tonite was a wonderful nite. i was driving alone through mazes, bridges over expressways and under onramps and through the dark trees by the canals and train tracks on the north edge of the palos forest preserve. i was driving my mom's minivan, 'coz my car is on the rag, and even though it's a really dorky car, i like it. i dotingly call it "the futuristic van of the future," because it has tons of buttons and features and only about half of them actually work. to me, this perfectly represents modern life. anyway though, i was driving under the street lamps and it felt like i was travelling at the speed of light. or the speed of "lite," because in all actuality i was obeying the speed limit precisely. i felt like diet cola, in fact -- listening to heartfelt rubbish on the radio (XRT isn't what it used to be), watching my digital spedometer and thinking about the girl who called me henry kissinger. i was bubbling with aspartame. [side note: digital spedometers are wonderful. they're like numbers being added randomly on a calculator & remind you in the most glorious way that your actual speed is best measured with your blood and your body, not the needle or the radar gun or the driver's ed man's voice in the back of your head.] but this girl i was thinking about -- i thought you might like to hear about her. many years ago, i was not less shy or awkward than i am now. i might even have been more so. and there was a girl who was perhaps in love with me, who wrote me a beautiful poem about henry kissinger. we sat next to each other in english class -- sometimes we would get together and sit on the floor in the back of the room and philosophize, write snide messages on the back of our hands, and our shoulders would sometimes touch, or our knees would bump and i remember feeling very excited, but not having the slightest idea what to do except shiver and keep philosophizing and writing things all up and down my arms. i might have been in love with her as well, but i didn't expect she'd want to hear about it. she seemed very interested in philosophy and english class and that all seemed to be enough. i was happy, and so -- i thought -- was she. the poem was strange. it was about henry kissinger, and the narrator of the poem was one of kissinger's secretaries, who would leave him special notes rolled up and tied with long blades of grass. she would write him love letters and leave poems for him to find in the filing cabinets. always mr. kissinger was running about clutching paperworks, letter openers, addendums, plane tickets. running off to israel and bolivia. dealing with foreign affairs. of course, the secretary was really this girl, and henry kissinger was me. it's strange to think of. all my life i've been the sort of person that was too mesmerized by the candles and incense, the flowing robes of priests, the clicking of the organ keys -- i never had much time for god and jesus and the holy ghost up there in heaven (actually i never went to church at all, i'm making that up but you understand what i mean). i'm really happiest when i'm alone with your love letters, you see -- i love the torn spiral edge of the paper and your handwriting on the blue and pink lines. i love how the letters smell as they get old in my drawer. i think, too, that i would love being alone with your body and your voice... the torn edges of your syllables, the blue and pink veins running beneath the skin of your arms and your neck. it's when i'm actually around you -- around any people at all -- and you or those people are not allowing me to be alone... i'm too hungry for your like and your love. it's like seeing a naked candy bar and shrinking away with fright because all my life, all i've ever known is the sweet, lingering taste of chocolate left clinging to someone's leftover wrapper. (sorry for the rambling) love, baker,baker __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Great stuff seeking new owners in Yahoo! Auctions! http://auctions.yahoo.com +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+