(1) Because you're God's favorite, you are God, and you're the monsters too, you're the mysteries and the fawn's deep softness, impressions on the wavering dawn, and you're his mistress, mostly, his hidden places, Rhinoceros, Rhinoceros. Remember Rhino Records from back in the day? Love that place. And he loves the way I love that place. He copes with my every exuberance like a discharged soldier sitting stoic at the dingy bar as it floods with the light of sunset, low lights and gin or medicine having sold his gender to the machine, he now feels every liquid etching through him from the plenty cup as it restores his blood to earth and thrashing. That's enough about him.
(2) I have this short film in mind, or maybe it's a story called, It Wasn't Me; or It Wasn't Me Either. It's about a white girl who runs away from home and decides to become a prostitute. But she decides to become a black prostitute. She dresses as a black woman night and day and all of her clients are so happy and fooled and she learns what it feels like to be called beautiful and not believe it or be called that pretty nigger girl as he unbuckles his belt. What fantasies they share! Her only ambivalence is when she falls for it herself, down on her knees and she can't remember the hidden edge of her own skin and where it all begins is in the memory which is of the future too. She's out to cure something, some bolted window in her spirit is puckering toward spring with the lazy poise of spinning vinyl on one of the futuristic machines that reminds her of a rhinoceros. She gets closer and closer. She holds the speaker at her heart like a pledge every time. And then one night her father, her ivory white father, pulls up to her in his Benz, and he doesn't recognize her as he says hey baby, c'mon in and show me... he stutters a little candid arousal, get in and show me what you got
