An essay by edna floretta, a tribute to Gertrude Stein.
(written on Angel’s bday and channeled by a drag queen spirit named Linda ……. )
Bozo the clown has lost his shoes. The big bright red ones that scare my niece named Tatum. Rumor has it that Fred stole them to gain recognition from his fraternity brothers, whom I saw last weekend in Walmart.
Sally has lost her bra. It was her favorite black laced one, that made all the mens eyes grow into helicopters. She replaced it with a dainty pink one…….. the last she saw of it, was when she did her laundry on Sunday at the Picodilly Suds and Bubbles. There were two men doing their laundry that day, one a school teacher who everyone thought was gay, and the other a weight lifter who worked days at the post office. Suspicions fall that when she left to drink her cigarette that one of them stuck their grimey hands in her wash and snagged it, nailed it, and planted it. She hopes it grew into a strawberry, the kind she puts on top of her ice cream sundaes when she’s on her period, cycling and cycling just like the dryer, her womb, in time with the moon, and it’s pull on the tides, pulls her blood from within her outward onto her fancy silk panties and pressed Martha Stewart bed sheets.
Bed sheets, oh what a story they can tell, all bed sheets have a story, a stain, a few crumbs from eating the crackers in the bed when he was out of town. Lewis prefers the granny printed bed sheets, reminds him of his mommy. Makes him feel safe. It’s important to feel safe these days. Guns, loaded, ready to fire, are like toothbrushes nowadays. And you know how I hate to brush my teeth.
Black cats are my favorite animal, they remind me of a panther, sleek and sneaky and strong and fast, like I like my men ….. “my” men, oh me, oh my, how many there has been, trapped up inside my venus fly trap. If only I had bitten their heads off like a mating ritual of …… shit, can’t think of the what , the spinster little wheels in my head are not connecting A to B. Finally I get what I deserved, a red coat, bought by giving hand jobs to a one inch penis. Sugar baby, put lots of it in my tea. And the pendulum swings back and forth back and forth like putting your wedding ring on a necklace and wiggle wiggle til it either circles or bounces back with the answer to the sex of your baby.
Foremost, a button, placed just in the right spot, and POP, his penis is erect. Like an orange ice cream treat from the ice cream truck, phallic oh phallic how I need thee. Pressed into my newly shaven vagina lips. Lips so soft now, can’t stop touching them, and screaming HIS name. Wreckless, so wreckless is the artist who stabs his own finger to get the color red.
Where shall we go now ? does not matter, as long as we play, it’s suppose to fun to create, until the poison boils the witches pot over …….. the poison of rejection.
I hear a drip drip coming from the kitchen sink, Chinese water torture defeats them all. Light blue prisms of shackled black mens and their wives…… you know they fucked them all, all those slave owners, owning only god’s frown. Nothing more. Like the smile of a child born to a belly of rape. I would like to go for a stroll, under the star lights but it seems that winter has chilled me a cold 5 degrees this evening, staying in with my slippers and fuzzy socks.
Listen carefully, so carefully and you might hear the elephant laughing at the stupidness of it all. To be born only to be sentenced to die. Fuck yeah let’s get drunk tonight, how stupid is this shit?????????????
< GO BACK