Dear Cosmo –An Open Slam

Dear Cosmo

I’ve been having a little trouble recently, and I was hoping that you could help
to begin, see, my hair isn’t as long or as flowing as the models twixt your pages
and I couldn’t help but notice that Manic Panic Shocking Blue isn’t listed
on the hottest hair colors of the season, so I guess
I must be doing it wrong.
I read with great delight the 50 newest ways to please your man, and the funniest thing was
that nowhere did I see anything about being there for him when he’s sick, or helping him through the last level of Mario Brothers or showing any semblance of a personality, but I tried swirling my tounge
around the base of his penis,
and I guess he seemed to like it.
Next month I’m going to Washington DC
because I won a big deal scholarship
and I just don’t know what to wear–
Maybe you could help.
Exactly how much skin do I have to show to prove that I’m a woman?
How much cleavage do I need to cover in shimmer powder to prove that my words have power?
What shade of fingernail polish says “Pleased to meet you, Mr. President, it is an honor to be here today performing for you”?
I suppose “Magnetic Red” will have to do.
Last week, my boyfriend didn’t want to have sex with me, which, according to you,
means that either he’s depressed or I’ve gained weight recently
which I have, so I guess it’s all my fault.
See, I decided finally that it was better to gain a little weight and stop shoving my fingers down my throat after every meal
but I guess I can’t be happy
unless I look just like them, which is fine
except they’re so small
and my dreams are so big
that I don’t know if they’ll fit into a size 0.

Why I Dye My Hair Blue

There was a night last February that I very vividly remember. Jake and I were sitting on the couch and he was talking about an ex-girlfriend of his that had something called “Synesthesia”. I’d never heard of it. Jake went on to explain that his ex had this thing where she saw colors for different letters, like A is “red”, B is “green” or whatever….

I remember looking up at him and going “But that’s stupid—A is yellow”.

It was in that moment that my understanding of my perceptions on the world shifted forever.  Hours of research later, I have come to realize that some things that I take for granted in every day life are things that most other people don’t understand.

I have always attributed certain colors to certain letters, but more than that, different combinations of letters and words create different patterns of color in my mind.  A lot of people ask me why I read upside down. I am a FAST reader—but especially when I am reading something especially “vivid” (Shakespeare, for example, is just absolutely gorgeous—and the colors always work out. more on that later), I get so distracted by the colors that I get lost in what I’m reading….so I discovered that if I turn whatever I’m reading upside down, I am able to focus less on the colors and instead on the text. I’ve gotten really good at reading upside down–I can read about as fast as I do right side up, but it eliminates the distractions and makes me focus.

It turns out there are like a billion types of synesthesia—pretty much any sense can be “crossed” with another to create a synethestic response. I know that I have the color/letter one, but I also have the color/music kind…which is both awesome and supremely frustrating–if I could have one wish, it would be to be able to share the magnificent colors I experience behind my eyes with the people I love. Last year, for our first date, Jake took me to see the Chicago Symphony play the Rite of Spring. By the end, I was openly weeping–not just because of the music, but because of the incredible picture I got to witness inside of my head.

There are a few works that are particularly fantastic, but it makes sense. Beethoven’s 9th, for example—oh, man. But most scholars think that Beethoven himself probably had this, so I kind of like the idea of him writing music to look at something pretty. What is so awesome about synesthesia is that 100 different people with this will give you a 100 different versions of what the 9th symphony looks like behind their eyes–and they are all right. It’s completely random and always, always beautiful.

The problem is that I see sound most of the time–not just with music. With music it is much more pronounced, but, for example, at parties or in large groups, sometimes the noise and the color can be overwhelming. If a sound or piece of music is particularly powerful, I sometimes will get a “Feeling” with it as well–Lincolnshire Posy, for example—is this gorgeous, rich blue and it feels like the ocean.

I also get freaked out by large things—(insert joke here…done? okay. good)–they “feel” wrong. Things like wind turbines and water towers are terrifying to me.

A lot of people ask me why I dye my hair blue. I usually give them a stupid answer, but the truth is….I’ve figured out how to shade my hair into different shades of blue…and if you look at me from the front, my hair is my name in “synesthesia-ist”.

The (crappy) Rug Poem

This was going somewhere, but I lost it. I’m trying to write more, so suck it.

 

I bought you a rug
to cover the hardwood of the entry
because it was getting scuffed and scarred and walked all over
and I knew how it felt

I laid it out
gently and taped it down
so as to let it settle right
like my mom would say

and you came home
and you noticed
and I pretended like it was no big deal
but I didn’t tell you
was that that rug
represented the last 20 dollars in my bank account
but I wanted you to have it
because that’s how I show you
everything you must already know
by offering you everything I have
like a little kid with crumpled dandelions in her fist
shyly scuffing her feet
over a plain brown rug

 

Lesson: stick to slam.

Shakespeare For A Minute

There was this minute
right between the rough draft and the final copy
somewhere
when I was Shakespeare
I was Shakespeare like a sonnet like hitting and running 14 times
the words just sort of spilled forth, in pentameter anyway
page after page but the only thing they said was
I love you.
I was Shakespeare then, and Ginsberg and Marlowe and even JK Rowling
I was literature and poetry and every corner of the earth
conspiring to say just these two words
I was Mozart with a t in the middle and Beethoven and every power of the globe
Just waiting
breathless
terrified of being close but finding that the safest place
I know is that spot right between your shoulder and your chest
where my head fits, just right
and I was Shakespeare in that moment
I was every stupid love poem and story ever told
I was fighting through the grey and finding my way out
slowly but surely, all because of you
and oh god was I Shakespeare, writing reams inside my mind
trying to remember exactly what I said,
Willing myself to write but choosing instead
to enjoy the warmth of your arm
around me, willing you to stay there
just like that, perfectly preserve the moment
like you can never do on film,
streams and reams of consciousness flying at the speed of light
my socks falling down below my knees and wondering
if this is going to last
like Shakespeare wondered maybe
if anyone would come
pacing and waiting and hoping until suddenly
I was Shakepeare in that moment.

 

Or something. Don’t screw and slam. lessons learned.