Field Notes ▪︎ Prose (2)

2. 'Me' decade

I was a 1970s earth girl aesthetic and you were a 2500s mars guy from an era who didn't know what a woman was or what a party anthem was used for.
He was my little prince in the eye of the california desert dream. Alienist in his way of not knowing what's a vending machine, and I wish I was his cola but I wish most to be his sugar straight up the old playboy magazine. It sure ends with him defying the galaxy taking milky ways to me to the 70s. Dancing to the disco's fast tempo and electric rhythmic guitars under the waves of parades and folklore of hip hugger jeans, pistachio sweaters and hippie miniskirt. He was my collar with the ultramodern ten million dollar bill buying me a hundred vintage record player stores, Tom Ford costumes and postmodernism art merely by the brush of my hand on his platinum white hair. Tell me something about you cowboy I kissed him on the jaw. I'm a lightning time surfer searching for a blade runner thing he said putting fingers in the back embroidered pockets of my jeans. Can you take me home sometime ? I rubbed grinding in a scandalous pattern my incarnadine cherries can I take you home tonight ? Which he confirmed

Affirmative

I smiled.

...these lines of polar bears are sirius, vega, capella tangled in the effulgent spheres of your eyes. They took my breath away and I don't want you to stop taking from me, take all of my twenties being a misunderstood beauty queen screaming at the capitalism in this society for sucking my memory to be ugly in need of some PRETTY face primer. Just lay with me in the new world of tomorrow where guys had flowers around their necks, oranges from behind the lodge in their hands where half the guys wanted to know the pain of a heartbreak caused by a female brain.
Cowboy on the bathroom sink singing his heart out 'Go your own way' for me and the neighbour robot to hear. Now I am the woman of mars I am the women of the worlds before me, I can be THE blade runner I can be your cooling black on red Coca-Cola.

This is not really real my boy said his white hair muffled to hide his tears as he fell off the balcony of a mad beauty sleep; a bye bye 70s dream.