onsdag 24 november 2010

Climbing the Ladder

It´s Three Word Wednesday. The words: advance, pander, shuffle.

Climbing the Ladder

There wasn´t enough alcohol on the table, he thought. He gulped down his latest drink and motioned for another one.

She was dancing. Floating gracefully across the dancefloor in the arms of Rex Higgins, a Navy Officer whose uniform went well together with her sleek Ginger Rogers look.

Higgins escorted her back to the table afterwards. She laughed breathlessly and fanned herself with a menu. She always looked her best a little flustered, it made her seem less intimidating.

”Rusty, honey, having fun?” She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it affectionately.

He took a sip of his new drink.

”I´m having a blast, Eve,” he replied glumly. He was never any good at playing this game; never carefree, gay, manipulative, like her.

She shrugged and turned away. Went off with her Marine, out to ”get some air”, he supposed.

There was still not enough alcohol on the table when she returned, but he was working on it.

She slumped down next to him, still elegant, but her eyes looked haunted. She took one of the roses from the centerpiece and started ripping off its petals. Rip, rip, rip; the sound seemed unnaturally loud.

”Having fun, Eve?” he said mockingly.

”Getting drunk, Rusty?” came the swift reply. Beneath the glamour she was furious.

”Really, Rusty, you agreed to this!” she continued. ”I don´t see how we can get anywhere, advance at all, if we´re not willing to work for it!”

”I never said I wouldn´t work!” His own anger surprised him. ”I´ll work as hard as anyone, you know that! Just say the word and I´ll go down to Bill tomorrow and ask him for a job. I´m sure we could make a decent living…”

She shuffled the petals from one hand to the other.

”Except decent´s not enough, is it?” He suddenly felt very tired.

"You never listen to me. You have no respect for my opinion!” She sounded like a spoilt child and he couldn´t take it anymore.

”Respect, Eve? I´m no more than a pander and you´re nothing but a …”

She cut him off.

”Stop it, Rusty! I´m leaving!” She stood and collected her things, two ugly red spots on those perfect porcelain cheeks.

She turned to look at him.

”I´m not coming back, you know. Frankly, I think we have different ambitions in life. I´m sure neither of us would want to stand in the other one´s way.”

Rusty watched her leave, her head held high. Despite all, he really wished her well.

On the dancefloor Navy Officer Rex Higgins laughed with another beauty in his arms, pressed against him as they slowly moved to the music.

lördag 6 november 2010

On Trunk Strength and Other Issues

I copy your writing from some site and I translate it. Fast. Without thinking. And it gives me a hard-on, the fact that I´m able to do it. Without thinking. Heee…

I get rejected again. But this time, the person signing my rejection letter is one of my favourite authors, a woman so unbelievable good at interpreting humankind and putting her thoughts into words you wouldn´t believe it. And when rejected by her, I´m hard again. Instantly.

If you were here what would you do? Dance with me? The naprapath says I have to improve my gait, he wants me to walk regally. But his hands are sweaty and he sucks at small talk. He´d be better off piercing butterflies. Seriously. This is not just me being mean.

I drink wine and I give blow jobs. Would you like one? I wouldn´t mind and you wouldn´t have to feel bad, I´m not a damaged person. In fact, I´m surrealistically undamaged, I grew up as one of the children in ”The Children of Noisy Village”. So when I say I´m game, I´m game, no strings attached. Liberating, huh?

”Can I go play with E.?” the son says. It´s eleven in the morning and I say yes. ”I want to go play with O.” says the daughter and disappears. And so they´re both at the neighbour´s. I make lunch for the girls in a basket and they eat outdoors in the frosty woods and I think it´s a good childhood. Really good. At five in the afternoon I make pizza, but the son comes hurrying home, he´s going to see a movie and can he get some money and no, he´s already eaten. The daughter comes a bit later, she´s in makeup and glittery stickers and can she go too? Pretty, please! She skips away with a slice of pizza in her hand. I put her favourite cheese on it.

This leaves me and my husband. I dress in black lace, leather and pretty stockings and, you know.

Good thing, neighbours.

I´m sorry about the melting permafrost. I really didn´t intend for it to happen so fast.

måndag 1 november 2010

...and introducing Ingrid as "The Dad".

Shut the fuck up about my diary! It´s. My. Diary. I write it and I say anything goes.

I´m a gay man with a gay lover and it´s the first time I´m at his place. He shows me the kitchen. The dining area -- he´s got a diiining aaarea! The living room. And then, when my mouth´s all dry: the bedroom. ”And here´s the hobby room,” he says as we enter and his bed is a homemade composition of aluminum pipes dressed in black leather. ”The stuff scenographers use on stage,” he says, ”it´ll carry anything.” And I love him even more when he shows me the swing he´s made from seatbelts. The guy´s a stellar handyman and he´s got this ability to never lose focus on what´s important in life. I spend the rest of my days naked in that swing between four aluminum posters, and do you know; that´s all it takes to make a man happy.

A cake. It´s my birthday and I want a cake. ”Let´s get one with orange marzipan and a chocolate spider,” says the daughter. ”We always have one of those.” No, I think not. This is the first time in ten years that I get to celebrate something resembling a grown-up birthday because the son, with whom I share my birthday, has already had his party so I´m not reduced to witch-mom-who-live-only-to-serve-big-bunch-of-Halloween-dressed-kids-who-crave-scary-food-and-clever-treasure-hunts. I want a cake that thinks it´s royalty. I want fancy dark chocolate, sculpted cream and meringue with perfect texture. And I want to be Marie Antoinette when I let it melt in my mouth.

This and phone calls. Search your minds; have you phoned me today to sing and cheer and say you love me and are in awe over my brilliant existence?

My grandson is named after the greatest Swedish director of all times and he´s painfully cute. He gives me a necklace that he´s made himself from an old spoon and I immediately take off my favourite one, the El Día de los Muertos–one with the dancing skeletons, and put his on and I feel blessed. Truly blessed.

I´m rich. So frekkin´ loaded you wouldn´t believe it. In the mornings I take out my favourite horse and go for a ride, I only ride Icelandic horses, that´s how eccentric I am, and her name is Stjarna which means star. We go up the mountain hills and down, the dogs running happily around us, shitting all over – oh, the smell of healthy metabolic systems! I´ve paid someone to train my horses to pick mushrooms for me, so every night I come back with loads of yellow gold; chanterelles that go into a stew suitable for kings and gods. I eat it and I chew and I laugh, chew and laugh, ch nd ugh

Okay! Let´s finish this off with a poll:

I´m heavily sedated/bored/equipped.

Your guess is better than mine.