When you collage an image of something you love, and someone sees fit to use it for expressing their ideas about a world tiny in their eyes?
It’s pretty awesome.
The above image is mine. I created it from images I found on Google.
Of some books, and of Andrew Cooper, a model.
And the someone used it as a header for their Tumblr, which I found just now, when I searched for “shrunken man”.
But now, for the meat of this blog entry.
The Good Part
Tell me the good part again.
Is it when I found you, and shrank you?
Because I saw you, and thought, “Yeah.”
“That’s the guy.”
“He’s the one.”
“The only one that has to be small.”
Other ones may or may not be small, but he has to be.
Or was it after, when I told you I’d done it, and you screamed?
You screamed and yelled at me.
For a long time.
For months, or days, or hours.
Or one that felt like the other.
But I took it, and I grabbed you, and I showed you.
That it had to be you, that it could be no one else.
Is that the good part?
Or was it when I wrapped my hand around you?
And made you travel my world in eighty minutes?
Did you like that?
I didn’t even know your name, but I knew you.
Did you know me? Did you want to know me?
Was I the good part?
Or was it when you slept and dreamed?
All the bruises and the scrapes.
You know I didn’t mean to, and you didn’t mean to.
A world of hurt in unmeant meanings.
A world of pain that was the good part.
A world of me written with the ink of you.
Or was the good part when you woke up?
When I woke up and saw the words.
The truth in everything you said.
Is the truth the good part?
Is the heart the good part?
My heart was in my hand.
Did you feel it pound around you when I squeezed?
Or is now the good part?
I think that’s what you’d say.
Now when there is an open space.
And your ground trembles no more.
And your mind is full of your own voice.
And you belong to yourself again.
Is now your good part?
I was at a bus stop
The kind that crumbles in the sun, even though it has a cover for shade
When she sat next to me
And started talking
At first I didn’t respond
Because sometimes, if you don’t respond, they go away
But then she said,
“They don’t have hearts.”
I asked, “Who doesn’t?”
And she said, “In the factory, they are leaving out the hearts.”
I didn’t know what that meant
I should have left then
But our bus was here
And she got up and I gave her a helping hand. I didn’t mean to. I just did
She liked that I did that
And told me the rest
“Those tiny men they sell now,” she said
“They don’t come with hearts anymore.
They figured out how to keep them going without hearts.”
“But that’s not possible,” I said
“Everyone needs a heart that beats,” I said
“They don’t,” she continued, even though my mind was already looking away
“Because they are so small,” she said, as though she was saying “I have cancer.”
“How do you know?” I asked
She looked at me as though I had not been listening
“I work there. I worked there when they still had hearts, but now they don’t.”
“Have you seen this yourself?” I asked, still hoping she was drunk or blind or dead
“Yes. I had to assemble some myself. It’s not that hard. The juice and the egg and the glass…”
I didn’t understand, but I did
“So they are coded to grow and develop and emerge as tiny adults, but without a heart.”
“Now you are getting it. They act a little different too. It chills my heart.”
I didn’t want to understand, but I did
I went home, and I looked at him
I picked him up, and I pressed my ear to his tiny toy-sized chest. Nothing
“Do you have a heart?” I asked him. It
“I love you,” it said
“Do you have a heart?” I repeated
A little louder this time. Words with a beat, trying to jumpstart his, just in case
“I love you,” it repeated. I tried to feel its pulse
Nothing. I got nothing
This is the second image of this series, now accompanied by poetry unencumbered by rules, and possibly direction. Not the straightforward language I love in Bukowski’s works, but how can anyone expect clearheadedness from a tiny man who experiences the daily questions, the constant attention of a giantess who wants to know his every thought? In case he ever has any. I wrote this for my very real little man, and a constant source of inspiration, Hopier.
Why do you always ask
which one I love the best?
I love them both equally, and I know you are going to say
that I have to pick one and I can’t and don’t
You chose me the way light moves through space
You shrank me the way the sun rises
unstoppable, inescapable, unerring
You made me yours, a part of your geography
Don’t make me part of your politics
My brain is too small to lean to this side, or that
but it lobbies endlessly for your decision
left, right, center, where you tell me I belong
I’m where you want me to be
no discussion or argument or a face made of masks
but how can you feel it?
laughter that rings through your body from your back pocket
smiles born into taut darkness
How do you do it? How can you tell?
You feel that too?
You feel everything? Even that?
Especially that. Always that.
My answer to your questions is wordless, thoughtless, and real
If you move me, it will move with me
grab me and shove me from left to right
and when you are tired of East and West, go out and
tell your friends when they ask about me
that “I’m in the middle of things”
“In a dark place” you’ll say with a smile
“Cheeky bastard” you’ll begin to laugh uncontrollably
and they’ll look at you and frown as I tickle
your funny bone and your tail bone and your tale bone and your tall bone
And I’ll make my own jokes to my audience of blue fabric
I have a bone to pick with her
I’ll throw her a bone
bad to the bone
Then I won’t be able to think anymore
because you are walking again and you know what happens
when you walk and the earth moves
and the moons move and I’m their satellite
In the orbit of your curved path
rotating the only trajectory I know
gyrating in concert with masses too large to understand
gravity too strong to resist
pulling me closer and closer to the end and the beginning
So don’t ask me to choose
I never will and I never can
you chose me, you make me, you build my method
I go where you go, where you put me
pick pocket me, bury me there, that, then
You’ll always hear a peep out of me
a back talk out of me, a rearview mirror of your thoughts
I was going to write a poem to go with this,
perhaps some other time.
In the meantime, pretend this is a poem
though nothing in it rhymes.
Have a happy Valentine’s Day
may you spend it in her shoe.
The above is a bathroom sign
for ladies taller than you.
They need a special place
to take their little men.
Too small to reach the toilet
too little to flush the can.
But what does that have to do
with this celebration of love?
I don’t know.
I just like signs.
And straight lines.
I posted this at my old blog two years ago.
I’d been wanting to come up with signs similar to those used for vehicular traffic, so when I found the original background somewhere on the Internet, I thought I could steal edit it and have fun with it. I created a few signs based on the female and male shapes, and tried different hearts to go along with them.
The above gifs are my favorite ones, and since they are gifs, they are animated. I think I might have entered the initial sign with the stylized red heart for an image contest two years ago (or longer), but I don’t remember.
Yes, he’s just a pet, and that’s just ketchup. This poem came to be because I forced asked little squid to write it over two years ago. He kindly acquiesced and posted it as an entry on his blog, together with the collage above. I was so obsessed with shadows (I still am) that I forgot vampires cast none. I’ll just leave it there as a lesson to me.
This was a very amusing collage to work on. I changed her head three or four times until I was satisfied with the amount of red paint and deceivingly vacant expression. In honor of tomorrow’s full moon, I’m posting both collage and little squid’s poem today.
EVIL LIL DRACULA
‘Tis I dear Violet, we meet once again,
My spell of evil darkness, you’ll be helpless to defend.
The fact you’re so Tall, can intimidate the many,
But I have no fears, for my powers are such sweet candy.
Oh you’ll try to resist, you’ll try with playful jest,
You’ll denounce me by size, you’ll use your words to your best.
Giants are so arrogant, they believe themselves so Superior,
But I know about you dear Violet, You can’t resist me thought inferior.
Just my size makes you weak, why I can see your knees trembling,
Am I such a little toy to you Violet, my undead spirit so interesting?
Do I tempt you to reach, to show me such colossal comparisons?
Why now your words fail you, can’t your Giant Mind find its direction?
I am eeeevil don’t you know, it is MY power you can’t resist,
I’ll convert now to a bat and buzz the tower of your fist!
I’ll giggle and laugh as you swat with mighty blows,
Why I’ll even tease you at first, with tiny bites to your toes.
Oh you like that idea? As I’m vacuumed in torrent tumble,
Hurled about in midair, nothing but a fly in your turbulent rumble.
But I’m faster than you, and I have you right where I want,
Standing 203.5 feet Tall, Your towering neck shall I haunt.
Like a mosquito I take aim, your fingers seeking so adeptly,
And my mouth begins to water, to the pulse of your throbbing artery.
But before I take my purchase, I send you a spell-casting gaze,
And in that instant your eyes close shut, and your world becomes a haze.
I mount your column neck, like a window-washer clinging to a building,
Then sink my sharp teeth into you, and drink of your elixir; red, warm and filling.
“You are MINE now,” I speak, “You’ll be slave to me for all eternity,”
“And your size will strike fear, in all those mortals so unworthy.”
“You’ll live through the ages, undead and all Mine!”
“And I will RULE THE WORLD with you, One Continent at a time.”
“You’ll awaken now Violet, and hear only MY commands,”
“You’ll do what I say, and fulfill all my demands.”
But something I hadn’t thought of, caught my attention without a chance,
A soft booming chuckle, took me by surprise as I glanced.
Upward I saw, you awake and startlingly wide eyed,
A gleam I did see, a curled smirk you didn’t hide.
Before I could react, I was plucked like a fly,
Carried up and away, from my prize in the sky.
I dangled and twisted, caught in your finger’s giant capture,
And all that I saw, was the Mountain of your face’s sculpture.
“Oh Dracula, so cute, so tiny your little display,”
“Now be a good little bat and show me, how you’re not afraid?”
“Your powers are no match, for my kind so Giant,”
“It is YOU that is MY slave, It is YOU who will be compliant.”
“Now tell me again, how eeeevil you boast to be?
“You said you have power, are you Dracula or just a flea?
“How DARE you?” I spat, “I’m the Prince of Darkness!”
“Shhh… say no more my little thing, your power is now MINE to harness.”
I wrote a slightly different version of this poem three holiday seasons ago, and posted it at Giantess.com, on a Happy Thanksgiving! thread. I remember laughing a great deal when I wrote it. I enjoyed coming up with images such as these that include members of the board I visited spending holidays together in a way that would never happen in real life, but was fun and even adorable to imagine within the realm of playful fantasies.
I wish a Happy Thanksgiving Day for everyone! I hope you get to spend it with those people you love, whether you celebrate it or not. My religious preferences make me feel inclined to be grateful because I have people I love, and while there are some of them very far away from me, I’m grateful I get to talk with them on the phone. In my heart, nothing is as treasured as my family.
I surreptitiously obtained the Turkey Time collage above from the flickr.com gallery of one of my favorite collagers, TheShrinkee. My stealth is unparalleled.
And the only thing about this poem I’m sorry about is not how cheesy it is, but that I could not include more members in it.
‘Twas the Day Of Thanksgiving
‘Twas the day of Thanksgiving, when at Oz’s house
all the members were stirring, some the size of a mouse.
The turkey was laid on the table with care,
and the smell of taters and stuffing, rolls and pie in the air.
Then Chubby came in, a keg of beer on his head
while grunters cheered and muttered, “wel dirnk til were ded”
And D.X. in his loose pants, and Taran in wide chaps,
had just set off to fill their plates without gap.
When out on the roof there arose such a clatter,
they sprang from the house to see what was the matter.
Away to the window Dharker flew like a flash,
Trek opened the shutter, Zapped ripped off the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
gave the luster of midday to objects below,
when, what to their wondering eyes should appear,
but a group of giantesses that quaked the ground near.
And every member, so lively and quick,
Nemo, Moments, NFalc, and Crick.
grabbed onto something, as the giantesses came,
whistled and shouted and called them by name:
“Hi Redhead! Hi Violet!
Hi Fairia! Hi Kitty!
Hi Faith! All our Giantesses!
We’re delighted and giddy!”
And over the top of the porch!
Over the top of the wall!
They peeled off the roof
and ate turkey, rolls, and all!
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
when they meet with the wind rush of a giantess nigh
so up to the house-top some members flew,
they knew not to hold on. Disthron said, “Get a clue!”
And then, in a twinkling, giant hands came down
to assist those tiny bodies that were swirling around.
As from Violet’s pocket came a voice, a lil squeak,
pintsize said, “I’m used to that too, don’t worry, don’t freak.”
When all the lil guys were back on the ground,
they turned and returned to Oz’s house, not a sound.
could be heard over the rumble and roar,
of those feminine voices that giggled a downpour.
Their eyes–how they twinkled! Their dimples, how merry!
Their cheeks were like roses, their lips like a cherry!
Their gigantic mouths were drawn up like a bow,
and the teeth ‘tween their lips were as white as the snow.
The food was all gone, the giantess had eaten
every single pie, glass of beer, their hunger not beaten
They had billboard-sized faces and still rolling bellies,
their shoulders shook when they laughed, made our knees feel like jelly.
So tall, members thought, “We’re the size of shrunken elves,”
and they laughed when they saw them, in spite of themselves.
A wink of their eyes and a twist of their heads
soon gave lil ones to know they had nothing to dread.
They spoke not a word, but went straight to their work,
and filled all the tables with new food as they smirked.
It came from their pockets, those womanly clothes,
and giving a nod, they wiggled their toes.
Lil members sprang to the table, and ate til they burst,
or so felt as they rubbed their tummies. AW said, “Could be worse…
…they could have decided to eat us, you know?
Yet to Boy that would cause no woe….”
But nobody heard him, as they slumbered
to sleep off their meal. The giantesses whispered,
“Happy Thanksgiving to all, and to all a good night!”
One day last year I was in a bad mood, and reading Charles Bukowski’s poems. Both factors combined like baking soda and vinegar, producing this high-school science fair-like mental gurgitation. I’m reposting it now because I’m awake, this one being the third night in a row I wake up right after the middle of the night for no apparent reason. Somebody get me some Hibernol.
because I said so
and I’m much taller, and I get to tell you what to do
because you are tired
but not as tired as I am of all the noise
the repetitive words
close your eyes and make your chest
move up and down like the smallest tide
I’ll be listening until your breathing tells me the truth
the nose can’t lie the way the mouth does
because you do
even if you said you didn’t
how could you know, if you are asleep when you snore
Snore if you must
the sound is so small
only bats can hear it
and small kittens and special hearing dogs
No? There are no hearing dogs?
only seeing dogs, alright
because I’m tired, and I forget things when I’m tired
I’m tired of your excuses
go to your room and be quiet
climb up into bed if you can
that’s why I put that rope ladder there
I have things to do
important, giant things to do
things your mind doesn’t understand
because it’s so very tiny
Alright, no more mean teasing
but I’m tired, and grouchy when I’m tired
you should know that by now
go or I’ll hide the remote again
Put your house on the shelf again
make you date Barbie again
pull out my little black book again
look up and away at a distant point again
and be grateful
I don’t know enough about roaches and whores and drinking
to make smoking guns out of them