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Nicole Blackman – In The Movie Now
Mar. 7th, 2008 02:38 pmNicole Blackman – In The Movie Now
There is no glory in trying to make love to men who only know how to fuck. Man after man after man after man. Raised on porn. Out all day, while he's been watching two-dollar videos, now piles by the VCR. Out all day, at work, at class, at the gym, while he's been making plans.
There is no glory in trying to make love to men who only know how to fuck. Man after man after man after man. Raised on porn. Out all day, while he's been watching two-dollar videos, now piled by the VCR. Out all day, at work, at class, at the gym, while he's been making plans. Out all day, returning with bags of bread and tomatoes and bluefish, for what you think will be dinner. Dinner is you. And you are nothing like the dead-eyed blond women he's been watching. You're in the movie now. He is nothing like you remember. No time for a condom, take a pill, or put in a dire for him – those girls never get pregnant anyway. What are you trying to do? Clothes cannot come off fast enough, get them off, get them off. Shoes are always left on. You don't know why. You're in the movie now. You used to scrape your nails against the walls, leaving streaks like scars of where you wanted to stay and where he took you. Now you just go. It'll be over in ten minutes. It'll be over in ten minutes, twenty at most. A black envelope closes, with you inside. You're in the movie now. He winds your hair around his fist like a roll, and keeps it nailed to the bed. You swear you'll cut your hair tomorrow. You swear you'll cut your hair tomorrow. You still swim in memories sometimes. It wasn't always like this, was it. You are becoming stone, stone desires nothing, stone cannot be moved, stone can only be worn down little by little. Close your eyes, and think of England. You are tucked in for the fucking. You're in the movie now. There is no beauty in being held face down in a bed of sheets that tear beneath you, and you are wearing him like a country you haven't the strength to carry. You're in the movie now. You don't fight, he takes it from you, he takes it from you, he takes it from you now it isn't yours, how could it be, isn't yours anymore, never will be again. One eye open focusing on a window years of this and you don't even say anything anymore. This is how it is, how it will always be. You're in the movie now. It doesn't hurt anymore. You shut down, examining fibres in the pillowcase, counting them until he's finished. Seventy-seven, seventy-eight, seventy-nine he says look at me, look at me it's no good unless you look at me you look right through him look at your bookshelf your grandmother's patio your list of things to do this weekend the basal leaves drying by the window. He says if you cry it makes him angry – I fuck better when I'm angry you know, you know, he says it every time. You learn not to cry. You are startled that he's doing this to you, you are startled that he knows how, you are startled that you stay, knowing that you'd tell a friend to kill him if he did this to her. Your mouth is on fire with possibilities. You say nothing. You shut down your body one limb at a time like you learned in drama class relaxation exercises absence of pain makes anything possible. Because you are pretty you are possessed, you too are alone, owner and owned. You used to confuse this with caring, you used to confuse these with caresses. Desire doesn't live here anymore. Desire doesn't live here anymore. You are turned over and over backstrokes in your own blood horses have been christened with less. There is no glory here. Only bloodstains, and apologies that come with the stroking. Only throwing up in a sink you'll have to scrub out later.
There is no glory in trying to make love to men who only know how to fuck. Man after man after man after man. Raised on porn. Out all day, while he's been watching two-dollar videos, now piles by the VCR. Out all day, at work, at class, at the gym, while he's been making plans.
There is no glory in trying to make love to men who only know how to fuck. Man after man after man after man. Raised on porn. Out all day, while he's been watching two-dollar videos, now piled by the VCR. Out all day, at work, at class, at the gym, while he's been making plans. Out all day, returning with bags of bread and tomatoes and bluefish, for what you think will be dinner. Dinner is you. And you are nothing like the dead-eyed blond women he's been watching. You're in the movie now. He is nothing like you remember. No time for a condom, take a pill, or put in a dire for him – those girls never get pregnant anyway. What are you trying to do? Clothes cannot come off fast enough, get them off, get them off. Shoes are always left on. You don't know why. You're in the movie now. You used to scrape your nails against the walls, leaving streaks like scars of where you wanted to stay and where he took you. Now you just go. It'll be over in ten minutes. It'll be over in ten minutes, twenty at most. A black envelope closes, with you inside. You're in the movie now. He winds your hair around his fist like a roll, and keeps it nailed to the bed. You swear you'll cut your hair tomorrow. You swear you'll cut your hair tomorrow. You still swim in memories sometimes. It wasn't always like this, was it. You are becoming stone, stone desires nothing, stone cannot be moved, stone can only be worn down little by little. Close your eyes, and think of England. You are tucked in for the fucking. You're in the movie now. There is no beauty in being held face down in a bed of sheets that tear beneath you, and you are wearing him like a country you haven't the strength to carry. You're in the movie now. You don't fight, he takes it from you, he takes it from you, he takes it from you now it isn't yours, how could it be, isn't yours anymore, never will be again. One eye open focusing on a window years of this and you don't even say anything anymore. This is how it is, how it will always be. You're in the movie now. It doesn't hurt anymore. You shut down, examining fibres in the pillowcase, counting them until he's finished. Seventy-seven, seventy-eight, seventy-nine he says look at me, look at me it's no good unless you look at me you look right through him look at your bookshelf your grandmother's patio your list of things to do this weekend the basal leaves drying by the window. He says if you cry it makes him angry – I fuck better when I'm angry you know, you know, he says it every time. You learn not to cry. You are startled that he's doing this to you, you are startled that he knows how, you are startled that you stay, knowing that you'd tell a friend to kill him if he did this to her. Your mouth is on fire with possibilities. You say nothing. You shut down your body one limb at a time like you learned in drama class relaxation exercises absence of pain makes anything possible. Because you are pretty you are possessed, you too are alone, owner and owned. You used to confuse this with caring, you used to confuse these with caresses. Desire doesn't live here anymore. Desire doesn't live here anymore. You are turned over and over backstrokes in your own blood horses have been christened with less. There is no glory here. Only bloodstains, and apologies that come with the stroking. Only throwing up in a sink you'll have to scrub out later.
