Not So Much a Lover of Light

It became eventually impossible to distinguish his Splendor from his Menace, and I couldn't take it for another second.  Pure and simple, I had to know the score.  He was beautiful to behold, and terrifying to think of at night.  I wanted to follow him everywhere he went, and yet I was afraid he would eat me alive and serve me to his future followers with Brunellos.

What if - no, I hate to even ask.  I can't.  But yes, I have to.  What if he is right now, as we speak, feeding me the remains of the former me?  The color of red wine is from the skins, I tell myself, as I sip but try not to swallow.  I cannot wait to get home.

And so but at last, finally, just to be sure, to get to the very, absolute, no doubt "Bottom of Things" . . . I googled it.

First, with “Splendor” in quotation marks:

Amazing, Miraculous, Astonishing.  Wunderbar.  Beautiful.  Yes, no doubt.  But look now, for a second, at the state of that trailer: the flimsy door, the covered window, her legs – My God, the legs on this Wonder Woman.  Horrific, hot dog water,  elephant-dick legs.

Something terrible lurking there, to be sure, but then I can't stop looking at the picture.  I have to look.  Somehow it is beautiful.  Somehow, I want to be the one making that laugh hop out from behind her open mouth.  She pitches her body forward delicately, angling her head to dial up affection and understanding.  I imagine it is me holding the door of the trailer, it is me looking at my watch - somewhere to be, and a super hero to entertain.

And so what if I google again with “Menace” in the field?  A consolation, perhaps?  The beauty alone?  I googled it.

 

 

Sweet Jesus, I’m going to be fed to Cerberus with Kibbles & Bits while this man drinks Metamucil with the devil and weaves a belt out of my skin.  Fuzzy menace, relaxed-fit jeans, terrorizing tread of new trainers on the trail.  Get out, get out, get out.  Run like hell.

You know what to do.  Look it up.  Look it way up.

~contributer