27 June 2011

To the thing I never wanted (sorry for the Objectification)

Dear Y,

This morning I sat, coffee in hand, eagerly awaiting the new bland.  Just then, as I contemplated the touch and smell of a new pen, I saw, through the very corner of my left eye, a brief flicker of the most spectacular red yellow shift.  For a brief moment I was a drift, and not in my normal sea of loneliness, but instead an ocean of, let us say, happiness. 

Was I in your tender arms again? 
Was I lost in this embrace? 
Turning face after face in an attempt to impress and transfer dress to mess. 

What is this place?
This smell? 
Is it heaven or is it Hell? 

And just as it came it went leaving me with only the warmth of the cup in my hand and a meaningless longing to stand.  I tried to place a meaning to derive a reason for this quick gleaming.  None came to mind and soon mind came to none.  The reciprocation of this vacation from thick thought. 

What was clear is you were still a simple not.  Lost long to time and if only your memory could be left behind, but I am tormented and fear I will soon be fermented by this consistent longing.  The ice I have frozen is thin and I want to skate on. 

Now please do not have any confusion, or develop the illusion that I would want you back.  My dear it is just the opposite, in fact, I'd prefer you stay away.  This flame burns bright and will soon burn out of sight and you may only get a wisp of black smoke. 

Sincerely,

X

21 June 2011

Dear Larry Flynt

Dear Mr. Flynt,
I am writing concerning a letter of yours I recently saw on Huffington Post in which you offered the former Congressman Weiner a position with your company.  I, however, have not heard Mr. Weiner's response and am concerned he will refuse such a generous offer.  It is with this in mind that I would like to offer myself as a suitable, although less qualified replacement for the position.
While I have not held office, I have spent the past months living in Washington DC and witnessing and occasionally enjoying the level of debauchery that happens here.  I can assure you that while my resume is not yet as outstanding as Mr. Weiner's, I would make a suitable stand-in for these reasons:
  1. My moral high horse ran away during a thunderstorm and has never come back to the stable.
  2. I am willing to voice my opinions and have a brilliant shouting voice.
  3. Having been a long time advocate of exercise, I am not hard to look at.
  4. I am an advocate of freedom of speech, and the free expression of sexuality.
  5. I am willing to run for any office and place myself into the public realm.
  6. I am willing to continue taking compromising photos of myself and sending them to consenting adults.
  7. Having studied film/video production and theory in school I am quite capable of producing high quality and artsy sex tapes if the need arises.
I would offer my services for 20% less than what you have offered Mr. Weiner and am more than willing to relocate at the drop of a hat.  I am also willing to change my last name to allow for sophomoric New York post headlines.  I might add that I have a sufficiently inflated ego to make an excellent talking head. 
Furthermore, Mr. Flynt, I have a special relationship with the repulsive. I find it necessary to seek out that which I fear in order to grow.  Life is short and we must embrace every part of it, especially what we do not understand.
It is with this in mind that I present you my strongest quality: my love of hypocrisy.  As a self-proclaimed artist, it is the very shackles of society that provide me with inspiration.  I long to take the racism, sexism, and any other "ism" that stands in the way of progress and force people to take its hand and dance.  In many ways I feel that I share the same mission as Paul Tillich: "...to bring faith to the faithless and doubt to the faithful."
It is my opinion Mr. Flynt, that while Mr. Weiner is the obvious first choice for the position, I would be an excellent stand-in.  I am young, handsome, and would be receptive to your tutelage.   
Thank you for taking the time to read my request and please contact me with the information provided below so that we can set up a time to discuss this matter in depth. 
Sincerely,

TL
mineillshowyou@gmail.com

20 June 2011

Letter to the one who loved me even when I ran

Dear S,
 
Today I woke up to the sound of rain dropping hard onto the slick melted sand surface of the bathroom's skylight.  I felt my lips slide across my white false teeth, bearing what I long ago would try so hard to hide.  I sat in the dark my exposed flesh enjoying the machine generated faux wind.  Thoughts poured from my mind and soon I felt liquid crawling across my once inflated cheek.  Not a stream mind you but several rogue soldiers marching until they fade away. 
 
I laid here for what seemed like an eternity attempting to wrap my mind around what it was that had caused this liquid to slide slowly from the corners of my blue eyes.  Why did I have this feeling of uncontrolled happiness and serenity that is so powerful it has caused years of repressed emotion to seep freely?  In truth I could not find an answer.  I am not equipped to combat liquid soldiers, and frequently find myself succumbing to their tactics. 
 
Later standing under the shower head it came to me.  I was having a soft flashback of you.  In the dripping rain I felt your arms wrapped tight around my heaving chest.  I felt the safety we gave each other.  I felt what I have always known and spent so much of my time running from.  Love.  A deep love that cannot really be expressed by the overly used term, but unfortunately my vocabulary has not provided me with a better way to express this. 
 
The memories rushed over me like they were being carried by the water from the shower itself.  The times we danced, the way we played and most importantly the times we just sat.  It feels like years since I have felt you near me, and maybe it was this distance that allowed me to see what you meant to me.  To be able to finally accept how much I needed you in my life.  To finally return the loving embrace you had allowed me to run in and out of for all these years.  I cannot lie I have been with others, but none have accepted me the way you do.  None have loved me the way you have loved me. 
 
In short my dear I am writing all of this to let you know I am coming home.  After years of you waiting patiently with your open ended invitation I want you to know I am finally coming home.  I only hope you will still see me the way I see you.  I look forward to watching the rain in your arms and sipping coffee.
 
Love

T

17 June 2011

Lettering for Cover

Dear Potential Employer:

I am writing to you regarding the position of Office Bitch advertised in the classifieds of the local newspaper. I have always admired the work your company has done in the field of capitalism. The company's penchant for making more and more money is an admirable asset given the bleakness of the current economy.

I have spent several years attaining an education rivaled by few. My work experience is richly meager; the importance of quality has always surpassed that of quantity. My crushing despondency has kept me company for the long lonely decades I've spent overeducating myself, and it is currently my greatest asset. It will serve the company well because you will not need to break in my pride and naiveté.

You may reach me at the bottom of my pit of despair during the weekdays, and please hit me up on my cell on the weekends in case you want to partaaaaay. Oh, and did I mention my liver? Oh man, my liver. That thing has been a life-saver in college. Literally.

Humbly yours,

Hopeful Potential Employee

Kitten and Tuna


Hello my Puuuuurrrrrrfect Kitty and of course my smelly tuna fish,
 
I was listening to morning sports talk radio while rubbing soap on my firm flesh when all the sudden a voice rang throughout the bathroom and brought back so many memories.  Flashback initiated, the feeling of alcohol's tantalizing clutch on my stability sent me spiraling around the room donning only a hand towel to cover my overused genitalia.  I spun and I spun until the room seemed to move without me at which point I slid to the ground.  From my new seat I sat with tears in the icy blue orbs that have provided me with the fevered ego we all love.  My genitals half erect and my legs running away from each other, an angel sang to me.  All of my cynicism and denial had been lifted from my shoulders.  Atlas was finally able to stand tall and proud for the world had floated away.   If I could have picked a time to die it would have been here, in my euphoric and post-ejaculatory glee...  So Kitty and Tuna what brought me to this point.  What left me on the cold bathroom tiles covered in what could have been children, legs limp and eyes dilated? 

Well Kitty and Tuna here it is: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tHNF9Amv5iI
 
I believe it is painfully obvious why I had to send this to both of you.  Kitty I feel this is also proof that it is a genetic trait of Der Deutches Volk.
 
Love
 
XOXOXO

14 June 2011

Morse Code Love Letter

Dearie me, oh dear oh dear.
What have we here? 

Swishing lightly around the 
room, 
treading 
on the heartstrings of my hamstrings, 
her every sashay clumsily slashes 
at 
my 
eyes 
with flashes of brilliance. 
Distilling her twill into the tweed pattern of my need, 
her casual cashmere merely cashes in on the 
soft 
steps 
of my soft shoe 
mirroring hers with a grace that can only exist in Hollywood. 

My stomach lurches for every graceful dip, 
her feet stomp out a mating call that I 

                                                                                                  just 

                                                                                                                            cannot        

ignore. 

11 June 2011

Untitled (@mineillshowyou) has shared a Tweet with you:

"mineillshowyou: Weinergate prompts hot beef injection. http://t.co/HMZypTs"
--http://twitter.com/mineillshowyou/status/79560429436809216

09 June 2011

The Curiously Curated Cure

Don't be scared, love, come out and play. The water's safe, the coast is clear, and I'll stay near. The grass is soft beneath my toes, it knows nothing of your woes. Don't be afraid to lose yourself, I'll come find you in our never-ending game of hide and seek. Nothing can come between my nose and my prey, and I've been praying to know you. To nuzzle you and muzzle you with mine. Your eyes shine as if you know, but you plead ignorance and innocence, yet your hands tell a different story. Your eyes rake across my body, yet feign confusion at this marvelous illusion. What did you expect, something permanent and perfect on your first try? Sorry sweetie, that's not how this works. You take what you can get and learn to love the sweet promise of a goodbye from the very first doomed hello. 


Undeserving

Listen, just because you're overworked and cranky doesn't give you license to make snide comments about how I live my life. Just because I'm not an obsessive workaholic like you doesn't mean that everything I do is inherently done the wrong way. It's in very poor taste to rub my face in your disdain. Oh, so it's surprising that I'm sitting on the couch instead of at my desk in my room for once? You know as well as I that it's factually incorrect to say that this hasn't happened in several years, and maybe I'd come out of my room more often if you weren't such a bitch. I didn't ask for your opinion, I pay my rent and my portion of the utilities, I clean my messes and don't steal or destroy your stuff. I am respectful of your space and try to be quiet when you're sleeping. You just resent me because I can still rely on my parents for money. Your parents haven't paid for anything of yours (but they have for your sister!) in decades because they're plain old assholes.

I've taken pains not to allow myself to become spoiled, I don't flaunt my financial dependence, in fact, I'm rather ashamed of it. I've worked for all but one and a half of the years that have elapsed since I became old enough to legally hold a job for precisely this reason. I know you don't see any of that when you look at me staring at my computer when you get home from working your second job of the day for the fourth day in a row, all you see is your lazy roommate who gets everything she wants handed to her on a silver fucking platter. It's just so unfair that some people have everything so easily and you have to work so hard just to barely scrape by.

Yes, I realize that. It is unfair. But what the fuck do you want me to do about that? I'm just trying to find a job like every other fucking unemployed college graduate. So what if I can survive for a few months without needing food stamps? This automatically makes me a bad person? I'm inherently undeserving of my familial support simply because I've never had to truly suffer like you? You're so goddamned self-righteous. Who are you to judge me? I know you've had more than your fair share of difficulties in life, but I was not the perpetrator. I've listened to your goddamn self-absorbed problems for how many years now? I sit and listen to you for hours and hours and hours, I cheer you up and distract you when you need it, I offer advice when I have it, I don't push you, I'm not rude to you, I treat your bitchy judgmental comments as if they're really the jokes you pretend they are. They're not funny. I can hear the bitterness in your voice, I can feel the barbs you don't even realize that you plant every time you open your mouth.

I keep aspects of my personal life somewhat of a secret from you because I am weary of opening myself up to criticism and judgment every time I speak with you. You don't need to know about X, Y, or Z things that I do because I know you won't approve if I don't recite a litany of logic to support my decision to do X, Y, or Z, and it's just tiring. I know that I will need to have quite a lot of mental energy on hand if I'm going to have a "real" discussion with you, and that amount of energy is not something I keep on reserve for you. And quite frankly, I'm losing the patience. I'm losing the will to muster even the minimal amount of energy it takes to maintain our friendship. I deliberately make sure I'm not in the house when I know you'll be around; I sleep in until after you leave the house in the morning and stay out late enough so that you'll be in bed by the time I get home just so I don't have to interact with you.

You are so tiring that instead of telling you any of this while you sit six feet away from me on the other couch, I am passive-aggressively typing this out in a whiny blog post. I'm so fucking sorry, jesus christ. Get over it.