Activation Instructions for the LoveBot 2.7

You are from here. This is your stuff. Here is your purse (I took a few bucks). You have a name and I think I do, too. Here are your clothes; this is how you move: swift and efficient, with crisp, charming strokes. Your hair looks like this and I think you still smoke camel lites when you’re near me first thing in the morning. Whenever you hear me, small visions of glory shared in the backseat or basement come forth. These are your cds, this is magnetic north that we aligned the bed with (just like Charles Dickens). These are the bottles that we use to sicken ourselves every evening, mistaking for courage the subtle deceiving and numbing of nerves that alcohol brings, almost like a cure. But it does bring us closer. You have to admit. This is the light in your house that stays lit (right over the oven) when everyone’s gone off to rooms to feign sleep. You do not belong to me or your friends or your (still missing?) parents. No, you have fought too hard and demanded autonomy and amazingly, I follow you unfailingly.

For your part you eat yogurt and are not troubled by me.

~ by perfectionatrix on January 26, 2011.

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