I would turn a library into a home. I would be the happiest person in the world. I would sleep with the paperbacks, build forts with the hardbacks, write stories on the free wi-fi. My bed would be made of shredded pages of James Patterson and Nicholas Sparks novels, and I would read a page of Hemingway every morning with my breakfast, fully annotate it, and then drink coffee out of cups like 19th century Victorian English ladies, especially Jane Eyre. I would make my toilet paper out of all the Twilight, Mortal Instruments, and pretty much any cheaply made, horrid teen novel series that make it ten times worse by their lack of originality. So this is where I would live. I would have my friends cater me food until I make a best selling novel, and then I’ll just hire a chef to serve me. The end.
My favorite food is chocolate, anything with chocolate. If I had to eat it and only it for the rest of my life I would be perfectly content. My favorite meal is a nice grilled bacon-wrapped filet with new potatoes and sauteed vegetables, finished off with a nice chocolate dessert. Angus Barn would make it for me, but they would cater it to me as I lounged on a beach chair, table placed in front of me and everything.
I’m not really obsessed with food the way some people are. What I eat is normally determined by what kind of workout I have today. That’s the problem with being an athlete: I try to watch what I eat. I usually try to combine pleasure and purpose with what I eat: energy and enjoyment. I don’t think a person is really what he or she eats. I think the fuel you eat however is super important to carry you through on the decisions that you make from day to day.
I feel adults get weighed down by all the new responsibilities of the new elements in their life that they can’t hold onto those memories of freedom and opportunity, hope and constant, swimming change. I am sure that I will never forget that feeling of a crush, insecure and sharing it with your friends in circles, in hushed corners of the school cafeteria or auditorium in the passenger seat of your car, giggling as he passed.
So my sci-fi books would be about government experimentation on humans. They want to understand us more, the way we think and act and react. They want the entertainment industry to be built up more, but in reality many of them are aliens, who are seeking to “plant” what we want through study and implementation.
I am a sunrise, a touch of sky blue, with layers of pink and purple and orange. Because, follow my lines and I am creative. I am the sum of these parts: creative, courageous, and a seeker of wisdom. I am the accumulation of my mind, flashed across at the first spark of light, waking all to the beauty of the world through my words.
Hands down, I would attach myself to a plane on its way to Venice. When we landed, I would immediately run to the gondolas and swim from gondola to gondola until I had gone around every square block of Venice, and when the indestructible powers wore off, I would sit in a cafe, reading books and watching people for a good week.
Dada called me Bugsy
And my brother Bugs.
He said we were cause we buzzed
Instead of walking, we were
Vibrations, we were flight,
Sprinkling childhood with our
Juicy-Juice box sweat, damp.
Dada called Mama bitch,
And Janine when company came.
Dada called our house a nest,
A sound of going going and
Never Listenin’, Never Ever Stopping
To think of Dada, who didn’t
Have a special name at all
Until he chewed on a metal tube
And named himself Tragedy
And renamed us all Insignificant.