Tag Archives: heartbreak

I’ll Fight A Whedon For You (Ode To Maurissa Tancharoen)

The first time I saw you in pony tails,
that Horrible Doctor’s fan,
I knew by your groove when you sang that tune
that I wanted to be your man.

But then your Commentary
made me Asian Aware-y
and I knew what I’d have to do:

I’ll fight a Whedon for you:
Zak, Jed, or Joss,
Yeah, you know that it’s true.
There’s more a chance
I’ll see DOLLHOUSE renewed
But it’s true:
I’ll fight a Whedon for you.

Echoes remain from that song that you sang
as Kilo the cutest Doll.
I’m too poor for STARZ or for SPARTACUS,
but you know that I’ll give you my all.

No, I’ll never yield; I’ll back AGENTS OF S.H.I.E.L.D.
until Agent Coulson dies (I mean, again, like, for real this time)
You’re Pretty In Pink, I don’t care what they think
Then I saw you with another guy.

Even though you have lupus
I thought we could this
but then werewolves devoured my heart.

But I’ll fight a Whedon for you:
Zak, Jed, or Joss,
Yeah, you know that it’s true.
There’s more a chance
I’ll see DOLLHOUSE renewed
But it’s true:
I’ll fight a Whedon for you.

Did you know that our birthdays
are one day apart (except
plus or minus ten years)?
And sure, Jed is hot —
what’s he got that I’m not?
(I mean, other than a career)

So Mo, won’t you go
with me, baby, you know
we’d be cool (ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)

But I’ll fight a Whedon for you:
Zak, Jed, or Joss,
Yeah, you know that it’s true.
But I’ll still be here
after S.H.I.E.L.D. Season 2
’cause it’s true:
I’ll fight a Whedon for you.

Atlantic Avenue

Shattered shards of sunlight
off the greyish noontime clouds;
I am not tied down to the day.

Moisture still penetrates the air,
the sky is right, and I lace up my shoes,
music in my hand; a one-strap
backpack with cloth patches of bands
I haven’t listened to for years
but I’m stepping out,
so feet, don’t fail me now.

The inches of green that flutter and wave
goodbye: I’m led somewhere alive.
It buzzes and honks,
creates and destroys,
pollutes me with noise
but it’s alive.

My headphones drown
out the passing sounds,
suggesting the soundtrack
to the final scene of
another pretentious art house
film we should have never written.

Still, content, I march
towards the harbor
towards the sunset
of cliches, of every beautiful metaphor
that she’s already fallen for, but still
I’m stepping out:

Feet, don’t fail me now.

She offers me a penny for my thoughts.
“This is it,” I say, as I smile, laugh,
and make a wish.

House of Blues

Standing on West Sunset, across from it, regarding it

like an old rival. That buildings have power

is no supposition. I think of
Frau Berliner Mauer, in love with the Berlin Wall. What

is the opposite of objektophilie? How

to explain resentment for structures?

Breakneck Lake (excerpt)

The day of the Breakneck Lake fire I was in the middle of doing my laundry. Jeff had left the night before, and all week I’d saved up my dirty clothes, knowing I’d need something to keep me busy, keep my hands from hanging limply at my side while my thoughts followed him across the country. He was headed west, and I stood at a change machine jamming dollar bills into the slit before the green light was completely illuminated.

“Goddammit,” I said. The woman next to me had a kid with her and shot me a glance to communicate her anger at my use of such language. “Fucking machine,” I said.

I returned the woman’s stare then, hoping for a confrontation, a light for my fuse. My cork had slowly been wriggling out of place in the months since Jeff announced he was leaving.

“I gotta finish school,” he’d said. His lips were greasy from lo mein leftovers, and I had handed him a napkin, waiting for an invitation to join him in San Fransisco. Even after he’d finished eating the rest of the Chinese food, my appetite having suddenly waned, after the little paper boxes had been stuffed into the overflowing trash can and he’d finished the peanut m&ms in the glass bowl I kept on the coffee table for a quick breakfast on the way out the door, the invitation did not come. It was then, in the Laundromatic several blocks from our apartment, that I knew it would never come. I was not asked to join, nor would I be asked to follow.

The woman retreated to the other corner of the laundromat while her daughter checked all of the coin machines for orphaned quarters.

Another First Kiss

I imagine the first kiss of mankind to be a savage and terrible thing. Some Neanderthal, or other primitive human ancestor — let’s call him Garg — finds himself overcome with a strange new elation for which he has no name. Garg knows not what it means, nor how to express it, but the feeling is akin to desire, to a kind of hunger. Still, not quite the same. Nor is it the urge he has felt for reproduction, a raw, sometimes violent, albeit necessary desire that serves the betterment of the tribe.

No, this was something different, somewhere between the two. He identifies the source of the emotion: Nrgn, the daughter of the tribal chief. She crouches there naked in the shadows of the cave, and the light from the fire dances like a bug across her skin, highlighting her…desirables, then hiding them away in the darkness once again.

Garg lunges towards her, compelled by this new sensation which he cannot articulate. And so his instincts drive him back to his basest desire: food. He opens his mouth, saliva forming webs between his jaws, and prepares to clamp down on his prey. But at the last moment, he realizes: “Nrgn not prey. Nrgn nice.” Unable to halt his momentum, he slows instead his bite. Nrgn turns in the director of her assailant and lets out a cry that is quickly silenced by Garg’s mouth, softly falling on her own. The tingly sensations of their lubricated lips rubbing nerve endings together excites Garg, but also surprises and consequently frightens the beautiful young Nrgn, who takes Garg’s personal expression of sentiment towards as an unwarranted attack, and drives her sharp, bony knee into his groin and biting back at her attacker’s mouth.

This two-pronged agony sent Garg writhing to the ground, thrashing his flesh against the rocky dirtfloor cave in hopes of some deflecting or refocusing this new pain. It was physical, yes, but Garg had been hurt in battle many times before. So had his pride been wounded as well. But those feelings were but kindling on the fire of affliction that seared his being.

And so with mankind’s first kiss came its first case of heartbreak as well.