iguana bomb!

First Kiss At The Cub Scout’s Science Museum Overnight

Three weeks before our hearing with the scoutmaster, me and Jimmy Paskarelli swirled our tongues together during the Planetarium show. We met in the electricity wing when my dad lent Jimmy’s mom an extra cot. “What the heck?” I thought, standing next to to a ginormous plaster tyrannosaurs rex.   “Do you want some micro-dots, Son?” he yelled from the virtual volleyball court, making jimmy’s mom’s boobs jiggle as she laughed. (Like Space ice cream sandwiches and crystal rock lollipops, theoretically great treats- quite impressive when i was still a Tiger- were sadly underwhelming now that I was an old kid.) “A lot has changed” I sighed, and took out my flint and steel.  The world was ever-expanding, a gas with no container, constantly worlding itself in terrifyingly awesome, unfamiliar ways.  Just 20 minutes ago I saw an Owl turn its head 360 degrees, and I realized that I hated myself for always changing my favorite animal. In fact, I hated everything about my self a day ago for the past 11 years. Why shouldn’t I hate myself tomorrow?

Despite his elder status as a Bear going on Webelo, Jimmy daringly broke rank and grabbed the flint straight out of my hand. While other Wolfs would have felt violated and scared, I remained calm and watched Jimmy, trying to appear indifferent. Jimmy bent down close to my face and said: “you can’t use this tiny metal stick, if you want the big sparks” as he slowly withdrew his new Buck Hunting Knife. All around me I felt static electricity swirling. His long dark hairs floated upward away from his head and my Yomega began to sweat.  Feeling as though we were in the World’s Largest Plasma Globe I watched Jimmy watch his knife. The ZAP   „„„„„„„, chilling blues and the warmest oranges underneath the most violent of whites our faces lit wondrously, Forget my Dad and all Rank! I felt like screaming, Ek-Statik(ly): literally, a standing out from one’s self as if beyond one’s body: ‘fuck the me tomorrow before I can hate my self yesterday’ my spine began to hum. Jimmy Paskarelli’s vein in his forehead was more pronounced than ever before, I felt poetry “swimming in his eyes” NOT like remembering Robert Frost poems about pastures for Mrs. Goulding, but poetry as awesome and terrible as a Tyrannosaurs Rex breaking through it’s plaster and eating our scoutmaster or the whole fucking tour. Veins everywhere in us both buried and bursting with synaptic firin!gs and our favorite juice TANG, we both felt The absolute Terror and seduction from behind the museum’s ginormous telescope. That night after the planetarium we would abandon the pack forever and sleep cot-less underneath glow in the dark stars that amazingly disappear when you focus on just one.

4:00am birthday letter written in my head completely at sleepover after someone said the last word

what insane nintendo spark! petrified museum style, orange warm, blow on it. “The PS controller rumbles!” exclaims Oliver Alderman, “it feels good on your dick”. Did he say dick? When do boy friends stop talking about boners together? I miss back when we massaged our best friends. Remember being scared? 

What a large Dad he was. Angry Dad.  Rowing Angrily.  A Project Dad. Slow down I want to say.  Just blow on it. Large naked Dad in the YMCA locker room, pushing down on one of those electric bathing suit dryers, vibrating his old weird dong.  To Think!!!my history!!is it mine?!!!!!

Remember “the big wind” after baths? do you know How fucking safe that felt? I miss those days. Wet is not nearly as good as it used to be. Neither is Dry. So What? I’m turning older, who is scared?