I Make Cat Fiction for You, Which has nothing to do with cats.

Originally titled: When You're Strange, New Planets Come Out

"I encourage you to be even more weird than you are today," said my friend, as she held my hand steady against the remote control.

Internally I was going insane. There was no way she could really understand the goings on I was undergoing on. First of all--why is there even a woman and I'm in a relationship with her? Since when did we get that posh?

"Now, pay attention, because I want you to keep being as strange as you are," I said into my little poem book, which only supported about 18 large characters at best on each line.

"Don't plagiarize me you bastard!" she cried, and started to actually weep. I covered what I had written about her, and approached:

I took her hand away from her other hand, and paid attention to the hand I took. "This is the hand that I first saw", I told her, showing her how her fingernails were so perfect and plentiful in their cuticles. We rotated our hands together, sometimes reminiscing witches, sometimes V/H/S afterthoughts, but always in synchronization.

I was slapped off because she believed I had been trying to hypnotize her, but of course I claim I was always an honest intention. 

Just told her Valentine's Day won't have no booze

no booze on valentine's
anyway you said it was a dumb thing.

'commercial way of life',
so let's not let these business people get away with it.

i'd really like to be with you without us drunk.
so that once in my life, i'd be able to share

what i'm like when i'm not entirely gone.

(for example, when i'm entirely here!)

I am Trying to Leave A Tenderness Moment

Last the blood I thought was hope
looping round my thoughts like blood.
Last night, your gift flew from the cupboard.

Sounds like suck but I loved you,
honestly plus kisses thrice.
Alas, the dice went all wrong,
now I sing this silly song.

Silly song is stupid till it
meets you and your new found love.
Is New found land in New Zealand
or far away as Romania?

Had a dream you were married
with your new found man.
Inside every thought there is
siding very terrible thoughts.

I wake up. Go to my computer ...

Feeling really really old.
Hope your house is good wherever
you settle and some and such.
You were cool but are no longer

my concern.

What you mofos don't know how you started?

Let me lay it down in plain text.

Most people have to invent some sort of 'origin story' for their existence. For drones, there are convenient templates such as Bibles, Qurans, Torahs, whatever. You can even get polytheistic beliefs; a woman bathed in a river and a man saw it: wham-bam thank you Venus.

Smarter apes of course realize they actually come from a teapot, in space.

But I am not an ape. We do not have a common ancestor. Any of your tricks -- the music, the rhythm, the ... 'love' ... it won't work with me. The bacteria and viruses on your planet already know this. They're really making a good effort to resolve their bacterial and viral inferiority to me. Like real sports.

Gah, how to explain properly without going fishing with you for one of your fishies? For example, you can take a good rod, with a nice length and your best fish cable+hook. I will watch your performance, as you demonstrate to me how you fish.

You will show me your struggles, your pain. How tough it is to pull that little fishy into your hand. Then you will stand there smiling at me triumphant, a bead of honest sweat tricking down your forehead.

I will then change the properties of the universe so that every fish in the river leaps into my body, like I'm some kind of fish magnet.

In Absentia

You, whose absence deprives me of sleep,
whose last words a stinging jewel in my keep.
Come snow yesterday, cloudy now or sunny future,
you, upon my heart threaten every suture.

Like a sneeze it seems we were thrown together,
then your yawning and imminent departure.
Almost a smile but in every way
contemplation each wayward day.

I'm worst on mornings just like this,
terrible on evenings like this too,
in markets they won't even sell me superglue
because they think that I am two.

I am not two and I know you're not -2,
about the extent of my mathematical ability,
especially when I reinvent you
to placate my personal conceits.

Take What You Get

At least you thought I was cheating on you when you left me.

'God' forbid you found out what I was really working on.

In the nights, the blue demons come and seek me,

wanting the red, and to take it they would even leak me.

On a Saturday I usually like a lot more snowing.

Sadly the weather has left me with some piffling blow dust.

How can I throw snowballs in your face if

the consistencies of the heavens even deny me this?

So I retire to my room and play a stupid shooting game.

You get to be in clans, and be brothers with the idiots who play.

You take what you get. Never mind if I got sniped in the head,

at least I don't ache with the memories of your sweet glo-worm cheeks.

S.A.E.

"They're coming," he texted her, and then he looked around at the old room, with its distant furniture, the musty dead smell of his own cigarettes for the last nine years -- everything he had been doing by himself all this time. When he had taken it all in, he looked down again at his device, and her response had arrived.

"Who the fuck is coming?"

"All of them. All four limbs, torso -- the head."

He went and read carefully through every envelope left scattered around his floors, some for almost a decade. Every single one he had chosen not to fling away into the mornings' trash. Never those which, every single morning, he'd flung away like worthless paper. Usually those were letters from corporations or governments declaring the amount of money he owed them, unaware that the checks were already on their way. But every once in a while, they were also from some real people that he no longer cared to hear from.

When he was done reading all the ones he had cared to save, he went back to the couch and picked his device up. She had responded again. This time it made him smile, just a little.

"What about the penis, and the balls?"

"You never hear me begging for your vagina," he texted back.

Her response was instantaneous. "My vagina is part of my torso, you know that. You're trying to tease me, aren't you?"

"Well, then ... your boobs."

She called him up and started yelling. "Look, are you coming with those too, or not? Otherwise it is not a complete deal. I don't want you to offer yourself to them as a damn eunuch or something just to get yourself to me."

He bit into his tongue. "No, no. I'm sending the penis and the balls too."

There was a pause in the cricket-song midnight that is international telephone gateways carefully untapped. She took a deep breath, and said, "Well, how are you coming? What airline? Where do I pick you up?"

Now it was his turn to make her listen to the silence. "I'm not coming on a commercial flight," he said. "I'm mailing myself to you, in a small box. It will arrive on your doorstep."

"That is the stupidest idea I have ever heard!" she yelled. Through the receiver, he heard a vase, or something porcelain or other smash in the distance. "They will never let that box through. The dogs'll smell it."

"Cryopreservation. And lots of non-perfume deodorizers," he explained.

"Well don't you think the X-ray guys will notice there's damn limbs in the damn box?" she said. "How stupid can you be? This isn't going to work."

"It'll work. Lots of people receive authentic sex blow up dolls everyday in the mail, and they have realistic body parts. I'll make it look just like that."

There was another long silence, and then he heard a sob from her. "You've ordered sex dolls?" she asked, with concern.

Now it was her turn to hear something smashing to pieces on his side, before he responded, "Goddamit, no. But it's not hard to get the instructions online now, in an easily printable format."

"Okay, okay," she said. "Tell me, then. How -- how are you going to cut yourself? Into those ... pieces."

His voice became calm as a perfectly thrown stone, skipping across a salty still lake on the kind of foggy morning you decide to wear a hoodie when you go out jogging. "I don't have to cut myself," he told her. "I just have to imagine it, and it will happen. I'll imagine it, and imagine you, and fall to the right kinds of pieces, into the box."

"What?" she said, on the other side of the line.

"Really," he responded, voice so calm, there could be no question.

"Well, how will you get it mailed? I mean ... how will you mail ... yourself?"

"I'll do it at the doorstep -- I've already left instructions for the carrier."

She hung up on him. He went to his old kitchen, studying the memories of blood upon the elderly wood and steel, left by the corpses of fish, chickens, and various other things a normal human being may prepare for lunch and dinner. He never ate breakfast, even though both his mother and father had told him it was the perfect start to a shiny day. He smiled fondly at that one stove upon which he had made that meal for her -- the one after which she finally walked over and kissed him. Lamb. He had roasted some lamb on that stove, that night, for their dinner. She had really loved it.

His device buzzed, and there was a response from her. "Well, looks like you have everything worked out," she said, and the smell of her doubt was so thick, he could have sworn it was emanating from the speaker on the device. Of course, that is not how these devices work. "So tell me one last thing," she said.

"Yes?"

"Last time I played with a brick set was like -- well -- never. I didn't play that as a child. How the hell am I going to put you together when you finally do come here, in pieces?"

He smiled, and doubted whether this was the time for one of his stupid jokes. Then he figured, well, if it was not, then he would simply not be himself. "Well," he said, "you know how you insisted I bring my penis along?"

"Well, yes. I would want you as a whole man."

"Well ... all you would have to do is to blow on it. Then I'll inflate right back into my whole self."

His head sank beneath his shoulders as sounds of catlike shrieking carried across carefully untapped international lines, as did the crashing of various porcelain objects. My God, what had he done? This was going to take a lot of mending to be made right again.

Lovin' General

This is a piece I wrote at this one poetry forum where there was a sub-forum called 'Love in General'. Thought it would be kinda funny to debut over there with a poem called Lovin' General. Geddit? No?

The bars are downstairs for your receptions,
if there seem those you believe love you more than I.
Go now, if you absolutely must speak to them.
Leave me here, alone, with my real devotees.

Otherwise all communication devices with the outside world must be forfeit, please.

Let us then start with a simple laugh to dispel
aforementioned, premeditated or plainly postured
unpleasantries, from the guts themselves.
Imagine we are all on vacations in gondolas.

Then, we easily slip into a tropical forest hike, just you and me, only us, alone in dense wet jungle.

Now we come across the pyramids, under curious ochre.
Do you remember us kissing, before them, in the future?
All of you was sweating from the intensity;
I had to carefully brush down the beads as I tasted.

Ok, we stop smoochin' now and it is time for spacesuit fantasy in warp speed. Are we ready Sulu?

All of this has been practiced for millenia, it seems,
and now, up to us to practise unto infinity.
Unto infinity, my Love ... oh, whoops ... it's ok, it's ok,
you just forgot to attach my fastener there, but it's ok.

Setbacks must be expected. I'm slipping away now, from You. Just remember loving unto infinity, like we've practiced, it'll be fine.

Love, the Finale

A challenge was issued to compose a piece about Love. This is one of my entries. This is the love tag for all (my) entries.
---
When Frida came home, she didn't go to him at the couch, as she always would. She went up the stairs, and he heard her pull the ladder across the floor. She was ruining the boards, but that was no big deal. He had glue guns and shellac to fix that. Then the pulling stopped, and he heard her open the latch, to the attic.

This made him switch the play station off, and run up to see what was happening. He found the ladder, and he saw the hole in the ceiling. "Frida?" he called.

Her footsteps were up there, walking about, distinctly hers. There was a certain timbre from the wood that her movements so wonderfully captured, and these conveyed very successful, very specific, signatures. Signatures he had become old with, and grown to love. "Frida, what is happening?" he yelled, and climbed up the ladder.

It was dark, in there. The dolls from Frida's past, all his old video game cartridges. The books. Oh my god, the books. "Frida," he said, finding her in a corner. She had wrapped herself in a blanket and was looking sternly at him.

"Don't come any closer!" she rasped.

This had not happened for a long, long time. He thought back, trying to recollect. "What ... what have I done this time?"

She started to cry. He came to her, but she fought him off, jabbing away at him with her heels.

"I haven't cheated," he said. "I have never cheated." But she kept kicking him away. Sharply.

Finally he mustered his manliness, and, overcoming all her attempts, stood in front of her. She looked back at him like some frightened child. "Stay away!" she tried.

"No. You tell me what is wrong," he insisted, standing firm.

This is when she broke down. "You don't want to touch me," she cried. "I have ... I have the Virus."

The planet, Earth, crashed into Venus. But, to her horror, his first response to this was not even to flinch, but to immediately rush into her. Grab her. Collect her, into his arms. "What are you doing?" she shrieked.

He stroked her diseased hair, smiling. "It's okay. It's going to be okay. I have your Virus now too. We are together again. You are with me again."

---
We all have the same virus.

Firing Up On All Cylinders

A challenge was issued to compose a piece about Love. This is one of my entries. This is the love tag for all (my) entries.
---

It was not from merely the door of the hotel room that they had been thrown into the throes of passion. No. In fact, they had caused so much of a ruckus on that damn plane above it that the pilot himself authorized the opening of a cabin hatch for dispersal.

Strapped together, sharing a single parachute, the crew positioned the couple near the hatch. Everyone was told to leave the area, except the co-pilot, whose duty it would be to man the operation.

"Saw you lookin' at her, trying to get your little airtime," leered Baz at the co-captain.

"Oh wasn't he, Baz?" exclaimed Deb. "I sawr him as I got up, tryin' to look up me skirt, pretendin' to check the bloody landin' gear."

The co-captain merely, diligently, stepped aside, and entered the hatch code. He held onto the safety grip as the door flung open.

"Whoo hooooo hooooooooooooooooo ...." was the last heard from them, as far as the entire airplane was concerned. A motorized device drew the flung door back in as promptly as possible, and there was a sharp shock felt throughout the plane as the lock settled into place.

It was, naturally, only chaos left in there in that plane. A man decided this was the best time to divorce his cheating wife, and actually notify her of his intentions. A gay man came out, in the middle of Christmas, in front of the whole in-flight family. And people think nobody noticed, but there was even, in the back seats, a middle aged Jewish mother, and a similarly aged Muslim mother, who had coalesced initially in order to condemn the sinners that had erupted, but now had found a profound common love of crossword and sudoku. There was no doubt in their minds that emails would be shared, and that, eventually, (sure, given a very long, drawn out process) the two would end up lesbians in Amsterdam.

.

But for them, they were together, and that was what was important! Strapped carelessly together by a terrified crew like two He-Man toys in the hands of a toddler's makeshift plastic bag parachute. But they were close. So close. Tied to each other so, so close.

"This is the best bloody coupon we ever cut out!" yelled Baz as they hurtled through the lower atmosphere at immense speed. "You alright?"

"I'm terrified," said Deb, wrapping her legs around him. "I never fought it could be done, luv!" Deb began smooching him all over. He responded, and they began kissing each other like fucking hail.

.

Eventually, they accurately and opportunely hurtled through the windows into the most expensive suite at a resort in Biscayne, Florida. The original occupants of the bed, a hardworking couple on honeymoon from Bayonne, New Jersey, would never be heard from again, because the sheer force of Baz and Deb's luvly impact had pulverized said couple into the queen mattress springs.

Several moments passed.

Baz got up, sniffing. "Luv?"

"Oi! Down 'ere!"

Baz let out his gleeful laugh. "Right right." Then he looked into her eyes. The sun leaked in from the smashed windows, catching an inflection in her eye, and, oh-ho-ho-ho.

"You bloody bastard," she said playfully as he unstrapped her from the parachute, patiently, hard as he was against her. "You rotten' dirty old bloody wanker ..."

"Mmm," moaned Baz as Deb began licking his face. "Best bloody coupon we ever cut, luv."

Orgasms aplenty in that suite.

Love, As Enounced By an Emotionally Transient Man Whose Movements are Admittedly Robotic and Whose Conclusions Lacking the Kind of Cosmic Foresight N

A challenge was issued to compose a piece about Love. This is one of the entries. This is the love tag for all (my) entries.
---

Love, As Enounced By an Emotionally Transient Man Whose Movements are Admittedly Robotic and Whose Conclusions Lacking the Kind of Cosmic Foresight Normally Attributed to People with Beards This Long

We were harvested from their experiment
of evacuating a middle-sized town
(they cut off all electricity
gas, water -- all such utility).
Then released us cocaine addicts
into their middle-sized compound.

Just to see what we may do, but ...
we were made for one another, me and you.

Sunlight at a gas station, bleeding from an eye,
now God was well in this shit too.
Running His little tests, as you had then confessed,
wiping at my 'bruise' from your stiletto shoe.
Is this clean gauze, from the Exxon store? I asked.

Naw, found it near that canal, you cooed.
So I thrust my fist up your cunt, squeezed your ovaries till you went blue.

Soon after that, I'd turned feverish from some swinish flu.
You shot all the other cocaine zombies by yourself, those days as they approached.
Simultaneously, incredibly, nursing me back to health --
-- hence do I leer, past tense of pigs fly.

It was only fortunate for me, that helicopters arrived
just as I realized you'd been using me as food.

---

They say we are the naturally selected,
from a slew of cocaine infected.
Having succeeded, we're to be injected
into a brand new group.

Oxytocin is the word around the labs.
heard it while they were checking me up.
Scientists are typically silent,
but when they blab, oh their elaborations.

I'm told everyone else there Believes in Love like it's a God.
Absolutely everyone, except, soon of course ... us.
Will we be turned, by their shear numbers, their overwhelming compassion?
Or will we be shark-like automatons, moving constantly, eating --
-- that prescient couple who knows or cares nothing of sheep-speak?

My nine remaining fingers,
as well a missing portion of one of my calves
tingle at this possible future.
Whether in horror at memory of you or under some pavlovian arousal,
it is still too unclear.

passionate affection for another person. a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, or friend.

A challenge was issued to compose a piece about Love. This is one of the entries. This is the love tag for all (my) entries.
---

pointless, a scream!
so read us all euclid in the cave, please,
that we may together dream.

origins unfolded thus
oceans swum till some waterfall
oh, if sunlight didn't,

who scattered the brain?

given all the things we know,
if the sunlight hadn't shown such show,
who scattered the brain?