Dear Maslow, You Forgot Drugs and Alcohol
by Shaina
Shaina Loew (duh, who else writes on here right now?)
If you can describe the difference between twerking
and the Pokemon Butterfree’s courtship dance,
we can be friends. Perhaps it’s hard
to say in a dark club, but I would say it starts and ends
with the wearing of leggings versus wings. Consider
the matter over a shrunken head, under an avalanche
of lime, on a cloud of
snow. Forget it; now you’re getting
away in a cab on a bridge. See how unimportant
the need to breathe and shit might seem now? So
this zooming must be somewhere after the Safety and somewhere
amidst or above the Self-Actualization…the part that gets
me is what good is a hierarchy when at some point
the hierarchical matter becomes questionable. Or anything—like
why answer the question when Butterfree aren’t real or
we’re not. What are leggings. I’ve heard “not pants.” What are
pants. Winnie the Pooh is laughing somewhere. Someone once
told me to keep my pants in the freezer. It’s astounding
with all these questions about barriers between legs and world that we have time
to worry about an order to human reassurance. Like…
who cares about their IRA when we’re too busy looking at
Becky’s butt?
How come none of the lines endings coincide with the endings of the sentences except the one ending in “butt?”? It hurts my OCD.
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