u s e y o u r h a n d s

Yeah, I’m still doing that story thing, but in the meantime, chomp on these odd craig’s list mc’s.

18th and Castro @8:00 p.m.: you propositioned me – m4m I was walking out my front door on 17th street around 7:45-8:00 last night (Sept 18) when you came up to me and started to chat me up. You were so aggressive — I loved it! You complimented me on my “tight bod”, nice skin, and butt. Told me you had a big dick and asked if I wanted to f*ck. I told you why I couldn’t. I should have let you, man! You got me all worked up last night. Any chance I’ll run into you again?? Me: shorter, younger, very flattered by your attentions, felt a little shy, but managed to tell you that you were sexy. (craig’s list SF)

To the black chickin the leopard-print stretch pants – m4w I saw you outside the Bank One on East Jefferson today. What the fuck were you thinking when you crammed your fat ass into that outfit? (craig’s list detroit)

Buehla, I’m sorry I farted on your stomach – m4w – 32 I met a beautiful girl named Buehla at Tattered Cover. I took her home. We got busy. She said, “Hold me down, hold me down, I like to be held down!” So I pinned her wrists to the bed and sat on her stomach. I got a little excited, and next thing you know, BLAMMAAARRRROOOO-BRAPPEDY-BRAP-BRAP-BRAP! — I farted on her stomach. Hard. And my butt cheeks were all flappin’ around against her waist; I don’t think she liked that. C’mon, Buehla, what about forgiveness? At least it wasn’t a wet one. I’m sorry I broke the mood. Call me and I’ll put a cork in it. (craig’s list denver)

BONUS!! Two bizarre Burning Man Missed Connections:

nicholas from burning man – m4m – 20 nicholas originally from missourri. wearing a cowboy hat, and fireman get-up. camped at 8:30 and creed i think. i met you on a saturday night, maybe. i was rolling and intranced by the fire. wearing black boots and a brown loin cloth. (craig’s list)

Naked Photographer at Burning Man Wedding 8/30/03 (lost your card) You took pictures of my friends’ wedding at Burning Man and I lost your card. Please contact me so I can get the pictures for my friends. Thanks so much. Anyone know this woman? Michael (the winged man) (craig’s list)

Made this divine eggplant/cheese/marinara thing last night. I et it up.

When he got back to his office, Cliff surrounded himself with the tallest stacks of books, papers, and files that he could manage. This dusty, windowless space had been vacant for years, but when Cliff showed up, he gravitated to the quiet, dark corner. There was no phone, no computer. He did his work long-hand and had an in box bolted outside the door, which was shut. If Cliff thought about it, perhaps he’d realize that nobody had ever spoken to him inside this office or in the halls. But he didn’t think of it, nor did he consider that his longing to be heard was a deep loneliness surfacing like a bloated dead body.

The next few days passed without any event, warranting no further comment.

But on the first day of the next week, there was a knock at the door. As he had never heard the sound of a fist being put to the wood of his door, Cliff was surprised and assumed someone had dropped something in the hall. But then the noise rang through his office again. Cliff paused, put down his pencil, and listened hard as he concentrated on the plain metal handles on his filing cabinet.

The next thing he heard was the sound of the door opening and two shoes edging cautiously inside. Again, the novelty of the sound struck him dumb. Cliff didn’t move, but dissected the noise with his ears. The hinge was squeaky, but not as much as you’d expect. And the shoes? Were the soles hard? With women’s feet inside?

“Excuse me,” said the cool female voice. It could have been a crack of thunder for how it made Cliff jump. He knocked his pencil and tall stack of detritus to the floor. As it fell, he reached out trying to catch the papers and books, but instead his clumsy arms flung papers high in the air. Nothing remained in his arms and he watched helplessly as everything rained down on him. Cliff’s eyes followed one piece of paper fluttering down and met the woman’s eyes. Before they could stifle it, they both burst into laughter.

She wore a plain black – what is that? – wool dress cut modestly, black tights, and black low-heeled shoes. Above the neckline, her face still wore a smile, but it was rapidly melting away. She had small pearl earrings.

“Everything is everywhere,” he said forlornly, glancing around at the floor.

She laughed gently again before picking up a few pieces of paper. She held them out toward him. “But it was a beautiful disaster.”

You can never believe.

More serialized fiction. Let’s see if I can’t make this week’s story a little peppier. I promise no self-mutilation.

The white fire hose lay coiled inside the glass cage, sleeping like a serpent. It failed to inspire fear or even curiosity. And that was why Cliff chose that place above all others. When he was investigating this option, Cliff stationed himself across the hall in a dark office and kept his peripheral vision trained on the fire hose. Nobody touched the glass cabinet or even looked at it. It seemed that nobody held hallway conversations near it.

Cliff worked two floors above this one, where he did his research and spoke to noone. He was not lonely so much as he was bored with this constant lack of contact. He listened, yet was not inclined to join in. Cliff sought not banter, but an unresponsive ear. He wanted to be heard but not judged.

His first thought was to pray. Cliff tried sending his thoughts away from him, but as he did not believe in God, he could not convince himself that they had been heard. He tried journalling, but again, someone else’s eyes would not see and accept his ideas. And then one day he read an article that planted a seed that grew the scheme. It talked about a classroom of Maine schoolchildren who put messages in bottles and dumped them offshore in the Atlantic. The children had little expectation that their messages would ever be read, but they revelled in the possibility.

He lettered his first message carefully in a tiny hand, then folded the slip carefully. Cliff clutched the little shard of paper tightly in his fist and walked through the corridor. Nobody was coming in either direction so his action was unobserved. Cliff pushed the paper in the small crack where the glass door met the metal hinge. The paper was just visible near the nozzle of the fire hose.