Yeva Adalyan: Dating Online - recipes and remedies

Dating Online - recipes and remedies

are you not ashamed of things you want to do?
dating corpses is like a profound liberation from my usual occupations
the smell of young dead brains has put a spell on my waiting conscience
tiny souls have tiny problems
here is my prescription -
looking for a down to earth
180 pound
6 feet tall
heterosexual male
preferably a homophobe...formerly a female is a plus...
who has been there done that
who doesn’t live with his parents, but feeds their cats and walks their dogs
who is willing to have pink floating candle-light dinners
who can barbeque shrimp... and vegetables as well...
who will be caring and appreciative of my beauty like no other normal man
who likes to travel, is not afraid of neither heights nor lows
a man with dramatic, traditional family values
rooted standards
strict and rigid principles
a male who’s extremely athletic
a male willing to lend a buffed...or at least fairly built.. shoulder to cry on
a male ready to offer a neutral uninfected ear
a male who likes action/romantic/sci-fi movies, all with happy endings
a male who doesn’t require lingerie every night
who drinks cognac and eats chocolate... in moderation though...
the indoor cigar smoking allowed once a week
with the maple french door half hanging open
a male who’s detail- and career-oriented
silently open-minded towards my talking habits
a male who’s less of a dreamer, more of a neutralist-conformist
a male who has a toolbox both for relationship and car problems
a male who carries a first-aid kit in the car
stores filtered water by the exit door of his house
and keeps plastic construction hats for emergency situations
under our newlywed’s maple wood bed
color: preferably lemon
... I wash my parents’ wishful naivete with my morbidity and sinful hatred
towards their fictitious happiness for me...
I need a male who’ll make me feel unreasonably special and
unquestionably desired, proving it with
guilt trips,
jealousy scenes, and a
single red rose once a week...
...they are getting quite expensive you see...
...and I shall willingly close my eyes when I see him
ogling another woman’s legs...
I want a male who has a fireplace,
a deck,
a washer and a dryer inside the house
a male who has a mechanic friend,
a lawyer friend, and
a DJ friend for family gatherings
a male who doesn’t have any single guy-friends who spread danger...
I want a male with a potential to live on a farm if need be
a male able to make safe,
family-oriented investments
a male who puts his money where his mouth is
possibly a real-estate agent, or
an owner of a company
with a minimum of five million dollars in revenues
a male handsome enough to be introduced to friends
but not enough to be coveted...
for a detailed list of my demands please refer to my online profile...

Copyright 2004 Yeva Adalyan

Yeva Adalyan: The Cat and the Chicken

The Cat and the Chicken

He loves me in my absence
I hide behind curtains when I'm present...
She ran around like a chicken with its head cut off...
occasionally though fixing the lace collar around her neck... by habit of course.
Habit of looking pretty, eating fatty, throwing confetti, feeling shitty...
Habit of throwing carpets before turmoils - a sign of respect
Habit of gracefully opening doors in front of thunder and lightning - a sign of pride
Habit of bowing low in front of boundaries - a sign of strength.
The chicken raised its wings to hold the aching head
and lowered them in disappointment
Where is the head though, the chicken wondered...
It couldn?t possibly be cooked for some candle-lit dinner
It must be around somewhere, the chicken was hopeful.
He loves me in my absence
He has no patience for my presence...
Too heavy to throw away
Too light to be considered priceless...
The chicken crashed insects while it was running...
Had it become insensitive or a bit blind perhaps?
Not enough time to analyze
Not enough time to undo the fact
He hugs me in my sleep
Casting his shadow only when I?m awake...
The chicken slowly losing hope
Hope of a head fried for some lunch
Not enough salt
Excessive pepper
Incoherent absence of brain
Pierced tongue and earrings
Tattooed lips
And lasered sideburns
The chicken gets ready to jump out of the fence
Gets enough courage to join its head, be fried in Canola Oil and Mayonnaise
Salt is too painful
Is holding it back... for a short bit though...
Next step is desperation
The next one is fear
The last one - giving up.
The frying pan's getting excited
Canola starts singing
Mayo losing its texture
Salt acting all innocent
Pepper stays red - unable to hide its shame for participating in this feast...
Feast of forgetting
Feast of rebellion against all memories
Feast of ignored reconciliation
Feast of immature intensities and premature ejaculations
Feast of roast chicken with the wings still shaking
Pierced tongue still infected
Tattooed lips still bleeding
And sideburns growing back.
He loves me naked but my Mary Janes on and unpolished
He likes watching but not touching
He wears striped shirts with a Hustler Hollywood undershirt
He likes to hide but forgets his boxers under my sheets
He asks me to forget his face, accidentally leaving his snapshot in my dresser
He pretends to listen with earplugs in his ears and hands covering their surface
He pretends to see with his eyes wide shut and curtains safely closed.
The chicken is done, well done I should say
Its smell is immaculate
Its taste close to perfect
Its texture most tender
The hunger is quenched
Everyone applauding
Cook left for the night
Gates are all locked
The spirit of the chicken traveling the world
A life short lived though sweet
Time for new skin and bones
Strong wings, toned and stretched legs
Growing feathers, attentive eyes... and a will to fly.

Copyright 2004 Yeva Adalyan