February 25, 2004

Part I — Evening

In the winter, feet are like moist, rotten fruit tingling to be touched, and at last night’s poetry reading I was enjoying myself giving foot massages until Trevor showed up, eating a pear. I blame him for everything that followed: the spiralling madness, the poetry, and the night spent in his bed with Zorianna cradled between us.

We started by invading the women’s bathroom, and taking Zorianna with us to show her the marvels inside. The bathroom was spacious, bright, and layered and we ran through it like mad children in a labyrinth of pleasure. We found cleaning products and bags of soap, pink and squishy. I placed a liquid bag under my shirt, arranged my hair, and breasted I walked out of the bathroom to order more wine.

And soon I was in love — everyone in the room was beautiful and I longed for them deeply.

“I suddenly love everyone,” I told Sherry leaning over.

“Shut up,” she said.

The poetry evening ended with Trevor, Zorianna, and I squeezing our knees together in an incredible, throbbing human chain — Zorianna had marvelous eyes. It was her eyes that convinced Jeff to lay flat across our three pairs of knees as we rolled up his shirt to see his nipples.

“Minimalist nipples,” Trevor said.

After more imploring, David and Heather lay on top of Jeff creating a pyramid of living flesh on our knees. Once they got off, Trevor and I started shouting poetry at each other, ripping words off the page and eating them.

“You guys should write a poem,” David Alexander said.

“Tonight!” I said.

“Zora, do you have any plans for tonight?” Trevor asked.

Twenty minutes later we were in Trevor’s kitchen, intoxicated with wine and each other, and letting fragments of thought spill onto the page. Words, smoke, intensity, ah, impossible combination. The three of us, dressed in pretentious black, smoked Trevor’s last cigarettes and produced linguistic marvels.

Monster of Kindness! Deliciously flat
You can’t say no to the beauty and the beast
Emulation/Simulation
I want some of that!

At three in the morning, tired and still intoxicated with each other we collapsed on the kitchen floor, Trevor’s belly beneath my head. We were contorted with laughter and shaking, and I could feel Trevor’s every pulse like a gentle, intimate tapping on the back on my head.

And we talked about beds and sleeping.

“If I were sandwiched between two waterbeds it would be like sleeping in a giant vagina,” I said. “We should manufacture vagina beds and ooze out of them each morning, reborn!”

“Like larva?” Zorianna laughed.

“We can corner the market!” I exclaimed.

We soon headed for the real bed, Zorianna warm and tight between us, and smelling like a girl. Trevor’s bed, so full of lovely and interesting people, made my heart quiver, and I was happy, amazed.

I fell asleep and woke up in the middle of the night cold and lonely.

Part II — Afternoon
The entire Fringe cast grabbed a hold of me at yesterday’s rehearsal, and immobilized me on a table as Katie West lifted my shirt.

“We’re going to cut him here,” she said, dangerously lifting a black marker above my stomach. Using the marker as a scalpel, she skilfully traced a line down my belly, and I loved her tragically.

“Ouch,” I said trying to bite her hands.