Electra is as Electra does

Posted: August 19, 2010 in Uncategorized
Tags: ,

Lower Lip

Image by nathansnostalgia via Flickr


She generally referred to him as “your father” as if by doing so, she minimized the fact that SHE, not me, had fucked him, the fact that SHE, not me, had put holes in the condoms in order TO get pregnant, even though he had told her that he didn’t want any more little bastards around, the fact that she had chosen three times to abort and five times to let live, the fact that SHE had kept him around and that I had absolutely, and with the greatest finality, no say in what happened between them. 

When that “your-father” rolled out of her tongue and over the bottom lip with an aneurism sitting in the middle, much purplishier than the lips, she was ready to launch an attack on my similarities with my pater nusquam. I sat like him. Presumably buttocks on a chair have a very particular way of happening, depending on the person. My childish buttocks therefore touched the chairs as his manly buttocks did.  Undeniable. So I would stare at the small purple vein. I wondered how come she didn’t bite it in anger when she said “the-way-you-sit-down” and pressed her lips against her teeth. I was hoping against hope that one day she would bite it and I would then see the trickle of blood before she realized she was bleeding and maybe it would stain her blouse and brassiere, – which were always clean and soft and smelled like her even when they were in her chest of drawers – that when she realized that she was drooling blood, she would either have lost so much blood that she would have to go see a doctor, or that she would figure she could take care of it in her bathroom: either way I would win because I would sit myself down with complete abandonment and more than anything, in silence. Right in his wicker rocker and hold his tea gourd in my hand and feel that I could one day smoke cigarettes like him (which I did, Hollywoods, no filter)  and have a penis like he did (which I didn’t, no regrets). 


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