Sunday, August 9, 2009

Why I like Bodies so much

It seems to me that man-hating is the same thing as man-
loving and the real power would come from man-indifference.
My favorite part of almost any man's body is the soft part
of his cheek between the nose and the bottom of the eyelid
and thumbs for the opposite reason, because they are large
and jointed and nothing says, "this body is not like my
body," as much as the big thumb wrapped around my little thumb.

It seems to me that I am in love with man's body rather than man
himself. When you are gone it is not your voice that I miss
(we've invented things for that: the letter, the telephone)
or even the appearance of your face (if that were it,
the hundreds of pictures would suffice). But this loss of your body,
this distinct loss of you, causes an emptiness so great,
it starts to collapse upon itself, sucking other things inside with it.

But no, I pride myself on caring about more. Maybe if you could make
your personality more textual. Like if I could touch the nice things
that you've said to me. As if people could subsist on compliments alone.
Put some of the bad things you've said in there too, along with a face
in a picture (those things that aren't good enough). The magic word becomes your body, what is more powerful than the word sorry (but that doesn't mean anything anyways).

Perhaps it isn't the body at all, but man's cycles and his shifts
and I think I like him best both ways and I hate him most all the time.
We've made bodies too fluid and relationships too solid and I want it
the opposite way.

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