stupid, and nothing bad had happened to us yet, so we went there late at night with flashlights and beer. I was so nervous, my hands were shaking, my knees buckled when she kissed me. we were drunk and rolling around on the group, on spread out old newspaper sheets, inhaling each other's bad breath.

When morning came I expected her to be gone, but she was still there but asleep beside me. Up close she looked human. I held her tightly.

the two girls, staring out the sheer glass wall into the trinket lights of the big city. they were both small and cute with messy hair and huge china doll eyes. in one moment they looked at each other and revealed their naked love. the looks were like this: please don't hurt me, i am helpless here then in a flash they put back on their cloaks of self defense; wanting to be the one who wanted the other less, although both wanted each other with pathetic intensity.

They both had the same boyfriend at that time. He was a sleazy loser, and he had brought them here as show-off girls. His friends leered appropriately and he felt like a man. The girls clung to each other because they were just wild party girls and they weren't used to fancy places like this, where there were people paid to wipe your hands in the bathroom and the cocktails cost as much as a fancy new dress. tomorrow they would break up with him and then walk down to the river, listening to their cell phones ringing desperately.

if you look in the peephole you will see:

• 2 girls in cathead suits flapping their arms like chickens
  
• 2 girls running around the city covered in mud
  
• 2 girls climbing over barbed wire fences to go to punk rock shows on the docks
  
• 2 girls sucking each others toes
  
• 2 girls dying quiet deaths as they kiss
  
• 1 girl crying as the other is passed out with pills in her hands
  

frank's notebook

frank, reading to me from rainer maria rilke's diary:: "irony don't let yourself be controlled by it, especially during uncreative moments. when you are fully creative, try to use it, as one more way to take hold of life. used purely, it is too pure, and one needn't be ashamed of it; but if you feel yourself becoming too familiar with it, you are afraid of this growing famikliarty, then turn to great & serious objects, in front of which it becomes small and helpless. search into the depths of things: there, irony never descends--when you arrive at the edge of greatness, find out whether this way of perceiving the world arrives out of the necessity of your being. for under the influence of serious things it will either fall away from you (if it is something accidental) or else (if it is really innate & belongs to you) it will grow strong and become a serious tool and take its place among the instruments which you can form your art with."

frank, givin' me more rilke:: "in one creative thought a thousand forgotten nights of love come to life again and fill it with majesty and exultation. and those who come together in the nights are entwined in rocking delight perform a solemn task and gather sweetness, depth and strength for the song of some future poet who will appear in order to save ecstasies that are unsavable."