Original contemporary art prints.

the anonymous

the anonymous
October 21, 2005 facter

– and im thinking of her, my anonymous lipstick lover – and who she may be. im thinking to myself – is she cute is she hot is she white is she azn cuteness is she red hairded flame or blonde hairded vixon. is she contacted is she sightless is she happy or sad or wistful or wanton or just eager to please of kind.

so im sneaking into the realm. im walking in, and this friend – shes leading me. shes saying

— you have to see this
— see what i say
— its hilarious, really
— okay. i say. where is it
— in the loos. on the wall. on the rise above and next to the other bits.
— ive never been in there before. what if someone sees us?

is she weird is she white, is she coloured through the night and is she shaved or landingstripped. does she have the kind of tits that i can fit inside my mouth, those ones so simple and delicate or the ones I cant fit my hand around – that i hold and look at and wonder and think

– does she work in law enforcement. is she an architect. i dreamt, once, that i was an architect, traversing the streets – wondering if i was but a soldier of lines, angles and furled paper held down by paperweights. im wondering what she does for work. wonder if maybe shes a nanny. or if shes a bird trainer. or a stripper. or a whore. if shes a whore, i could apy her – but it seems she wants me anyways, so it is unlikely that there will be a monetarty transaction. i wouldnt pay anyways.

— no one will see us
— okay, well. lets go. i dont believe you though
— no its there – really – i saw it. some other people saw it.
— you have to be fukn shitting me

i got off the train this morning. there were all these kids in front of me. i sat there, thinking about a cattle prod. i knew it would help. it really, really fucking would. and i think maybe shes kinky in that kinky way. she writes anonymously to gain the attention of someone whom is the only logical target – she likes secret pain. maybe some bite marks around her collar bone. maybe a suction mark, right, just right there on the inside of her thigh. i can do that. i can scratch. i cant bite and tear and kneel in front of her as she has her legs splayed on t e edge of the bed and I can dance my dance and grin my grin and wear her on my mouth and

– and maybe shes a ballerina. maybe she dances. maybe she glides through the night like a swan on water – legs beneath, and all the lustre of grace on top. maybe, she is like a saint – giving. only giving. she could be the greatest woman i will ever know – she could be The One

so im walking in there, and my friend shes pulling on my hand. we get there. the lights are the same as in the guys. it looks..cleaner. there are no urinals. no little yellow cakes. i saw a guy eat one of those cakes before, as a bet. piss splayed and fetid. gross. unworthy – and we get there.

the door to the little cubicle is closed.

— someones in there
— oh right. well, come on, elts go

— HEY CAN YOU COME OUT? I NEED TO SHOW HIM SOMETHING?

theres some scraping. another one is coming out, laughing at me. laughing – a guy in sacrosanct space. this guy going dont mind me, dont mind me – i didnt see you pissing. i didnt see you split the whisker. i didnt see you cleave the beav or open the faultline or suchnsuch-n

and maybe shes just normal. maybe shes did it as a joke. maybe it was designed to make me feel stupid. maybe its just a big joke – a laugh at my expense, a way of making me feel important when im not – kind of like when i was a boy, and mum sent me a valentines card coz i didnt get any from any of the girls. to make me feel wanted, needed, alive, and to turn it around stab me in the back fuck me over cheat on me fuck my friend fuck the guy she works with lie to me kiss someone else despoil our life destroy our future kill our joy break our fortunes and defile our love.

— see? there it is.

and I look at it. i look at the words surrounded by words. i see – its been done in lipstick. if i get close enough, there would be aprts of her within it. dna. rna. portions of soul and portions of lustre, oh lustre and lasivious want. the entire limerance of presence.

i put my finger to it. slowly – i take from my pocket the phone. i hold it up. i snap. i fit. i record the moment. my friend is waiting for me outside, i am alone in here – the paperboard walls of the pisshit cubicle suround me and engulf me – and i smile.

i smile. i open the door –

and i cant stop thinking, about her. my anonymous, all the things she could be, lipstick lover…