have you ever been afraid to do the math. vive la joie, right. well, i did the math, and i found myself 90 dollars poorer. who decreed that makeup salespeople be so good at their jobs. who made acquisition so sweet. consumption, incorporation, en corps, en carnal desire. vive la joie.
my parents have been emailing with my advisor. courteous gestures punctuated by misplaced commas, the fold speaking to its shores. my father signed his last email, “benoit gauche.” none of us knew what that meant. my mother said it was a typo but we all knew otherwise. the only french i know: fuck. you. oui. how gauche.
therapeutic is an adjective that should be permanently restrained from exercise. endorphin mixes well with self righteousness, so let’s not lie to ourselves. the gesture of meditation can’t substitute meditation itself. metaphors only stretch so far before they dissipate into the new age. nothings.
i wonder what my advisor thinks about the fact that i have taken up yoga. this is something that has slipped the email exchange. how do you write, “i channel my inner guru, my best teacher” in proper english? broken tongues can’t fathom the razors of the fold. they have already been sliced into oblivion. hands to your heart, namaste.
i am waiting for a text from a boy. i wonder if such gestures of peace can disappear the tittering of my chest? of my clit. who knows. too bad my name isn’t eve: sedgewick, ensler. namaste, exhale the binary. inhale, move your spine into a cobra. peace