xTx

zOMG

I came back to this buffering sky.  The last sky I was under was so blue and forever and it had the most incredible clouds.  This change figures; after you are in a place with such an imaginary sky, real life returns hard.  You put your regular shoes on and walk that same road you left the week before.  You trudge.  This buffering sky is a blank white and it's hot-wet and hangs.  Any definition is absent. There was rain this morning.  It's a welcome back fuck you bitch, here you go again, remember this?  And I say, yes I do, and my stomach hurts because there is nowhere for me to go.

I watched a lot of movies yesterday because I was sick and not feeling good and there was that buffering sky pressing down on me so movies seemed like a good answer.

I can't believe it took me this long to watch Mulholland Drive since I am such a big fan of David Lynch.  I loved it.  I really need to watch it again. I love his darkness. I love how he mixes ugly and beautiful. There is a truth to it.  It's exactly how I think my insides look.

I'm tearing myself apart.  Yesterday I peeled off all my toenails.  I did it in a way that hurt really bad.  I couldn't see what I was doing, I just did and now two of my toes are literally almost without nail.  It hurt when I was doing it and they hurt right now. I don't know how I will wear shoes today.  For the last week, I've been picking at hangnails.  My fingernails all broke off last week for no reason so now my bloody hangnails framing them make my hands look disgusting.  I've been paying special attention to the skin on my thumbs.  I've been ripping the skin from them; not just by the nail part, but just all over them.  I've peeled off layers.  They look like small fish have been chewing on them.  I can't stop peeling myself.

I'm also doing that thing where I can't stop masturbating.  The kind where it starts 'sexual' but then it goes past that into just an act that is trying to get rid of something.  I've finished and then I've wanted/needed to immediately start over and do it again even though it's too hard to do it again because I just came.  But I've done it anyway, to where it's useless and sore.  It's like an OCD hand-washing. There is a scene in Mulholland Drive where Naomi Watts is violently crying on a couch.  At first, you can only see her face and her whole body is shaking but right away I knew she was also masturbating.  I knew this.  And then eventually the camera pans down and shows her rubbing herself furiously while she is crying her eyes out and I started to cry because I know.

Because I know this right now.

CP

xTx has been published widely, both online and in print.

xTx

Today I Am A Summer Field *

Today I am a summer field.  Put yourself inside me.  Watch what I do when the wind blows.  Thread through the stems that stream me.  Feel my skin from the sun.  Put your face against mine.  Let them melt-stick together.  Let them become one giant face.  A four-eyed, two-mouthed, mass of wrong.  An outside reflecting my in but at least that means we’re forever together.

In the summer field of me we can entwine; our freak-face head atop our bodies now forced to know one another as their own.  The warm dirt dusting our forms in blessing.

The field spreads wide, singing of childhood.  That’s why it is me.  That’s why I want you there.  You are the hand dropped down for me to hold.  To hold on to.

Oh, to be lifted apart from this field!

When we are together in the summer field, you will be bigger than me.  It’s your duty.  It’s my prayer. For once, a blockade comes for me.  Your mass of stone surrounding me as arms of a protective father might. 

Should.

There are those that don’t.  There are father’s arms that carry you through the corn.  So much corn that for a while you think the flapping of their leaves against your feet and face is a mass of green birds angry with your intrusion. When the corn finally ends and the birds abate there is the peace of a summer field.  It’s grasses as high as the corn.  Its still settles on you like baby’s breath. 

The father’s arms set you down because the father’s mouth tells you about the secrets you will find in this field.  Together.  You don’t know anything yet so you ask him where they are and he says, “We need to walk until we can’t see the corn anymore.  That’s where we will find them.”  

It’s a short walk, but you find the secrets.  A treasure trove.  And when you are carried back through the corn the birds’ wings are nothing at all and your father is humming a melody you will never be able to forget.

But in this summer field I have you.  And your arms have only carried me out of the corn.  And your mouth has never told promises of finding secrets. And when they command, “Show me on the doll where he touched you,” you will take that doll, you will touch that doll everywhere he did not.  With that action, forecasting a new weather. 

You will hand me the doll; a gift.  The chaste and unspoiled doll.  We will bury it in me. The soil will accept it and my field will sing a different childhood song.  A song of a new summer field, one that does not shelter what happens beneath its tall grasses, one that does not have mixed liquids soaked into its soil, one that releases instead of takes.  And one day, because of you, the father’s melody will finally be forgotten; in its place, this new song.

CP

xTx has been published widely, both online and in print.

* Today I Am A Summer Field is a 2014 Editor's Favorite

xTx

All Sales Final

I sat here. I am sitting here and I think: what does he want?

#1.  I know it’s not me, so that can be let go of.
#2.  I know it’s not me, so I can take the knives out.
#3.  I know it’s not me, so I can continue giving up.

If I was her maybe, or maybe if I cleaned up my act; wore dresses, crossed my legs, sat at a booth instead of the bar.

Made the boys laugh less.

Spoke when speakin to.

Danced when asked not alone on an empty floor, eyes closed.

Waited. Watched. Withering.

Nobody likes a circus in a person.  Nobody wants the me that I am.  This is a given.  I need a cage with a sign that tells everyone exactly what they are getting.

A written guarantee.  No surprises.  All sales final.

Therefore, my definitive answer to this question is; I only know what he doesn’t want.

And I know exactly where he can get it.

CP

xTx lives in California. Her work has been published in elimae, PANK, SmokeLong, Dogzplot and many other fine places.

xTx

There Is No Plural For Sorry

Which is funny because I’ve received three of them in one week so there MUST be a plural form of sorry but I get a red underline no matter how I type it.

All of the sorry(s) I get are from men. Some don’t say the word, some just laugh and stammer. Some say the word and hug over the place they just hurt. Others simply imply by leaping on my chest and burying their face into my breasts.

Three sorries do not a mountain make, but maybe they do because they are not crumpled balls of paper, they are meaningful for whatever prompted, for whatever came before. You cannot tell me three car crashes are not a lot or three child molestations is an insignificant number.

I will not answer your
I LOVE YOU
text message

Fuck that shit

How do I collect people
that feel the need to shit on me?

Just lucky, I guess

CP

xTx lives in California. Her work has been published in elimae, PANK, Smokelong, Dogzplot and many other fine places.

xTx

—1957 publicity photo for Jailhouse Rock

The King & I

I asked my mom to write a paragraph about when she met Elvis. Here it is:

1957—Elvis was gonna appear at the (San Francisco) Civic Center Auditorium (tickets $2.75 and $3.75) the day before myself and 2 girlfriends went to the Mark Hopkins Hotel and asked for Colonel Parker's room Went up to the room and talked to Tom Disken (El's road manager). He told us to meet Col Parker at the side of the stage before the show. We did and were escorted backstage where there was a press conference (I'd say about 12 of us fan club girls and maybe 12 newspaper people.) Elvis came in and sat on a table in front of us where we could all ask him questions. Then when that was finished we could go get autographs and ask for the obligatory kiss. He was 23 and really adorable back then, before the Vegas Elvis took over. He'd be 75 today. The end!

Then I asked, “How were you feeling during it and when you got the kiss specifically?” And she said:

I LOVED him. How do you think I felt?! I was like a tween and he was like a David Pattison (?) or the Jonas Bros. (?) Just upset I only had one flashbulb (yes, I know I'm old) and could only take one picture.

Then I asked how old she was when this happened and she said:

1957 would've made me 14. Now you're beginning to dig too deep. Are you thinking you’re his illegitimate love child or something?

CP

xTx loves her mom. More of what she loves is here.

xTx

In the City Where Bukowski Died

There is this diner just south of here that serves this tower of pancakes covered with fresh fruit and shit; whipped cream. Same diner has home made biscuits n gravy.

Chorizo.

Home fries.

Chicken fried steak.

Line out the door. Fisherman. Dock workers. Men with real faces. Jackets come off and get hung on a rack that gets fat with them. Waitresses are welcoming and proud like they own the shit. I hate them for this. I wanna be a proud waitress. I wanna smile and serve hungry men with hard hands. I wanna bring them hot plates and ask them if they need anything else. My heartbeat will still while waiting for the answer I want to hear. Eventually, I’ll hear it. It will never be enough, even with a 20% tip.

Let’s go out back, boys, got some fresh hot muffins for ya.

Keep ‘em comin’. Keep ‘em fuckin’ comin’.

CP

xTx has her stuff all over the web, along with collaborations and an e-book you need tongs to handle. Read all about her and her work here.

xTx

COUNTING THE TIMES

I've done some rough math
and figured out
that since I first started masturbating
I've probably done it about
3,640 times in my life.
I don't know if this is good or bad.

If Hell is still a place for masturbators,
then I guess there will be a room
with my name on it.
I hope they have down comforters.
But probably not, on accounta
the eternal damnation.

WHY DID GOD
GIVE US CLITORISES
IF HE DIDN'T WANT US
TO PLAY WITH THEM?!?!!

CP

xTx is a master of many things. Count on it. See more of what she's about here.

xTx

Underwear

I have underwear
I want to show you.
They're only good
when I bend down
and lean forward a little
to go through the back
part of the filing cabinet.

They're only strings in the back
and they are black.

The front—a lonely triangle.

CP

xTx is multifaceted. Some facets reflect light, others are dark. More from her is here.

xTx

I'll Be Seeing You

We all would watch a man on a ledge. I know I would. We all would watch a drunk lady stripping herself naked in a fountain. I know I would.

When I was a kid, I saw two naked people fucking on a riverbank. I was floating down the river on an innertube and I came around a bend and they were there, fucking. We had the ‘porn view’. (crotches/insertion) I say ‘we’ because whoops! My dad, and my brothers were floating down the river with me.

I looked at my dad and he put his finger over his mouth. We all watched them while the river moved us past on its quiet.

If you are going to fuck on a riverbank, then just know, people might watch.

CP

xTx, sometimes 16 feet tall, also has a wide following.

xTx

Tuesday Afternoon

The house is so hot. Los Angeles has been baking in the nineties the last two days. I walk around relishing breezes from open doors, windows.

I have no pants on.

My tongue peels skin off the roof of my mouth. I'm not sure what I did there. I don't remember eating hot pizza.

I am still trying to put a respectable dent into the jug of Gallo wine. If I had a camera, I'd take a picture of it and insert it at this point.

Today I still have a job, but my paycheck has been reduced by 10%. I should be happy about this I guess...having a job. Right?

Tomorrow I go to a cancer ward full of children. I will hand them toys and hopefully they will smile. I keep wondering what I should wear for this; blue, I think.

CP

xTx will sizzle away most of the rest of her week here.

xTx

In My Favor

I hate when all the girls like you
I hate it all caps
exclamation point

There is a circle they make
and they dance naked around you
pointing to their crotches
then at you
then at their crotches
I can’t see your face
but I imagine you are smiling
You can’t see me
because I’m way in the back
always in the back
too shy to dance naked
too proper to crotch point

My false mouth.

I would like to run and push them
all down
and grab you
and erase your brain
and fill it with only me
Nobody else should want you
or see your beauty
because when you know that
there will be no chance
for me

If your only choice
is one…
is me…
I have a 100% chance
of success

CP

xTx is finally on top. She is widely published and blogs here.

xTx

Drunk (Enough To Enjoy) Public Dancing

I judge the numbness in my skull like I’m thumping a melon. Thump. Thump. Thump. Hmmm. I think I’m there. I think I’ve been there. I think the last four glasses of wine were not necessary.

Thorough.

The sun has long broken or maybe it’s the moon, or what happens in between and every face is strange which makes it easier. Nobody to know you. Nothing you need to care about.

I take off my shoes.

And at first, it’s like a swimming pool with me naked doing laps and the building faces with windows many like a crowd of eyes people staring but the grace I’m displaying with every liquid turn invokes beauty and they take the elevator down to the first floor and one by one remove their clothes and swim beside me. I am out of breath but still continue.

My chest a pufferfish. My scalp a pregnant sponge.

Then we all move together, as one, naked, a complete body, with hands and arms, faces, chins and shins. The music unites us and my skull with its numb hum…lights blurring past in neon stripes; a car chase.

I spin, eyes closed, smiling. My dad takes my hands and spins me faster. I can’t hear anything he says, but I know it’s stupid and so I laugh. Free.

CP

xTx has a mundane office job. She won't say where. But in real life, she writes. Her frequently controversial work has been published in many of the edgier venues on the web. Her fans follow her from place to place, excited by writing that is in heat. If you get a chance to hear her read, you will be astonished that her sweet, feminine voice can say such things. She also blogs, often with equally outrageous zest, here.

xTx

It's Up to You...

What do you guys want? Do you want to do something? Let me know. I’m up for anything. Mostly. I like hiking, but as long as it’s not too strenuous or hot.

I like to wash a cool car in a driveway but there must be good music playing and the sun must be out and there has to be frosty Newcastles in a cooler nearby, and at some point you’ll have to squirt me with the hose and I will scream and try to hit you with my soapy sponge.

I don’t think I can rollerblade. I think arm wrestling is boring. I don’t like to go shopping. I like to walk fast at the beach. Maybe we could just sit side by side and read. I’ll take a second from the page to watch you shift position and then I’ll smile because, look!, we are reading side by side! Maybe we will have lunch afterwards. There is a sandwich I keep dreaming about. I mean, not while asleep…while awake. It’s a grilled turkey and cheese with an Ortega chili on sourdough. It’s pretty incredible. I think about it at least 4 times a week.

Last night I dreamed about lesbians. I dreamed that Betty White was a lesbian and nobody could say anything.

So, any of this sound good to you? Do you notice how I didn’t suggest anything sexual? Are you proud of me? Maybe we could go to your place and watch movies. I’ve been craving some Abbott & Costello. If you can get hold of a box set or something, I’d come over. I’d bring snacks and maybe you’d have bottled water or something. Maybe you’d have a blanket and maybe you’d watch me while I was laughing. Maybe, then, you’d think I was the best thing ever.

CP

xTx is widely published and has a large under- and above ground following. She also blogs at no time to say it, where she provocatively displays more of her angst, vitality, and outrageous behavior. Consider yourself forewarned.

xTx

Without Words This Is

It comes so easy for some…and others, not so much…

Triple play, koo koo ka choo…stop the screaming. Mottled doves and sand crunched in toes. Fat ladies in swimsuits with beards so dark you ask yourself, “Self…is that really a beard?” and you swab sunscreen over your exposed parts and look at your flesh and smooth it on. You take out someone else’s book and read it while others lob about in the ocean. You normally would peek at strangers but this book has taken you over and you don’t care who’s screaming and if that guy made that kite and how nice her ass looks in that lime green tankini. You don’t care. You are involved….as they say. You could care less.

It’s Saturday.

Then it’s Sunday and it’s like the Beatles and their entire lives are in front of you. You haul shit over and plant it. You lie about in the sun, with your shoulders high upon your torso and the sun.

Yes…the sun.

You can’t forget it because it won’t let you. Fucking you up the ass with its heat and its rays like an unforgiving ex-husband who wants to take the kids every weekend but you won’t let him because you are a bitch like that.

Costco and church confuse you. You don’t want to talk about church but you could talk about Costco but who cares?

Really….

Miles and miles of gargantuan items screaming, “BUY ME PLEASE!”

“BUY ME”

“BECAUSE YOU NEED ME!”

And that shit is so desperate and you are ashamed because you hear that shit and you PAY ATTENTION to it...and you HEED it even; a fucking sheep.

You are not better than anyone.

But there I go…digressing.

Suntans and white sundresses. That girl wears that green dress so well…it’s like we are all staring at her ass and then we all admit to it. You can see her lace thong outlined through it and all I am doing is wondering, “What color is it ?” and I’m framing it over her tanned oval ass cheeks in my head like everyone else is. And I’m thinking, “How does she fuck I wonder?????”

I am not alone.

Wine and conversation. I make friends with a 58-year-old Dane named Tor. He spills wine over his crotch and I take a picture of it which he deletes.

I am not the first or the last girl to scream, “I LOVE YOU PAUL!!!” But I am not crying.

No, I am not crying.

The night is over with staring through my neighbor’s window shades as they have a dinner party. I can see them holding their new prize…a new baby. She can hold her own head up now and they stroke her back like a prize. I know this, because I’ve been there. Look at her, she is the grace of god. She is my sunshine. She is blinding. Without words this is.

Deep breaths give it all away. And a shower will take the stickiness away. Sleep to Dream takes my breath away.

And it’s over.

CP

xTx has been published in places like Thieves Jargon, Cherry Bleeds, decomP, Dogzplot, Zygote, Laura Hird and others. She is included in the 2009 Dogzplot Anthology and has an ebook forthcoming from nonpress. She swears she will never drink again, but always does. She says nothing at www.notimetosayit.com.