On horny virgins of poems old

Reading Alexander Pope G got me for Christmas, I am thinking, I kind of miss Love.. Not love love, which I feel genuinely and profoundly for my husband, or even the stupid crush I feel for him that makes me stare at the phone until he calls or write him letters until he comes from work, just to let him know it's snowing. Got that. I mean the poetic Love of being seventeen on a summer night, when everything was life and death and we were so stupid and horny if the guy didn't call, it was a reason for a suicide with a shitty poem on top.. I pined over distant lore and fiction (reality never felt particularly impressive), rhymed epic odes to every particular fibre of my throbbing heart… God Gods, if anyone ever read that… That was suuuuuch a waste of ink. The ladies in Pope’s poems, they all feel such terrific ache, such spans of passion for such distant glimmers… Being a virgin in lust. There really is no thing like it. No wonder it took me so long to actually get laid. I was a sucker for expectation and yearning. Sure, I’ve replaced that with actual sport and kissing instead of writing camp poems, but innocence, one lost, can really never be regained (unless you get into an accident, bump your head and damage your brain.)..

More thinking...

I must seem really boring to some people… A real mainstream hardcore down and dirty straight-edger. Okay, I read and I write and I watch good movies and I occasionally make some, but I never go wild on a night out, I hang out a lot, but it’s with my besties over coffee, I don’t really follow the rules, but I don’t really break them, either: I don’t ingest booze or dope, I just gorge on a lot of chocolate; I have nasty sex all the time, but it’s with just one guy, I don’t recycle, though I never park on the handicapped space either. I am pro vaccine, pro choice, pro prostitution and pro art; couldn’t give less of a flying fuck about global environment, because we’re gonna blow ourselves up any day now anyways, and in a hiccup of an era the earth will forget about us, just like it forgot about everyone else.. But I pick up after my dog and don’t litter. I really, really suck at being a rebel. I know it’s what an artist should be, but I happen to really, really like the world we live in.