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[19 Jun 2003|07:55pm] |
Aunt Charlie’s- between Taylor and Jones street, San Francisco, California , Turk Street to be exact. All you hear is clitter-clank of pumps against cracked cement, all you smell is the aroma of parliament lights and cheap perfume-it becomes the fragrance of comfort when that’s all you’ve grown up around, all you see are nancy-boys, tranny’s, drag queens, the streaks of glitter and glam sweep by you like a breeze by the pier, all you taste …well it depends on the weather, on a warm night beneath street lights, if you smile sweet enough you could get someone to buy you beer down two lefts in that Paki-deli or maybe even take a swig from some glitter flask of whiskey; you know the type that hits you down deep and keeps you chill all night. All you feel…I couldn’t tell you what you’d feel, but I could tell you what I feel. At home, this is what I’ve known since I could conceive anything past a google-garble or anything past pre-processed synthetic , probably even plastic milk.
Yeah, my mother died during child birth, so I didn’t have that figure in my life. But that’s fine, considering my father’s done a well enough job being both. When I say being both, I mean it literally.
My mother was Lililac Cohen, married my father Robert Novet..or if you know that scene Ravishing Reva.. so my father’s one of the most notorious drag queens this side of Coast, I don’t mind it, of course kids in school we’re going to fuck around with me about it, but I mean I got to watch him perform, bartend, Jimmi Vaudeville loved my father, so it was fun, going up playing my guitar on stage, getting free shots, life was good, living in my little mortal envelop, the pier, my band, getting to not only celebrate father’s day, but hell getting to celebrate Mother’s day as well, turning over and reusing the same macaroni heartshaped card to write : Happy's Motherday Too!
Reality hits you like a mad-conductor driving on the express track to kingdom-come. I ended up not getting into San Fran. College of Art, they said that my style of drawing was to unconventional for an institute of their standards. In other words I suck I applied to one other college as a joke- Dover University/ my friends and I thought it was the funniest thing ever to apply to a school dead-point middle of nowhere. Thought I was a shoe-in to art school. Apparently not. Dommy, something I call my father as a joke, said to try it out..it was to late for rolling admissions.
I can bore you with facts about myself, bad habits, like my obsession with religious imagery, one thing I tend to do when I see a couple , I just start to imagine them having sex, naked, just copulating like sheep right there. I talk to inanimate objects, especially my food, I can’t remember names for my life, so you get some snazzy nickname, it isn’t a term of endearment, just a way to remember you. I make up words to sound jabblapsier than I really am. I leave the cds out of the cases and forgive to give things back, I love sci-fi novels, one thing that makes this eligible bachelor sexy is having the habit of keeping the toilet seat down, because Dommy would literally get trucker-man-strength on me and drag me into the bathroom watching me put the seat up and down while he filed his nails and made me listen to the entire waiting to exhale soundtrack.
Elijah looks around, removing his fingers from the keyboard and fussing with the top of the complimentary peanuts, as the plastic wrapping touches his lips he tilts the bag causing the peanuts to fall over his tongue, as he chews he shuts his laptop, snorting to himself when he realizes he forgot to press update, he opens it back up and restarts it one last time, typing:
Hi. I’m Jordan Elijah Mica Novet. I like fast cars, street-punk and self-piercing, and casual sex. I’m on a plane to Vermont now, and I have to piss. Thank you. Oh and I’m openly Jewish and proud to admit when I was twelve I attempted to grow a ‘fro and unlike most of you, succeeded gracefully.
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