This thing here is like some underwear I’m showing you.
I’m hoping you will look with love upon my underwear and the mess of my underwear.
The cat in this room is looking at the construction equipment moving against the sky, maybe wondering when it can attack the construction equipment that’s building condos down the street. I’m encouraging the cat to begin its attack aggressively any time.
Here is the thing; it’s from a slightly longer thing.
Here it is:
I like it when you hit me and pretend like I’m hitting myself! Then you try to hold my hand and pretend that we have to escape nuclear fallout. “It’s happening” you say, “quick come with me, hurry!” You pull my arm into the basement. “Give me back my arm!” I say. In the basement you say, “Your arm will survive but not you. I’m watching out for your arm, but you’re on your own. I break up with you. I just want your arm.” Then you and my arm go out and move the heaviness we all collectively agreed not to move, revealing a blond. I don’t know what you did to that with my arm. And now we all collectively will have to agree what happened.
You bring my arm back to me with bruises and blood on it. All day I’ve been making do with one arm. Opening cans, washing the car, spraying pesticides on the nuclear war garden. That one arm cost me a lot, actually, cost my parents a lot. You put my arm lovingly beneath my pillow so I’ll find a surprise before bed. But it’s never surprising because it’s my own arm!
You’ve never asked me how I lost my arm. Do you want to know? Think of a five year-old girl. Think of the five year-old girl running toward someone with her arms extended. Think of that someone suddenly turning into a grizzly bear. One second, a loved one, the next, a grizzly. A grizzly in a time of famine. A grizzly that’s been tagged by the DNR as having attacked once and being likely to attack again. Think of that the next time you hit me and pretend I’m hitting myself. A grizzly in a time of famine!