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Savage Lee Writing

Textual Dérive; The Kinetic Phonetics of a Terminal Fool. Written in the Key of H

Strangers Sharing A Sofa

I dream of getting my hands on you. 

You know what I mean.

I dream of waking up with my fingers on your body, wrapped around your skin. I dream of feeling your flesh compressed in my hands. 

You are succulent, like the scent of something I’d like to eat, floating by on a breeze. 

You are sinister, like the left-handed path, always making up your own missions and being as bad as you like.

I’ve seen you. Walking around your apartment, naked. I’ve seen you posting little thoughts in your blog, half-undressed. I know when you’re naked and when you’re hungry. I know what you want me to know, and what you’d rather keep a secret. 

You and I are like strangers who share a bed. 

We’re like lovers who refuse to learn the other’s name.

We’re here, together, sharing in something simple. Something stupid. Something sensual and spellbinding. 

All I want is to know you better.
But you’re so damn good at lying.

She Was Perfect For That Moment

Once upon a time there was a beautiful robot girl who lived in a city that was built amongst the clouds.

She was a curious creature, half in love with chaos, and half in love with the sound of her own voice. She’d sing in a broken binary tone, like half a fax-machine falling through space and time.

She had pets; broken bio-mechanical birds that were always stuck on repeat, living the same life and singing the same songs, over and over and over again. 

Sometimes she’d strip naked, and climb down her tower to the city streets, where everybody was afraid of her, or afraid that they’d never get to be close to her. She was smooth and funny and kind, and she lapped up attention like a kitten licking cream. 

She was a dancer, but not in the ways that you think of dancing.

She’d wander right up the edge, and peer over it, and sometimes would even throw somebody over, just to mark the distance down…

And then she’d be gone again, off singing and laughing like only a beautiful robot girl could.

People loved her. I loved her. You’d probably love her too, if you ever saw her.

Maybe some day, you will.

I Love Hearing From You Even When It’s Nothing At All

You can follow me; you can follow me around town, and you can follow my blog. Track me, track my words, and figure out what I’m up to. 

You can write me. You can send me letters, and you can form out my destiny with your words, like I’m some two-dimensional character caught between the pages of your favourite book. 

Maybe you’ll stumble through my backyard late one night, hiding from the police and wannabe-abusive boyfriends. Maybe you’ll bump up against my window like you’re looking in at me. Come and look into my bedroom like you’re looking at your computer screen. Everything you see could be yours. You could own it. You could own the world, or at least my little sphere.

You could ignore me, but what fun would that be? 

You could be my partner, my sidekick, or my boss. You could lead the party, maybe to the bottom of some sea. I’ve seen the sort of nerds that like to follow you, and they’d chase your ass to the ends of the universe. 

Let’s just…

Let’s just…


I … You

"I love you" can mean so many things.

I love you can mean “I’m leaving you.”

I love you can mean “Somebody hurt your mother.”

I love you can mean “You’re so alone in this world.”

You loving me can mean so much. 

It can transcend words and emotions. 

We can be alone together forever.

In each other’s eyes. 

"I love you" can mean so many things.

It can mean that you’re right here with me.

Or it can mean

That you never will be.

You’re Nothing Short of Spectacular

It’s raining outside,

and you don’t scare me anymore.

Yeah, it’s becoming cold and the darkness is spreading and I’m all alone and you’re so big and weird and loud, but

you don’t scare me anymore.

Sure we’re all alone out here on the ocean and maybe we’re trapped on the top of a mountain and it could be that we’ll never get home again, and still,

you just don’t scare me anymore.

We’re eating cookies and we’re drinking beer and we’re doing drugs and we’re laughing at nothing and watching repeats of our favourite shows on the TV, and still and still and still

you just don’t scare me anymore.

But maybe you could

if you tried.

I’ll Miss You, Robin Williams

I was privileged enough to speak with Robin Williams a few times. 

I was a huge fan of the man when I was a child. I had the cassette tapes for his comedy performance “A Night At The Met,” and the “Good Morning Vietnam” soundtrack which featured the audio of a great deal of his performance in the movie. And I played those two tapes constantly, until I had them memorized. Every word, every breath, every pause of silence, every crazy voice… I have all these memories of me just walking around the school yard, my headphones on, his manic voice in my ears.

Then one day, as an adult, I was walking down the street, with a friend, when she suddenly turned to me and said, “I think Robin Williams just checked out my tits!” I spun around on the street, only to see what must’ve been him, walking away. I bantered with my friend for a block or so about the idea of talking to him, before I suddenly frozen, and then bolted back the way we’d come from. I ran until I was next to him, and then I just walked side-by-side with the man, until he turned and saw me. I blushed, and told him what a fan I was, and asked if there was any truth to the rumour that he wanted to be in a Transmetropolitan movie. He was very earnest, and kind to me.

We ran into each other a few times after that, always in the comic shop I worked in. He’d come in, sometimes dressed very sillily, often with sunglasses on, as though to hide the fact that he’d just gotten really stoned on our Vancouver weed. 

He was also cool to me. He called me “boss”, like he respected me for some reason, and he was always happy to talk about art. He loved learning about new comics, new artists… anything that separated itself from the old, regular world, and started to transgress into the realms of the new and unusual. 

I didn’t expect to be so heart-broken by his passage, but I am. I recognize now that he was one of my heroes… And more than that. He was an inspiration, and when I was just a lonely little boy in the woods, he was something of a father-surrogate. He was somebody I could look up to. Somebody who showed me how much potential there was for weirdness and merriment in this life. He made me feel like there were others in the world like myself. Jokers. Comedians. Dadaists. 

I am terribly saddened by the great man’s passage out of this realm. His life was gift for all of us to enjoy. 

You were a wonderful human being, Mister Williams. 

And I miss you.

She Wants To Be Happy

She wants to be a good let pet. She wants to be taught tricks.

She wants to be well-owned, and looked after. Chain her to the bedpost, and leave her a dish of water. 

She wants to be treated like a whore, but unpaid. She wants to be given instructions to obey. She wants to be punished when she’s bad.

She wants to moan softly, with her mouth full of something. 

She wants to limp her way from the shower to the bed.

She wants and wants and wants. 

She wants to write me little letters, pleading for attention. 

She wants me to notice her, to desire her. She wants me to sneak into her room, her bed, her dreams… She wants me late at night, when she can’t see right or think straight. 

She wants to bend until she buckles and breaks. 

She catches me in her teeth, and smiles. 

You + Me + All The Rest Of Them

We’re badasses, and we’re out on the edge, and we’re driving fast. I can see the wind, the G-forces, pulling on her outfit, threatening to expose her body to the world. 

And who wouldn’t like that?

She’s a heart-full of fire, and she’s blowing kisses like hookers blow strangers. 

I want to feel her hands on me, when I go speeding right off the side of the road. I want to hear her laughter as the tires spin in midair. I want her, I want her, I want her: to be you.

Remember how you and I used to be? Like lovers in love on a lovely day, just soaking up sunshine and spitting out the bones of the unwary. 

You and me, we’re special, aren’t we? Sure we are. You’re here, and I’m here, and we’re like, sort of together, in this thought, in this moment, in this place that’s not really a place, in this time that’s outside of all time.

You and me, we’re traveling together, right now.

I’m holding your hand like I’m holding your attention, like I’m holding out for something more.

Come a little closer. Speak a little louder. 

And we’ll do it together. 

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