Jae's Page

Down House / Bedroom - ATL - January 2016

I am looking at a photograph of the ocean. The sky is overcast and the driftwood is alien, in abundant form. 

The show won’t begin until well after midnight and it’s too hot and awkward to try and talk to people. I hide in the kitchen smoking cigarettes out the open window.  It was never really confirmed as to whether or not I could smoke inside, so I just close the door and lean on the fridge.

Everyone here speaks in a thick french accent. Their voices are deep. Even the women. Ca Va scraps at the bottom of the barrel, with dark red lips and aloof bedroom eyes. I am jealous. French women are the pinnacle of strength and sex.

In contrast, I feel stupid and useless. A piece of plastic that might break.

This boy enters the kitchen and I try to hide my cigarette. In my mind he lives in the apartment. He waves me off. He lights his own. Nobody lives in the apartment.

No worry. No worry.

I am ashamed by my body’s reaction to him. He is young and quiet. Yet loose. His eyelids are fat and he sneers, a whole blunt to himself. And I feel like I want to fuck him. Not here or now, just in general. Like, it’s a possibility. I blush.

Perhaps he’s curious about me too.

Why is this American so ... sweaty?

I love the plums. Asian plums. My sister bought them for me, yesterday.

They look like marbles and sit sour in my mouth. I am afraid I will eat them all and have none to look at. So I put them in the glass bowl that I know not to touch. 

I feed my dog less food, because I worry about buying more. It makes me a terrible friend. But, I am afraid to ask Him for more money and I think my dog and I can live on a little less food anyway.

I live off Him now.  

I try to make that okay. I could turn on the oven. But I don’t know how to cook.

I leave the plum pits around the house, in the couch, on the counter, in the bed. I know he hates them, but I always forget where I put them until he finds them.

he holds his hand out, bloody wet pit sits in its center. fruit stigmata.

I drink a lot of water, even though what I really want is that beer in the fridge.

It’s 11 A.M.

I do also drink the beer.