Sitting on the floor around my little trunk of words?
I was quiet...
To O.J. (Original Jessica)
And J.I.B. (Butters, Jonathan....our quiet NEW guy.)
And we tucked into a bottle of Monopolowa, with a thousand mixers.
We closed together tonight.
But my dirty little floor was host to the pillows FER SITTIN'
and three people lounging around a trunk full of old shit.
Tipping back fruity glasses of Spirit.
On stone coasters.
(yeah, I got to Entertain.)
Too much was about GOD.
I added my two bits.
More words spilled.
I was caught in the exchange between the two of Them.
Words I know by rote.
There were moments when I wanted to throw them out--
Blasphemies of my own Church,
too odd to hear all the words that make my skin crawl off my body
in my OWN home.
But I sat still, and grimaced, and listened.
"Well, what is it that YOU believe, Ginger?"
And I had to sit in the mush pot.
Eyes wide for whole seconds.
I remembered how Mr Smith made fun of me for using the word
I shook it off.
We are part of something, larger than I think we are capable
of wrapping our heads around--
we would have to BE on the outside, to do so.
But I see no source of HE or SHE--controlling the strings.
IT doesn't mesh with the patterns around me.
IT isn't about the human idea, of being, but the tiniest pieces of this
*knocks the trunk with her fist*
the bits that can only be broken down so far, as we understand it.....
We are all made of THIS stuff.
The same stuff.
I didn't convert, and wasn't converted.
We all had a good time, talking.
I spoke about my idea of LENSES....
How I need The Sisters to get by, I need their SHAPE.
They agreed, they need THEIR shapes too.
No one left angry.
No one actually agreed.
IT was good.