122: Baby, I’m Starving
Where is the beginning? I can’t stop reaching for a place to begin. It’s tempting, this nasty world we live in; every mouth that opens before you encourages survival. It’s not fair! My body aches for these mouths! My spirit wants to spit down their lying throats. How dare you tempt me with this sickness that plagues you! How dare you to beg me to join your fate! What is this fear that you care so much to recognize in me? Why do you need me to encourage the movement you choose to make? I cannot be this thing you disgust. That lives inside you. Rip it out! Remember your nature and scream bloody murder at the top of your lungs. I will be waiting. It’s lonesome without a soul but my own. I will always be ready for you to return home. It will always be you.
I’m on the road again. I am fleeing. I haven’t gone anywhere. I’m dreaming. I walk into a diner in New York City. There is a gorgeous women yelling at the waiter, ‘I didn’t order this shit!’ I walk between them and ask to be seated with her. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you, kid? Can’t you see I’m in the middle of this fight? I’m not backing down! Don’t sneak yourself where you’re uninvited and try your graceful nature on me. I’m not easy to please. I won’t bend over backwards for your tender wrists and your tiny waist. I’ll flip you over so I don’t see your face full of terror and I’ll slam your breasts into the wall. Do you like it in the ass? ‘Cause your smug grin is making me want only this. Even if you did like it, even if you wanted it with all your might baby boy, I’d still make you beg. You’re pathetic. You’re fragile and you’re gentle and you’re too slow to say what you mean. You’re not from here, are you? Are you sure it’s me? You’ve been waiting three fucking years to sit by a temper like mine? Ha! You must be a masochist, to desire to be tortured in this way! You must have been here before. You feel so familiar. Sage, have we met?’
‘Where did you get this name? I didn’t say.’
‘You didn’t have to dear boy. Sit. Let me show you something out of this world.’ She taps the red leather booth by her side. I obey. She points to the waiter ‘See, there’s a way out of this picture, but only if you remain completely present in all that surrounds you. You cannot play along. But you must act the part to get what you want. This story has been created. It is not your creation. Be careful not to confuse it with the power you hold within the confines of your skin. Pick a costume that fits your mood and wear it. If it doesn’t fit, make it. You must move on what you want. It’s not as hard as most make it out to be. Everything is already yours. It starts as an idea. This idea is powered by belief. This thought takes time. You must give all your energy to time. Never time your energy. That is a trap. This whole entire show is designed to trap the individual divine. Look around. All the bodies are trapped by time. Scary, I know. But you mustn’t be scared. Fear is sacred. It will come when you’re meant to move away. Move! It must move quickly through you. If you let it sit inside the walls of your flesh, it will burry itself into the muscles of your tender thighs and stay. It will trick your strength. It will direct you toward an idea that manipulates your animalistic ability to defeat danger. The idea must be defeated. The screen must be abandoned. The currency must be time; nothing else is worthy of our life. You’ve been given a name; abandon it. From now on and forever more, baby girl you are Sage. You’ve been assigned a number. It means nothing. You must not move as it does. As soon as you do, you become the fear it was made to portray. It is only a number. This body of yours is only the very beginning of what you are capable of. You are every sequence of numbers that could ever be. Your nature is infinite. Are you prepared to meet your body in this way? Give me your fear. If there isn’t a jaw full of sharp teeth digging into your flesh, this sensation is of no value to you. Let me show you. The only thing you should be paying for is my skin.’ She puts one hand on my thigh; the other grabs the chopsticks and starts feeding her beautiful mouth. I want this mouth. I can’t look away from her lips. She notices. She lets me. She tightens her grip.
She eats in silence. She doesn’t ask if I’m hungry. When she’s full, she sighs loudly and calls the waiter. ‘You want to fuck me, don’t you Sage?’
I moan under my breath. I keep it a secret. ‘Fuck you and your ideology’ I finally whimper. ‘I don’t have time to think. I’m starving.’