I wrote a script that's got legs. Very hot legs, and they wiggle seductively from under the bedsheets, and they run with muscles of lava vocabulary, hot and thick, you can't not hear them.
I'm working on a film idea that's getting uppity. It wants a crown and calls herself queen. I tiptoe into her living quarters so noiselessly on the mornings I want her to speak to me. She insists I work on my knees, deep into the day-for-night day.
I have a dance concept in my head that wants to be an apple. It's got crunch and it might leave you with a sweet taste in your eyes if you get to watch it. This dance falls on your head to make you stop and realize, and maybe make you writhe out of that straitjacket that keeps your physique locked down in postures of societal correctness.
I have a melody in my mouth that is a planet. She wants to whirl around the earth, singing herself to sleep and bliss. She casts shadows on part of me, but awakens me to light in other ways. She has rings around her that are tambourines keeping the beat. She wants to make dancing fools of all of us.
All my creative acts are pompous, elegant, majestic, and planetary. I call them names, they give me head. We whistle at one another, thinking that each is in need of taming. They have a leash for me. It keeps me on the right path, typing these phrases, humming these songs, stepping these dances, acting these lines, shooting these scenes. It is a long, long leash. I am testing its length, and so far I have made it to upper Mongolia, the Galapagos Isles, the Nubian desert. I roam far to find my legs and crown and apple and planet. All the while they are in my head.
But I continue roaming anyhow, so long as that leash is long, so long.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
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