Couldn't news of this study have waited until Simon Louis Lajeunesse had found 120 subjects?

Anybody who's read any literature on serial killers (sexual sadists or otherwise) knows that while pornographic materials are frequently consumed by these offenders, an unhealthy relationship with one's caregivers (particularly women) is what effectively implants kernels of resentment towards the female sex that can later develop into strong enough hatred that, in combination with a disposition for violence and the right trigger, would push a man to commit crimes against women.

minute by minute
the laser glass vibrates
the copper kettle on the stove shatters

the loon sits by the lake
second for second,
a frosted handle partakes
in the divining of alleviation

formidable opponent,
light up the nightmarish sky
his shoe-laces untied

terrible twenty
twenty-five marching harpoons
rust and fixate
their running masterminds
into the temple

of the falling dog
hungry eyes shiver
blanketed
cashed in for a quick answer

minute under five
seconds i have left
to see him disappear.

--yiqi 1 dec 09 11:47pm

You said a mouthful without moving your teeth

Already separated by a chain of command,
he stands listlessly,
billowing in the furnace
drapes of the emptied,
skins of hollowed bodies

You search for percussion instruments

Deerskin headaches insert themselves at night,
he blends into the dirt effortlessly,
falling out to the strokes of your time machine
flung far, flung light
scarred into ancestry

Save a piece for me,
say you will

--yiqi 24 nov 09 11:08 AM

Sometimes it's the smell of sugar cookies drifting through the air;
sometimes it's the sight of long hair on lean limbs;
and other times it's an image that pierces through the viscera and up to the brain,
representing an understanding you never thought possible.

Behold:

Pumpkinhead 2: Blood Wings and a random find on the interwebs. I am this image--the mind and the body shrieking at each other, followed by defeat or relief when the mind has won or there is peace.

Would you maintain the illusion, that I'm somewhat near
pasteurized convulsions implanted on this rocking chair?

I hear
I throb
My eyelids cross

down the pathways
among the halting by-passed causeways.

Could you not maintain the delusion, that I'm all you fear
would come to phantasms, reprimanded, interlocked
inside your wishing stairs.

--yiqi 15 Nov 09 2:36 pm

What more could I say when you've taken every word and image that has ever sailed past my command station and gift-wrapped it with sugar and lace? I'm affixed in the creases, you'd have to bend all the way back to see; I'm sure I know what's lacking. It's the voice that repeats,

She will have her way, she will have her way...

without the horror of solid and apparition joining teams.


.....

Because it all makes sense now. But what am I to do?

She was born Gabrielle,
Coco Chanel,
left at a convent with her sister Adrienne

Then years go by, both sing as an aside
to daytime tailoring

Gabrielle, le Coco,
it echoed at the tip
of a revolution yet to begin

Pare down,
minimize,
choose breath over féminin every time

Don't fall in love,
make it
instead

Don't follow the whims,
the excitement of special attention
given by hypothetical lives

Cut, cut, trim,
re-imagine
re-define
No. 5

Chanel never married
and neither will I.

--yiqi Halloween 2009 7:23 PM

Before she could say a word, I blocked her by her locket. It's not recognizable, what she's doing to me. I think I smelled some lamps tipping over onto a barnyard calamity.

I only wish to peel everything off and away to a brighter holiday destination. Amber lights and tangerine exhalations to fill in every blank face. I see into her brain waves. I am right there, sitting across this man or that man.

And I am levitating backwards, staring at a cream ceiling.

Why does she hide, why does she withhold her name.

Can her memories replace mine...

Ever since I started my sports blog, I've been using my LJ primarily for writing poems that I would or would not then re-post on my Pugs. I've decided to resurrect the focused and unfocused writing here. There's a quiet comfort in believing that one can type nearly anything that comes to the fingertips, convinced that "no one" will read it.

I feel it only appropriate, then, to begin with the first matter of business. Just when I felt I had to admit that I'm not really asexual and more accurately hetero(non)sexual homoromantic (or even demisexual), the polarities of behavior and preoccupied thoughts have me burrowing into the solemnity of existing as an asexual.

It still makes the most sense. I can think about, make-believe, and entertain hypothetical situations of a child unfriendly nature, sure, but I still dissociate from them. They come from me but they aren't mine. For instance, I could conjure up the following scenario:

He leaned in closer, pressing his hands on the glass. The lamps shone hot pink tapestries onto my face. The longer he stood there, the more determined he was to possess me. Good with one meal. Fresh for one night...



and still maintain that it's about a slice of pie in a display case. I'm not really talking about myself.

Fit

This wasn't part of prophecy
I was steady in the well
Inadvertently, you reduced me
I'm in cuffs again

I drive by your shed, hopped up on fuel
My pride unspoken, I am captured
I can't deny this, I'm in cuffs

This wasn't part of prophecy
I fit in with your alarm
Now you've proven you've trapped me
I'm in cuffs again

This wasn't part of prophecy
This wasn't part of prophecy

Calming glory that severed passion
I said Move! This can't be good
Pat your head split your sin
Chastised for a millennium win
Clever girl you scar
Blessed, and I, I'm a toy

I drive by your shed, hopped up to bruise
My pride unspoken, I am captured
You glutton speed freak
knows time flies away
You know it soberly
To be my knife
Charts in the closet
In cases my whole file
It's all down hill from the start

This wasn't part of prophecy.

--yiqi 16 August 09 12:17 AM

Truthfully, I

im spinning....
inside
the fever rush so enchanting now
thick with too much intelligence
progress reports stacked up on high
twice-told means to a means
the pain has spread to the other shore
and isnt this what you really wanted
always wanted
but nobody else accepted the generosity
to act like a black hole where confessions and lies and all other things confirmed or denied
could be buried




Truthfully, II

im sinking
besides,
the miniatures entrust, burgeoning wiles
wired with too many fortifications
a relapse is bound to occur
fairly tailored confidences,
their remains have spilled across the kitchen floor
but this isnt what you counted on
never counted on
that someone else could replicate the elation
to revive the soul above where ordinances and spies and all other things broken apart like flour
would be buried ever after


--yiqi 26 june 09 6:56 pm

Werewolves were fun & thirsty for you
I dose the pies,
and the package sparks with landing gear
Oh, my raptor, so debonair

Squeeze the pints,
squeeze Mandy the tall clown
I squeeze your microwave blue & proud, you play Halo
so rattled that it shows
those Oreos you made your kitchen in shambles
and my caddy played a prank on you alone
with egg whites on the counter top spreading out
here we go, and I slept

Oreos baking with pears on a golden dome,
I'll seem hungry add to this some vintage rum,
You'll cut the price and I'll feel so priceless,
It's a truffle party, baby, just bring the chess set.

Slow my heart down to bass lines of bayous
our meek riot focused in debt too, show me your spies
vests strapped for about a mile
cocked Oreos delight nibble on my handle
and my caddy played a prank on you alone
with apple seeds on the counter spreading out
make the toast, and I slept

Oreos baking with pears on a golden dome,
I'll seem hungry add to this some vintage rum,
You'll cut the price and I'll feel so priceless,
It's a truffle party, baby, just bring the chess set
Oreos fill me--Can't do it on my own
Missed much in a year, smell my candle
Prone to be late, wheels shaking round so blessed
It's a truffle party, baby, just bring the chess set

I fought mired and shady, scraping off the glue from your old crown
My taste in truth is waning, then I felt you on the downpour of doubt, and I slept

Oreos filling--without you I'm not whole
I cheat death's door for a truce that won't be done
Business in my shed, I got lost on the street
Icy to the touch, you drew out your sheath
Carry me all alone, I will give you a home
I'll fix you so what else do you wanna know
I knocked out your caddy so no more of his lame tricks
It's a truffle party, baby, I'll bring the chess set
oh, oh, oh, oh

Werewolves were fun & thirsty for you.


--yiqi 9 june 09 9:16 pm

To seize without alighting
the Other man's livelihood
is the blueprint of the innocents

It's just a pity,
a real low
down murky shame
that misinformed Lions fall
to cackling hyenas,
and gazelles are ensnared
not for food
but b/c of location

Location, location
Can they find me in this rubble
Do they hear my pleading

Pride of Lions
don't stop believing
don't stop the music
the sound of heavy marching
is chocolate to my senses
water to my desert

Take it
Take it all
I never wanted to live here anyway.

--yiqi Memorial Day 2009 1:17 pm

the files and venerations
of an eager beagle
prepped to lurch
screened to search
for the tattered doll
missing in character assassination
with a belly for a wishing well
he dreams a federation
for my illness

the toast always hits
the ground
jammy-side up

he awakens
rubs his eyes
the nightmare mile long
behind him
though, he still
waits for a chance to prove
he's worthy

get a clue,
get a broom,
be alarmed
be w/o a contingency room.

--yiqi 11 may 09 11:04 AM

Try It

So very blind in your beliefs
Idealizing American Dreams
Focused upon those golden seeds
so much that you just cannot see

Oh, sighing "hard work does not pay"
You blame yourself, "I'm so below the grade"
So you go back to the beginning
Rewriting all the lines for some better story

Try, it, oh, try, it
Try and visualize a different way of living
Try, it, hey, hey
Not all has to have the spouse, the kids, and a mansion.

You've got your Faith when you are down
And if you don't, you're stuck in doubt
But with best friends you'll come around
To understand that life is about
using the hand you're given
Not everyone must cross the same goal line
So when you feel luck has dried out
Remember having everything is not for everybody

Try, it, oh, try, it
Try and visualize a different way of thinking
Try, it, hey, hey
Not all has to want the spouse, the kids, the glory.

Perhaps now you just can't believe
That traditional scenes are not the only things
To have with your time on earth
Being famous, giving birth
Aren't for all human beings
So when you fail
At anything
And you're thinking that you
can't do any better
Hold on a second 'cause
You don't need to want like everyone else.

--yiqi Cinco de Mayo 2009 6:43 pm





The above quasi-parody (of this song) was inspired by a conversation I had with a good friend. In light of the economic state of the nation and other factors, a significant amount of chaos has filled her life in recent months. Not knowing where one will live, work, or call home is nothing new for a lot of people. For my friend, a nomad at heart, it has become as familiar as the creases in her favorite pair of jeans.

Her day job has required her to cross time-zones at the drop of a stencil, going from hemisphere to hemisphere more times in the last year than I have been globe-trotting in my entire twenty-eight years of existence. The physical and mental fatigue that has been building as a result of this travel has left my friend on the lower end of life's highs and lows. Nevermind when your puppy gets hit by a car or when your favorite TV show gets canceled and will not be on DVD any time soon, physiological exhaustion pulls the spirit into depths of despair and despondency with greater efficacy than even that which hurts more.

Being on the move, having the stamina to move around geographically and intellectually has taken a toll on her. In conversations over the weeks, I threw out the images of an anchor, a captain, a lighthouse, and a boat. I emphasized the image of the "anchor," as something that she can always go back to...something or someone that will always be there. No matter how crazy life gets, the anchor will be there.

Today, she remarked, "somewhere along the line, I forgot I was an artist--I forgot to engage it. I think that's my anchor. It has to be, because I have to take the anchor with me wherever I go. I'm reading this book about Elizabethan pirates and their boats sank all the time. Stable boat = permanence, but maybe my "stability" lies in the anchor. You can anchor anywhere with any boat".

I expanded upon her comment.

Most people spend their lives getting the anchor, the boat, and learning how to be an adequate captain to a first mate. Even when they realize they can't have it all, they don't realize that the boat can be interchangeable. The boat is school, work, community activities, etc; it is assumed to be the most stable, the first priority, and should be the most long-lasting. First mates can come and go, captains can come and go, but a boat is forever.

But no--a boat is not forever, not necessarily and not for everyone.

The components of the American dream, the conventional aspirations, doesn't have to be for everyone.

My question has always been...well, why couldn't these people just realize it? But life wouldn't be as exciting, would it? if everyone walked around knowing the value, functionality or the quirks of the cards they are dealt?

American values, American traditions promote the desire to be someone great, to do something amazing, and even if you aren't rich, you can leave behind a legacy and change the world. Marrying, having children, traveling, and so on and so forth...you list enough items and you get the spectrum of needs to conventions to luxuries.

So the anchor is actually not whatever floats your boat, but rather whatever keeps you from capsizing. Having a good anchor and being a self-sufficient captain...is crucial. Yes, a first mate would help, a lighthouse would too, but if you can't have both, you could have one. If you have neither first mate nor lighthouse, you'd need a line up of destinations and a stable boat. If you have no particular destination in mind, your boat could be the foundation of your existence, or an implement, a tool.

Living and surviving are about not capsizing in the water or getting swept into sea if you're still on dry land. Society teaches us that we should want it all, and why not, right? But if we can't have it all, we would make do, right? We'd learn how to get on with what we do and do not have. Some people realize this before they're old enough to enjoy lower auto insurance rates. For others, though, it's a lifelong lesson.

The sooner you realize the following, the mission of not capsizing becomes less burdensome:

A. You can't necessarily have it all (nor must you want it all).
B. Whichever pieces you have is as much about where you are (in life) as it is what kind of captain you are.
C. Chance, fate, happenstance, etc. contribute
D. Identify your anchor and know what kind of captain you are.
E. You don't have to be a different kind of captain in order to sail the high seas. If you want to be and work at it, and find positive results, then great. If not, perhaps you need to find another boat (or distribute the weight across your boat in a more efficient manner), a better anchor, or a lighthouse.



I am my friend's lighthouse. She is my anchor. My other good friend is the beach. I hopscotch between water and land. I don't want to "go anywhere," so i don't need a "boat." Actually, I do have a boat, but it's on land. It's like a museum piece, an artifact of a past life.

I ask you, who or what is your anchor? Do you have a lighthouse? What kind of boat do you have?

Unseen forces, your dogs, your favorite sports teams, your grandparents....there is no right or wrong answer.

Prove it to me, prove it to me, baby

Strange voice on the phone
Even though I'm in a dead zone ~ it goes through
I smell a premonition
Quit doubting and let us play ball ~ oh yeah
No blows, no holds
So make me throw
Relent, you show
Trace my footing, would ya
You'll spill, or you'll choke
Own all the tricks of the trade for you, baby
Save one for me

All I need is proof
count after me, baby
All I need is proof
You're shaping up nicely
All I need is proof
Now, baby don't shoot high
You swore you wouldn't try
I'm gonna win you, right
All I need is proof.

--yiqi 23 April 09 5:52 pm

Today, I give
you a shimmering dream
of warrior stories
barreling after a misplaced outcome

Should succeed,
were I to give
her hands of amethyst composure
a cheek upon
the kiss
my Kate of ever-after

Today, I relive
for you a simmering reaction
to a question once posed
To the man with war paint
streaked across his countenance
Would the flora and fauna dwindle
from whispers to streams,
Permit me today
to give the abundance
of my apology

You, the luminescent
confection of my destiny
You, evolving.

--yiqi 19 april 09 2:02 pm

Ever since I started using gmail, Facebook, and created a blog, I have used my LJ primarily as a depot for poems. But, today, I felt like taking things back a bit.

I sit here at my desk, my left leg crossed over my right knee. Feet will be numb and tingly soon, if I don't uncross them. If you dig into the archives here, you'll find a spectrum of topics and emotions. I don't experience many of those emotions so intensely and for such a long duration of time anymore, which is a sign of improvement. At the same time, though, my desire to write about other topics has waned.

I catapult these words onto and via the interweb...to be found by people who never knew I existed.

She was as big as the towel,
crawling around my feet
after I took a dive
off balance by my own
sweat,
rivulets of the past
eighteen minutes
where i kept missing
the rim of light,
of respect
of domination

and the exertion peaked
I came down on my knees
good thing

she was as big as the towel,
pawing around my ankles
after I took a hit
soaked in my face
on the hard wood glaze
a monster, monster
miscalculation at the buzzer.


--yiqi 20 march 09 12:37 PM

he caught her eye with a basket
starched and prepped for an emergency
thoroughbreds on the course of
a knee-length flirt
a rusting transistor radio forfeits
the regional title
for a ride in a blimp

it was made of benign sojourners
who only wanted a moment of his focused,
disbelieving reticence

to where her skirt frayed
and he walked with last year's roll-over minutes
collected for a gilded page of fame
he'd set her at ease
opposite the pile of laffy taffy,
to soak in a vat of orange fanta
skimming the crests of retired relief.

-yiqi 12 feb 09 11:51pm