Jenny Drai, We Wish We Were You

A close look. Sort of.

Jenny Drai, you are a magnificent example
of the human race. It’s not raining but the grey.
You desire the wind in sheaths. Jenny Drai,
if you catch those streaks, your aim is true
and deeply accurate. A difference between the two
phenomenon, mostly in level of decorum, a topic
that you, Jenny Drai, do not seem to care much about
although it is true that while you pronounce
‘fuck’ to your father, you say only ‘frick’ to your mother.
We stand behind your behavior on every level, Jenny
Drai, and admire you secretly for your ability
to drink vehemently at the bar although we think
you had better put down the scotch before you kill
more of your indispensable brain cells. Clearly
you are some kind of genius. For example, you
quickly discerned while watching your favorite television
program La Casa such-and-such that Alfredo had saved
the day, although the show is in Spanish
and you do not speak Spanish. Jenny Drai,
you think abjuration will be easy but the scotch
is a clear amber liquid whispering your name.
Jenny Drai. Jenny Drai. Jenny Drai,
when you attended the poetry reading you were
like a stealthy but powerful shark slipping past the table
of wine without bothering to contribute a single
dollar to the plastic cup of donations.
Double-fisting is not a problem for you, Jenny Drai,
especially when you are mixing the wine with
Orangina and it floats down like water
as you quickly reach your final goal.
Jenny Drai, you are the champion!
The table has not been the same since although
you leave the reading halfway through to stumble
home below a drapery of moonlight and some
tender moths. You do not want to be here,
Jenny Drai. You want to be somewhere else.
The porch lights shine as you pass them
in the cool temperature of night. Jenny Drai,
you are going to wake up tomorrow and ask
yourself where you are. Who you ought to be.
Never fear. We are going to tell you.

Jenny Drai, Your Kung Fu Is Sooo Strong.

The Culprit

Jenny Drai, your bleached hair denotes
a nunnery of tenses. The trees in the yard
stay open, Jenny Drai, as you lunge
through the foliage on a complicated
system of wires. Jenny Drai, you are
obsessed with the repetition of your own
name. Who else will run out of the mind
to slip across the symmetries? It is you,
of course, if you are really wondering.
Jenny Drai, when you boil water, the clear
liquid scalds the pan with the imprint
of your fantastic and partially
unbelievable exploits, although you claim
to have some sort of photographic evidence.
Where you are storing this evidence
is a mystery to the rest of us as we
slurp the noodles you prepare, the broth
salty, like Jenny Drai is salty when she gets
a little drunk and pulls out her wit
like a short, quick sword and thrusts
repeatedly. Jenny. Drai. Jenny
Drai, you do not live in the past as a
memory. You put it on like clothing
when you need to learn from your
mistakes and raise your sword
for the final battle. Jenny Drai, I know you’re
hiding the expensive bottle of scotch
we chipped in on together under your bed.
I know that after a long day you quietly
sneak into the kitchen for two ice cubes
and a glass and that you then retreat
to your comfortable bedchamber where
you partake of the smoky, peaty
flavor alone. Jenny Drai, when I sense
that you are clandestinely
rolling the liquid over your
tongue, I feel my half of twenty-eight dollars
and ninety-nine cents flushing down the toilet,
but I don’t say anything to you because
I know beneath your mellow, calm,
reserved exterior, you are cut throat.
I would hate to lose you, Jenny Drai, to a petty
argument or even to a major one in which,
perhaps, we might share the same lover
at overlapping times unbeknownst
to each other and then suddenly the truth
would confront us, the tea house
would clear as we kicked over tables
and smashed balconies with our self-
righteous fury. And because we have chased
everyone else away, we will have to clean
up the strewn dumplings ourselves and all
the splinters wrested from the furniture.
There is a story in this.
There is evidence in this.

In Other News, It Turns Out I Am Cursed By The Stars. I Say, So Are Astrology Books.

Astrology: Something to do when there's nothing to do

Astrology is, like, the stupidest sport of all.  But it is a very popular sport as I can attest to.  Having worked at a major chain bookstore that I'm not allowed to name on my blog but it wasn't Barnes & Noble so you figure it out, I can personally vouch for the slipshod appearance of the astrology section on a daily basis (as opposed to, say, the poetry section), an appearance based on the high volume of disorderly customers making a mockery of careful bookseller attempts at alphabetization and presentation in their desire to learn more about what is hidden in their souls or also just to stalk other people by looking up their birthdays and reading lies about them.  Take me, for example, I am really not as crazy as the book makes me out.  But all the good things they say are true, of course.  All the same, I think I am going to keep my birthday a top secret affair from now on.  It usually is anyways, so adhering to this new policy should be fairly easy to maintain.

In other news, I think the smell of the now removed decomposing dead cat is going away, although sometimes I still get a sense of it, sort of like a phantom limb.  Also, my roommate who I previously had reason to believe was the so called Mad Cat Stabber of 54th Street is going out of town this weekend to visit "friends."  If a dead cat shows up while he is away, I suppose he will be exonerated for sure.  Or, conversely, maybe some dead cats will turn up where he is going.  I guess we'll never know.  I sort of miss the cat, though.  On its first day of death, at least, it was full of scruffy cuteness.

In news other than that, drinking is also a sport.  And it takes Visa.  Drinking while reading astrology books or making astrology charts is therefore a double sport.  Sort of like discus hurling and synchronized swimming all tied up in one.  And yes, synchronized swimmers have to be in really good shape to hold their breaths that long, yada yada yada.  But hopefully you see my meaning.  Go world.