"perhaps something consensual?
but not like a contract.
More like sex that isn’t intrusive
even between strangers.
even when you are shy about your body
and your ability to please.
Or the meeting of empires where no one is is forced into submission.
So with your permission…my devotion. "
I’m in silly conversation with myself again as I close the uber door and enter the bar to meet my date. They are shorter than me and very hairy, with a big toothy smile. They wear eyeliner and smell a little like sweat and garlic. Two of my favorite smells.
I stare at pattern of their tattoo as they offer to buy me a drink.
“Concentric circles - are they resonant or a target or a spiral chasing the future through space?” I ask absentmindedly, not expecting a response. I’m not even sure they heard.
Off with the ether I go I guess.
To a labyrinth
with a minotaur,
a monster created by myth for men to slay
but I prefer making them laugh.
They remind me of drawings which the ethnographers who (also called my indigenous ancestry noble savages) named therianthropes and while they wait at the bar, I dart to the loo to wikipedia what the anthropologists from Europe said about the images because all traces of knowledge were not permitted to be taught through the blood line and I’m a little lost.
I find something about the neolithic revolution and the beginning of the centralization of control and resources (concentric circles?). But the Khoi were nomad hunter gatherers (I think) and I wonder if they just never wanted to farm and I don’t know if they also needed to just get with the times because when I walked across the country with indigenous activists trying to piece the cultural practice back together - they were christian as fuck and we stopped being friends cause I am queer and strong willed and a woman. And also of slave and colonist and black blood so lets not completely romanticize the past. The back of the imagination can also get tedious and my friend said something about snowflakes being created from the outside and I thought about guerilla warfare and the way the internet was made by techies and their codes around the world.
But winter is coming, and everyone wants the fucking seat in the middle.
The smell of my pee reaches my nose and I realize I am taking too long to get back. Weird that there are no crazy toilet lines at this bar. Go figure, it is only the two of us here, waiting for the rest to arrive.
When I return, they are smiling and tell me that their favorite film is annihilation and that they have maps and data and…do I want to go on a magic carpet ride? I want to tell Alladin that I trust him, but they are not Alladin and I am not Jasmine and I am getting lost in thought again.
So I suggest we go somewhere louder, but they may not want to and I wouldn’t be offended.