collapsable acting

the position of the fulcrum: pull it just a little closer.

hold your breath. sputter, but hold it. choke and pass out. come to. have euphoria.

i've seen you come around the corner, lapels flat and tissue discreet. i've hung a finger on my lower lip. the night before in my bath i took account of our encounters and the hollows i'm developing for you to fill. three glasses of port and five cigarettes later, i can't tell the difference between the steam and the smoke. i think about drowning (as all bathers do) and how this might possibly affect you. i imagine at the moment my lungs fill up, you, miles away, drop a fork and pause. my bath is laced with enough scents to cover up any pungent human death, but i worry about my sphincter loosening. i want annie leibovitz to sanctify my dull life and romanticize my silly corpse. i should book the shot in advance...she's a busy woman. make my last hurrah serene, obvious - yet, why oh why. when the water and me are the same temperature so i can't feel it anymore, i pour in more water from the kettle resting on the floor.

your hands are always so busy. what are they scurrying for? could they scurry to pick up a phone of yours that i've made ring? i haven't seen you fidget, but i imagine you fingering keys as you walk to your door. playing with the rim of your cup, or tearing the edges of your newspaper. i could put out my forearm for you to drum on. i'll say it's good for my poor circulation.

but today you're lapels were slightly cockeyed and this gave me great pause. you're such a perfectionist, right? what could have taken your attention away from your polished exterior? little takes mine from yours, so i'm distraught. are you ill? what happened at home? what, god forbid, happened moments ago in the elevator? i feel sick. there was some young thing that exited in front of you, not that interesting from what i could tell. maybe it's what she told you. that fabricating wench is nothing but a calculating hussy with shoes that are made to distract. she doesn't emote. she doesn't analyze. she's a known Unitarian (come on) and has acrylic nails.

but you can't see any of this. those stumpy fingers just twitch without regard, i suppose. flinch at the slightest boring bit of flesh, eh? your corners are looking quite frumpy today. i suggest you take your daily walk quickly from now on, and maybe keep awares.