RIP-TVRIP-TVRIP-TVRIP-TV
RIP-TVRIP-TVRIP-TVRIP-TV
RIP-TVRIP-TVRIP-TVRIP-TV
RIP-TVRIP-TVRIP-TVRIP-TV
2001-03-08
Last night while making a collage to illustrate the third installment of my salute to the education of young women, I decided to set a solar flare as the background of the scene, and it occurred to me to cut the vulva of the central figure out so that the sun would appear to be burning inside it�I feel I don't engage in enough of this sort of symbolism, really. So with my Excel exacto knife I removed a little pointy tear-drop from the paper, and constructed the collage so that the sun shone through the slit; and then I thought, maybe I would put it back.
But I had lost the pussy. It was so extremely small�half an inch long, less than half again as wide�and so colorlessly gray as to disappear against the many layers of gray clothes I was wearing. It was as if I'd dropped on eyelash on my leg�seemingly hopeless. I sat on the sofa, picking at my front, my lap, looking, looking. . .afraid to stand up lest it fall off me and get lost between the floorboards, down among the paper scraps and fugitive beads.
When finally I found the pussy, which had lodged inside a blue jean fold around my knee, I fit it back in place. The pussy acted as a shutter; I missed the sunlight so I took it out again. This time, though, I was careful to glue it to one side, in case I ever have need of a fingernail-sized Zulu shield emblazoned with an all-seeing eye.