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llucii listens to... ::
Suzanne Vega's...
The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy
He proposed in the dunes,
they were wed by the sea,
their nin-day-long honeymoon
was on the isle of Capri.
For their supper they had one spectacular dish -
a simmering stew of mollusks and fish.
And while he savored the broth,
her bride's heart made a wish.
That wish did come true - she gave birth to a baby.
But was this little one human?
well,
maybe.
Ten fingers, ten toes,
he had plumbing and sight.
He could hear, he could feel,
but normal?
Not quite.
This unnatural birth, this canker, this blight,
was the start and the end and the sum of their plight.
She railed at the doctor:
"He cannot be mine.
He smells of the ocean, of seaweed and brine."
"You should count yourself lucky, for only last week,
I treated a girl with three ears and a beak.
That your son is half oyster
you cannot blame me.
...have you considered, by chance,
a small home by the sea?"
Not knowing what to name him,
they just called him Sam,
or, sometimes,
"that thing that looks like a clam."
Everyone wondered, but no one could tell,
When would young Oyster Boy come out of his shell?
When the Thompson quadruplets espied him one day,
they called him a bivalve and ran quickly away.
One spring afternoon,
Sam was left in the rain.
At the southwestern corner of Seaview and Main,
he watched the rain water as it swirled
down the drain.
His mom on the freeway
in the breakdown lane
was pounding the dashboard -
she couldn't contain
the ever-rising grief,
frustration,
and pain.
"Really sweetheart," she said,
"I don't mean to make fun,
but something smells fishy
and I think it's our son.
I don't like to say this, but it must be said,
you're blaming our son for your problems in bed."
He tried salves, he tried ointments
that turned everything red.
He tried potion and lotions
and tincture of lead.
He ached and he itched and he twitched and he bled.
The doctor diagnosed,
"I can't be quite sure,
but the cause of the problem may also be the cure.
They say oysters improve your sexual powers.
Perhaps eating your son
would help you do it for hours!"
He came on tiptoe,
he came on the sly,
sweat on his forehead,
and on his lips - a lie.
"Son, are you happy? I don't mean to pry,
but do you dream of Heaven?
Have you wanted to die?"
Sam blinked his eyes twice.
but made no reply.
Dad fingered his knife and loosened his tie.
As he picked up his son,
Sam dripped on his coat.
With the shell to his lips,
Sam slipped down his throat.
They buried him quickly in the sand by the sea
- sighed a prayer, wept a tear -
and were back home by three.
A cross of gray driftwood marked Oyster Boy's grave.
Word writ in the sand
promised Jesus would save.
But his memory was lost with one high-tide wave.
Back home safe in bed,
he kissed her and said,
"Let's give it a whirl."
"But this time," she whispered, "we'll wish for a girl."
happy halloween.
black llucii at 1:45:00 am
~Jor-El
(opening line of the movie Superman)
Farewell, Goodbye & Adieu! You entertained me when I was a mere tot: "If you've got me, who's got you?" You taught me my first lesson about the stupidity inherent in all humans, exemplified by kids sailing out windows in an attempt to walk... to fly in your path. You tickled me with your shirt-ripping antics, reminding me of my then-hero Hulk Hogan, and you were the first to enlighten me to the fact that sci-fi music scares the Be-Jesus outta me. It was you who inspired stupid kids all over to wear skin-crawling, sore eye-inducing superhero outfits; a trend that will never be forgotten, no matter how hard we try to. You were the one who sparked my fascination with magical crystals and laid the groundwork for Supergirl, another wonderful piece of childhood memory. But most of all, it was you who... em... hmmm... *ponder*... well, I'm not sure what else you did for me. *shrug* But your human form was pretty swell to promote stem cell research. I will never forget you, Superman!
Was Christopher Reeve 1952-2004
black llucii at 8:40:00 pm I was always behind you coz I know what you're thinking. Sometimes I run up next to you and we have fun together. Sometimes I run up next to you and we cry together. Sometimes I run up next to you and you look at me, but you don't see me. So I walk behind you again until the next time, when you're ready.
Now you dare drag out my reality, all nicely folded and neatly stacked in the corner, throw it in my face and have the cheek to tell me that I've been negligent of its existence? You have the freaking audacity to dismiss my scars just so you can play up yours?
My debt to you no longer suffices for your constant whinings and whimperings anymore. That you could so easily and so carelessly discard me for preachings and wallowings in your self-pity, has left me hurt, wounded, angry and broken. My offerings may be humble but my heart has always been true. How you can take these offerings and tell me they mean nothing, has left me numb... a stinging numbness. This unconditional duty, this servitude, you never asked of me. It was I who chose to take up this torch, of my own free will. But still, even then, surely I do not deserve to be treated so carelessly?
That you can so cruelly and thoughtlessly make me face my delusion, this reality, shows how much love we really have. You are taking my hand, pointing at these monsters and telling me to look at their monstrosity... I have bled for these demons and I have long tamed them so that we can live without touching. Why must you insist that I cry for them now?
You never saw, you blind fool, and you insist on believing that you're the only one who sees. I am tired and I am broken. No longer does this torch burn for us. I will continue carrying it only because I cannot forget and stupidly bind myself to a debt no one acknowledges. I, too, am a fool. I am a fool to have loved you. I am a fool to have thought you were the one.
I am a fool to have given you my thread.
Now before you go thinking that I'm writing this for someone else, think again. Don't even try to flatter yourself on my terrain. Otherwise, honestly, what makes you think I'm writing about you? *looks interested* Is there perhaps something that I've written here that has struck a disconcerting chord within you?
black llucii at 3:04:00 pm
drooling...
aching for life...
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.lovestruck changeling defrosting in spring's ardour.awaiting the green jelly rocket ship.3 angels in a bag & a pea in a pod.back to the moon evermore.
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