lugging the juggalo

i always think about eric, the best poet and friend i had in cincinnati; he was the sweetest, most cherubic being, despite his wild streak and ICP obsession. he's plain, many would argue homely, and his fingers were next to mine every day in Poetry. they freaked me out, just little sausages with weird nails reminiscent of two people i shall not name, sausages of vomit.

only his weren't vomitous, and he had the most wonderful blond ringlets and honest heart, and the funniest, most well-executed poems of any of the guys in that particular class (and second-best of any of the guys in any of my classes)...and the least reserve when it came to critiquing my poetry. he was good, he knew it, and he knew i was good, and wanted better.

i used to tell him i loved him. it upset him a little, i knew, and that was the plan. i knew no one had said it, and that possibly no one would, but he deserved it. someone like me--i know what's real, and what i want to be real, and what's not even worth its funny money. little by little i heard about his life, and he was the sweetest kid--screwed over because he was just too damn sweet.

so finally he told me that it had grown on him, seeing my three little words written all over everything, that he felt warm&fuzzy&different, comfortable, a little new.

he may not be the cutest guy evar, but he really was cute--he'd slide notes under my door whenever he came over despite knowing that my door was unlocked for him, sometimes a flurry, and stand giggling, waiting for me to collect the snowfall. comic books, camping, a little sister whose parents melted down at her wiccan teen obession....

and this is what i love about zeus. he's got a funny-looking head and his nose is a real honker now, taking up more of his face than i'm used to and more than i would deem attractive, but that is really what makes him cute, what makes me wonder every time i look at his face, seeing how he looks like Ernie with those ears, and how satisfying it all is because i know that any minute now i'll squeal and collapse against him when he says something funny.

it's tough knowing that you've made a lot of wrong turns because of something that really was beyond your control; it's humbling, empowering and rejuvenating to realize that a two-year backslide gets more than its measure when you spring forward. even with a bobblehead you know you'd have walked away from because you'd never be seen in public with that back when you were All Progressed.