Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Blogging the Blues


What does homesickness taste like?

It tastes like pink cotton candy. You sink your teeth into it,
and experience something sweet and luscious. You savor the
cosmopolitan world around you; that you get to live in right
now. You smile because you have an army of a family far
away that you get to miss.

It gives you a toothache. So you curl your lip to taste
something salty escaping your eyes. You live with it. You
want to throw the candy floss away, but it’s never that easy.

What does homesickness sound like?

It sounds like white noise. Like a booming, hollow gasp that
trickles down into a pin drop. It echoes throughout a
cluttered apartment. It sounds like a phone ringing that never
gets answered. It’s the sound of an idiot foreigner butchering
the word rød, and calling her red friend an ass. It’s the
vibrato of an adult whining like a little girl, to the man she
loves the most.

It’s the hum of a half-minute conversation with pops about
the weather, while 'The Rumour Said Fire' sings a lullaby
in your ear.

What does homesickness look like?

It looks like hackneyed poems...that puff off the page like
jacked-up songs that would make Diane Warren blush.
It struts like slutty leather pants with a gold zipper,
purchased with cash. It's as sticky and scarlet as Dior lip gloss.

It is huddling under the blanket devouring books about a
mormon teen in love with a vampire. It’s the sight of a
refrigerator filled with camembert and brie.

That’s all.

What does homesickness smell like?

It smells like a fatty pork loin dissected by the cunning
fingers of someone who wants to keep kosher.

It's the scent of the sandalwood in your mom’s Hanae Mori
butterfly perfume. It wafts like Betty Crocker red velvet
cupcakes that do the trick. With tahitian vanilla frosting. It
has the essence of aged olive oil from Modena made by an
Italian amore. You can pick up a trail of witch hazel and
alcohol antiseptics slathered on chapped hands, taking a

What does homesickness feel like?

It feels like Gaultier suspenders worn too tight, so you walk
around unfashionably hunched over. It feels like a
misaligned jaw. Something askew, the toothache moves
south in the body, settling down in the chest. The pain is a
lonesome twister in the cavity where your heart used to beat.
You miss; you bend over laughing, you ache.

A tumbleweed blows through your body. Some days the pain
is a dusty pit in your belly. Every day the pit grows a bit
bigger. And the seed gets taller, strengthened by the blissful
absence of the one person whose should bring water to
your garden. And the fact that your pain is something this
person is okay with, makes the agony you feel that much



casa da poesia said...

...I will sing!...

Viva La Fashion said...

that picture is so amazing. i love it. :)