Candlestick up a cat's ass, so to speak, they say, this is what he did. They say, this is what he did. I see these people I do not know in towns far away and they say Did you know that is what he did and I do not know what that means, no, of course not, but is it real anyway, a candlestick up a cat's ass.
We look at photographs on the internet of things on fire. We look at photographs on the internet of houses and structure fires, we see firefighters carrying subdued cats from buildings, locking eyes as if in romantic love, a gesture of thank-you. On a blog a certain picture gets 1 million hits in less than 48 hours with comments such as "look at the gratitude in his eyes, can you believe it?"
When animals are trapped in fire, what firefighters can often later remember is the silence. The human survivors can remember how the animals, in trauma, in shock, will sit inside their wounds, will not lick them or clean them, will not try to stand or eat or drink, they will simply be with their wounds until it kills them. They will be passive. They will make no noise.
The camel, in a circus fire, gets spooked easily and stays in one place, even if it is burning alive.
It would rather fold its legs underneath itself and admit defeat.
In our first apartment together, we put a Grace Jones record sleeve on the wall. The record sleeve is supposed to be our art, something to fill the void of white throughout the "cozy" (extremely small) place. Eventually Grace Jones ends up on the coffee table with a pile of cocaine on her flat top. We make lines under nose like various types of moustaches with curly-q'd ends or a small patch, too much like Hitler you would say and snort it up immediately. That was the moustache that made you feel the most uncomfortable.
How to subdue a cat long enough to stick a candlestick up its ass. It would claw and bite you.
You could beat it to almost death and then penetrate. That is really the only way.
We are eating huge slices of pizza and you are wiping your hands on the sides of your expensive jeans, ruining them with grease stains, and you are asking me "What are the most aggressive breed of domestic cats?" and I don't know. I take one bite and feel like vomiting, put it back on the white paper plate you handed it to me on. We are sitting in the park watching the bums rummage through the trash for empty aluminum cans they can take in for weight and get money because there is no deposit exchange program in this state. In Michigan, pop cans are 10 cents, the largest market deposit value in the country for aluminum cans. "That information doesn't help me" you say.
How to put a candlestick up anything or anyone's ass. With or without consent. Anything with teeth will bite without consent. That is, of course, if you choose not to beat it to almost death.
Walking home from school to the bus stop, I step over a dead bird. I step over a dead squirrel, what looks like a squirrel, its teeth all bucked out and rotted, on the sidewalk, not even on the actual street. How did these two animals die? Did they die together, one block apart from each other on the same side of the street. Is it the streets fault? If you could put a candlestick up a cat's ass, if this were true, who's fault would it be? The street the person grew up on, the household, where are the parents. Did you know that he did that? What is wrong with people.
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