beehive musings.

Running hands down hips like sweat
The red light has turned on
Sparks like kisses like murder like sex
like the tiger we both have loved

I am ready to lick you to your toes
I am ready to suck your bones (dry)
I am ready to give you more and more
I am ready to eat you whole

I'm not lying I was fantasizing
(about) dark corners secret pleasures
let's hide under costume
get to know each other better.

Write it on your chest with Gemini blood
Take it in and blow it out
Too bad your pen hasn't touched this page
Someday Someday Someday Someday
Some-
day

Refrain:
(so)slide your fingers up that guitar
and tell me how you think i should want you
i'm an airy nympho
but what's more
i hear you
got a thing for orpheus
and i think you might be him
i think you might be him
i think you might be him
i think you might be him

so sing to me
my beautiful star
cut me right open
leave a musical scar
i'll have you later
just you wait and see
but for now keep going
keep playing
for me

...

You twist me with your frills and paint
Your eyelids peering down on fame
Detached investigator with the two-headed glow -
I want your analysis here tonight.

Two but one but three but more
Running on air like bursting erections,
to another cloud another love another word -
to another night they can't comprehend.

Smeared glitter on happy trails and
red lipstick for all the boys
I can see a new wave coming
so take me to the edge babe
take me to the edge babe
just take me to your place

::Refrain (beginning with 'and')::

...

Your ass under lights is an experience,
of which I know you are full aware,
And I envy your position so -
I envy your position SO -

You inspire filthy panting
You bulge at the thought of creation
You tantalise epitomise
the slinky spider god of sex.

Screech wildly you bird of fantasy
the sound smacks my lips of gold
and I can
taste the tragedy
of seduction gone unmet :
how could I let this happen ? [beat]

::Refrain (beginning with 'won't you')::

...

You leave me wanting and wanting and (waiting waiting waiting waiting) and
wanting and wanting and (Waiting waiting waiting waiting)
wanting and wanting and (waiting waiting waiting waiting)

...

Mercurial fluttering of eyelids,
I hold you on the tip of my throb,
just let me drown in your sweat -
oh no, is that going too far?

...

Would I fuck you? or would you fuck me? three times.
would I fuck you? or would you fuck me? three. times.
would i fuck you? or would you fuck me?

...

Laugh at the fumbling nympho
she's desperate like no other :

I should have played the predator,
but my nerves failed me,
what else is new (what else is new?)

Can we shake it together, double double,
can we shake our hips in agreeance?

I could open you up like some umbrella
and get you all wet all wet
get you all wet (all wet)
get you all wet (all wet)
get you all
wet
get you all
wet
get you all
wet

::Refrain (begins slow, works up to a sprinting pace)::

Yankees suck.

I am an American in a foreign land.

I want Bob Dylan and a cold Budweiser with a fresh pack of Marlboro Reds. I wanna light one of them babies with my cheap Bic lighter. The yellow one that commemorates 50 years of the Daytona 500. The Great American Race.

I want McDonalds, or maybe Taco Bell, with a sweaty soft brownie in plastic wrap and a Dunkin Donuts small iced coffee - EXTRA cream EXTRA sugar - to wash it all down and pep me up at the same time 'cause, man, I gotta BE somewhere.

I want a cowboy with knuckles cracked by the wind, dirt on those hard hands, in love with a knife that has 20 different uses. I want his busted pickup truck growling up a dirt road. Park that thing in the yellow grass, baby. No one's coming by any time soon. Didn't you hear? This is the wild, wild west. So do what you want. And what I want is Born to Run in my ear as my back scrapes the vinyl seats and my head hits the door again and again. Kiss these American thighs, you hard rugged individual. Give me a Fuck Yeah, call me Darlin'. My cowboy's hand covers my mouth and I think, Good, I wanna taste that American soil. Sow that American seed, honey.

And Yes, I am sayin' that bein' abroad makes me wanna fuck like hell to The Boss's music. Wanna fight about it?

I buy things like it's somebody's business. 'Cause it is. It's my business to buy from your business. You got a problem with that?

Pretty girls are everywhere.
Rock stars are everywhere.
Pretty girls are everywhere.
Rock stars are everywhere.

HEY, I'm walkin' HEA.

I want a white 1976 Cadillac Eldorado with the cherry red interior an' you bet your ass them horns are gonna be on that front there. Fly that flag an' cruise 90 MILES PER HOUR down that Highway, smokin' a ci-gar an' wearin' my grampaw's aviators. 'Cause you know he loved that shit an' so do I.

I want easy free TV.
I want easy free TV.
I want easy free TV.
I want it my way, god damn it !

Gimme some big titties, a big steak, a handle o' Jim Beam Rye. Don't need nothin' else 'cept maybe my truck an' my cigarettes. Oh an' my credit card.


I am an American in a foreign land. I walk straight and with purpose. When I open my mouth to speak, I wonder how I sound to them. To the students and bartenders and owners of shops. I wonder if I sound slow and stupid, like a Burger King cow. But my speech is better than the boy from Montana. My tongue is quick to adapt and rhythms I've never allowed are beginning to flow out of me. Scotland's particular stresses and mannerisms. Poetical ramblings in the style of some drunken Irish bard. Ways to say something quickly so maybe they won't know where I'm from. But who am I kidding?

I stop at an espresso cart on the side of the street mid-morning. The sign next to it reads, "Try something different!" I wait in line for half a minute before I can no longer stand the circumstances. From a radio within the cart, behind the British server who doles out Earl Greys and Welsh mineral water, blasts a country song that is from and about the Good Ol' U.S.of.A. The refrain consists of something about how We Ain't Never Gonna Change, how the singer thought about traveling abroad and then said Forget It. I left, feeling humiliated in a line of strangers. Especially since all I really wanted to order was an Americano.

Sunday Night Dream.

“Catherine, you were always my favourite,” I whisper in her ear as I embrace her small head, running my hands over her feathery blond hair. It is short, like a boy’s, but when you see her face, you know she is a little girl. Except the others call her He, and I wonder why. Does she appear differently to others? What about her voice? It has the very ring of young femininity – she is only seven years old. It will be two more before she begins the long journey away from the purest period of her life. A place to which she can never return. Alas, she is good now and so, in my eyes, good forever.

Perhaps she is a shape-shifter. Perhaps she knows, even at her young age, the tricks you can play as a girl with short hair. She is funny. She likes to laugh a lot. She has many toys in her big white house. The one with the wooden doors wide open, with no lights on inside. I cannot see the interior except for its shadows, but I know it anyway. She is pleased when I express my love for her; she hugs my waist tightly. Ah, her soft golden hair. The wind blows wisps of it toward my nose. It tickles. The tickling feels good. She smells like a dream, like the candy of imagination.

Catherine, it doesn’t matter what the others say. I know what you are, and you were always my favorite. You are a vision – nothing more, but nothing less either. For those who pay no mind to the beings they meet in their dreams, you’d be but a memory. You would be abstract. A product of subconscious drives. You would not exist. You’d be a boy. But I know what you are, child-goddess. You are whatever you wish to be.

Glad This Is The First.

It’s official. I am old enough to be able to clean out the closet in my old bedroom in my parent’s house and find condoms that expired in 2008. Yes, I started having sex when I was young. But I wasn’t that young. At any rate, who ever gets the chance to see an expired condom? I thought I learned somewhere that the circumstance never arises, was actually forbidden in some book or by some professor :

- Oh yeah...MmmmMMmm baby...Oh god yes, I want you right now. Let's make love...You got a condom?
- Got one right here baby - oh shit.
- What?
- You gotta be kiddin me.
- What?
- It's expired.
- What?
- I said it's expired.
- What? Let me see that.
- It says oh eight. Oh eight! It says two thousand fucking eight. I can read.

Etcetera. Am I wrong to assume that when a person buys a box of condoms, they plan on using them? At least relatively soon? Maybe there’s someone out there who buys condoms five years in advance. Or maybe generations of premarital-sex-lovin sluts are coming home from college every year and sharing the experience with me. Maybe someone stored their rubbers away for the holidays and then forgot where they hid them. Shit – it could happen. Anything can happen. If there’s one thing that cannot be said enough times, it is this :

Any Thing Can Happen At Any Point.

Every moment is pregnant with potential. Especially when the condoms have expired.