in the future
humans finally uncover
the architecture of love
and suddenly, there was
an overwhelming feeling to
stop creating expressions of love
no more songs
or poems
or long heartfelt letters
the mystery and wonder was replaced
with a series of firing neurons
a set of behaviors manipulated by
hormones and brain chemicals
a game of causes and effects
in the future
love becomes completely self-aware
Do you worry that a choice you’ve made might have been more fulfilling if you had chosen the alternative? And does your regret eclipse your ability to be fulfilled by your initial decision?
his attitude seriously
makes you question:
has good gotten eviler
or evil gotten softer
maybe those terms
are indefinitely blurred
and no longer useful
for the games we watch
The world woke up this morning to find that all its can openers were missing. Subsequently, no one could figure out how to open those pesky aluminum cans. All attempts to use blow torches, axes, hacksaws and nails only resulted in higher-than-normal embarrassing food spillages and emergency room visits. Canned food was entirely abandoned as a method of food storage, as evident by the uncontrollable, toppling overflow of cans in church donation baskets. No one has eaten a maraschino cherry since.
the clown was right
perfection is, in fact,
an eroding keystone
a paralyzing refusal to muddy my skin
worshiping that sweet devil
with hands
still pristine and green
benjamin franklin
that son of a bitch
and his
unabating, industrious pitch
my face was surgically removed
by your scalpel eyes
self-deprecating, post-humorously
time is your crucifixion
no fix for the streaming blood
in my pupils and teeth
we’ll never build a house together
and I’ll never again cook for your
scalpel eyes
He had one sister and two parents
He lived with five roommates
He had no tribe
I hear them and I see their bodies
I listen intently to their passionate moans
and watch when the police intensify their yells
I know their children’s cries and the reasons why
They smoke cigarettes in the mornings
and their laundry is boring
They never say hi, hello, or goodbye
We are disgusted by their bodies
We are embarrassed of our own
No public showers or naked locker rooms
While I was growing up my mom cut my hair. She owned her own salon for many years before giving it up when I was twelve. In fact, other than one other person (who I’ll get to) and myself, my mom has been the only person that has cut my hair. I’ve never been to a barber/hairdresser and never paid for a haircut. In fact, the thought of going into a hair cutting store makes me anxious and sweaty.
There are benefits and downsides to having your mom cut your hair. The obvious was convenience–but even that was not always a given. Often times it was hard to schedule an after-hours appointment with her. She worked another job and often cut hair out of our house, so the last thing she wanted to do at night was cut someone else’s hair. Now working a full-time job, I can’t blame her.
The downside was that my hair was completely dictated by my mother’s fashion sensibility. From the time I was born until this year, I had a standard boys cut. Sometimes I would let it grow longer and shaggier and bigger, but for the most part it conformed to her standard template–which also happened to be the same for my brother. The one exception to this rule was when I tried to cut my own hair when I was 21, however, my attempt was piss-poor and it showed.
The only other time someone cut my hair, was when I was about seventeen. I knew, from growing up, that my dad has taken six months of hair dressing school while in his 20s–he dropped out because he was allergic to the chemicals. I was really overdue for a haircut and my mom was being difficult. In desperation, I asked my dad. I also knew that he was cutting his friend Steve’s hair regularly so it wasn’t unfounded that I would ask him. He gladly welcomed the ability to break the monopoly that my mom had on my head. He didn’t do a bad job even though his hands were more clumsy.
Because my hair was something that was always dictated for me, I never thought to try something different. I wasn’t part of a social group or identity growing up that promoted hair style as a form of expression. As a result, I never viewed my hair style as a choice in the way that most people do. When I cut my own hair the problem was not an issue of skill or scissor precision, it was that I didn’t know any other way to cut my hair other than that one that I was given. It’s the same reason why post-communist Russia is really crappy at capitalism.
Since I moved out to California, things have really changed. I’ve gotten better at doing my own hair and occasionally ask my roommate for help–I even shaved my head once! It’s taking me while to think outside the social constructions that is my hair style, but I have hope for the future.