cunts are your mates

may 28, 2013

i saw him at the molé festival in pilsen. he looked awkward and lost, like he didn't know it was possible he could gentrify anything. my friends and i went to the bar afterwards, simone's. he showed up. i was drunk and said hello, my name is corrine. with a certain kind of accent he introduced himself and then joined us. my friends and i went to a house party in logan square. i invited him. we got more drunk. he heard me sing and play guitar. he said he'd pay to see me live. we went back to judy and danelle's house, did a bunch of blow. my radical queer lesbian friends are radical and queer. he was the only straight guy there but we had a connection. it was some sort of magneticism. we made out all night in the nooks and crannies of their apartment. then my friend put him in a cab. i should have gone. i wanted to. but they're lesbians and they're my best friends and i guess they know what's best for me? no, they really don't. so i left with two gay guys to get cigarettes. i don't smoke cigarettes. i smoked a whole pack of cigarettes that night. i woke up in dirty sheets that weren't mine and i woke up feeling flemmy and gross and i woke up with a stick and poke tattoo of a sharp sign that looks like a hashtag and i woke up with a bloody finger and bloody pants and bloody lips and a 5 page poem i wrote in sharpie and tag calligraphy about nonsensical loneliness. i texted my ex-girlfriend at 6:30 am some weird poetry shit. i still love her. i'll always love her. and i think the aussie was the closest one to kissing like her. he was a great kisser. and he wasn't weird and try to like feel up on me and shit. it was straight up makin out. it wasn't terrible, and i think we could have had a lot of fun. when he left, he said goodbye, and i said cheers, cunt. cuz in australia apparently cunts are your mates.