I live in someone else’s house now.
16th March 2009I live in someone else’s house now. Every morning I do her dishes and empty her bins. I listen to her stereo at a very low volume so as not to disturb her. I look over her shoulder and it’s more tan than I recall thinking of its shade. Her shoulder’s fuzzy and down her arm the same. I look back further and catch strands of her hair in my periphery. It’s shiny black and messy and it makes me feel like sex. I wonder whether I should scrub her toilet. I like to be a welcome houseguest, one you wouldn’t mind inviting over again and making love to at least in your mind. I like to make love to houseguests and houseplants because everyone needs to be comforted once in a while. If I was her mother I would not chastise her for the dusty books on the floor in every part of the house - even if they make me sneeze. I’d ruffle her hair and give her loving looks. But I am not her mother no more than I am a mother. Mothers give this life so what’s so special about that? Ask someone who doesn’t exist. There are ladybugs crawling all over the coffee table as some sort of artistic statement / fortuitous omen. I briefly think about splattering them with one of the dusty hardcovers but I don’t because it’s not my house and I like to be a welcome houseguest that doesn’t murder the other inhabitants often if at all. I read The Art of Happiness. I know what happens when we die, you don’t have to tell me twice. As I said, I’m not her mother but if were, I would mother her clear off this mortal coil. Because mothers are caring and good like that and I like to be a good housemother to all my loving plants. Because without her I am homeless and sleeping on glass doors never really suited me.
16th March 2009 at 10:23 pm
i would like to high five you with my open mouth.
17th March 2009 at 3:17 am
I meet people everyday who don’t exist. They only live and breathe and shit and pay taxes.
17th March 2009 at 1:41 pm
I tend to prefer not existing, normally up high behind my own front door rather than in other people’s homes though, I must confess. Whenever I’m in other people’s homes, I always conversely feel that I exist a bit too much for both their and my liking.
17th March 2009 at 7:36 pm
This reminds me of the dream that I just posted. Eerie!
17th March 2009 at 9:36 pm
Xtx: High five’s are official cool again.
Monkey: I just paid a penalty for being late on my taxes (I was too busy getting drunk and writing inappropriate and inane poetry), does that mean I now exist? Scary.
AUW: It depends who the peoples are. Normally I feel quite comfortable just taking over.
Tracy: In my delusional mind I am translating your comment as ‘ani, your writing is dream-like’ so thank you! ;)
19th March 2009 at 12:23 pm
I really like this. It really drew me in, and each little observation added to the last and led me to the next. I think it shows that you are skilled to handled gentle pieces like this as well as your tougher scary stuff.
19th March 2009 at 10:23 pm
Aw Jem, I’m a big softie really.
22nd March 2009 at 7:10 pm
nicely done, i have lived with people before, it wasn’t pleasant for them