I have noticed a trend, most popular blogs have pictures in just about every post. They have ads, they have all of this blog margin-bling, they 'pimp' other blogs; meanwhile, here at Normal To Eat PB, all you will find are words and a couple of lists with more words.
I want to give; I want to nourish, in fact. So, I wonder, are my words enough? Are my words too much? Are they like Melba toast without topping or accompanying drink or do they fatten like baby back ribs? Do they leave you wanting more like potato chips or do you walk away feeling gorged on cookies? Are they like vitamins? Are they tasteless, bland, grey? Do you take them in because they are here for the taking or because there is something you get from them, some flavor, some satisfaction; a trigger for thoughts, memories, loves?
Perhaps, in them, you read little snippets of the mundane, and it makes you feel comfortable. Or perhaps, here, you read little tatters of pain, and it makes you feel superior - happier. Perhaps, these words don't matter and don't apply to the general population - no one is interested really, and in fact, it is not the words that draw you here, but me. Because I've been honest, and maybe my truth is of no consequence to you, but the transparency of my vibrant and defiant spirit is.
I could make you comfortable; break up all these letters with visual interest - allowing you to catch your breath for a moment. But I like to bat you around like a cat with a mouse and introduce you to my horrors and loves; introduce you to my nightmares and lovers; introduce you to my strengths and weaknesses; introduce you to my dark and light. I like to watch you sweat and twitch and stumble - I'm nervous too and I don’t want to feel alone. I like to think that somewhere and in some way, I am seeping in, although I don't know what impact I may have.
I could show you pirouettes and pliates and breasts and legs; I could take you by the hand and treat you like my poor little baby:
Poor little baby
Poor little baby with her eyes sewn shut, I’d hold you if I could
and show you the seven wonders of the world and show you the wonders of the world.
I could take you and use you up poor little baby with your eyes sewn shut.
Honey, sugar, sweetheart listen I can teach you much. I can show you how to touch and feel
with me you’d understand and then you would understand.
I could take you and hold you down poor little baby with your heart worn out.
lovely, innocent, fleshy creature I can fill you with joy. I can make you smile again because I am the one, the only one, I am the one I am.
I could take you and smack you around poor little baby that luckily I found.
I’ll hold your hand and kiss your lips. I can make you want more, I know what you like, see I know more than you think. You can’t hurt me I’m invincible
I could take you and screw your mind poor little baby with your hands tied tight.
I hate/love you more than you know
because in my mind I know you know
and I’ve seen the tears that you’ve cried
Poor little baby shut your eyes.
I could make you trust me even as I show you, with all of this prose and poetry, maddening images of self-loathing disgust. I could bring you down here, with me. and we could ride out these sentences into oblivion, because the only queendom I will ever have is that of written - and that I've written - and I rule with 'ENTER' and 'DEL'. I knight with 'ALT' and 'CTRL', and you, for this short time, for these few minutes a day, are my subjects and I am yours.
No, there are no pretty pictures here, are you disappointed?
Tomorrow, Eat Me, Drink Me. . .
