AstroGirl

Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.

And BLAST OFF! you're shooting through the stratosphere and nanosphere and ozosphere and bullshitsphere and letsnotgotheresphere, breaking through to the

clean cold pure sure azure sky above all of us and all of everything and let me

faaaallllllllll

let me float like a spaceman as you Willy Wonka me in your great glass elevator but avoid all the Vernicious Knids.

Astro Girl.

Marry me, Astro Girl.

You think I'm joking, but I'm not.
You think I'm drunk, I'm not.
A lot.
You think I'm silly, I think you're hot,
I drink bourbon, you smoke pot,
it hits the spot,
you hit me, pop,
pop,

POP on Chicago you hit me.

Plug it in, spit it out, hits me in the chest- from- where- I- am- sitting- on- the- front- row- where- a- woman- I- once- almost- had- sex- with- is- drunk- and- offers- me- her- seat.

And I take it.

Astro Girl.

Take your axe and GRIND, Astro Girl, throw your stones and bones and boxes and fling them straight into my heart,

frow your brow
from the stage
and
scream sing
SHOUT
and you don't even know that we are there.

That I am there.

There are these eyes, you see, these eyes, these cold steel-blue eyes that look at I, and I spy the eyes, and the eyes, they eye I, and I, I ai ai think these eyes are winking at I from the stage in the middle of a song...

But that is just a fantasy of I.

That is just a phallacy of I,
a waking fever dream I have as I
clink and clank
and rough and tumble
the
northbound
red line
el train
home that
night.

Astro Girl.

Forsake your suitors that bandy about you, Astro Girl.

They come out of the WOODWORK, Astro Girl,
they claw and crawl their way out of the murals,
always with drink in hand,
always with money for band,
they never sit but always stand,
lecherous whisperings
about you
behind me
from- where- I- am- sitting- in- the- front- row- drunk- almost- had- sex- with- woman- now- too- drunk- and- has- gone- home.

And you sign your name,
"Glad you came!"
walk the walk
and talk the talk
'cause that's your job, Astro Girl, but not mine. I want to stand up and shout across the room,

"Hey!
Get rid of these
slacker-loafing,
petchouli-wearing,
long-hairing,
Jerry-Garciing
motherfuckas!
'Cause underneath they're nothing but frat boys ashamed of their Winnetka money, and they'll do you WRONG, Astro Girl, they'll do you wrong."

This-is-what-I-want-to-shout-across-the-room.

"Hippie Girl,"
that's what they call you.
"Hippie Girl,"
my friends say when I so smoothly and subtlely ask about your dating status,
"Hippie Girl,
she's a hippie girl,
a slippy girl,
a daisy-tripping
cowlik-flipping
hippy-hippy-shakin' girl
who'll have NOTHING to do with you, Jason.
'Cause you're no hippie boy.
You're a lippy boy,
a chain-smokin'
meat-eatin'
Pavement-playin'
Gap-wearin'
open-mike-grabbin'
always macking
but still no ACTION boy.
So do yourself a favor, boy
just put her out of your mind, boy
she's gonna break your heart, boy
YOU'REgonna break your heart, boy
just put her out of your mind
put her out of your mind
put
her
out
of
your
mind."

But I know better.

I own the CD, Astro Girl.

And it ain't no hippie music. I sit there and listen and think, "THIS ain't no hippie music.
This is angry music.
This is beauty music.
This is sad and happy and bored music.
This is getting drunk by yourself off a bottle of red wine in your own apartment music.
This is laying in your bed at three in the morning staring at the ceiling 'cause why didn't they call godDAMNIT music.
This is MY kind of music."

Astro Girl.

Marry me, Astro Girl.

I know you don't believe me,
I know you don't trust me,
or know me,
or
maybe
even
like
me.

But I want to wrap you up, Astro Girl, I want to take you home, cover you in affection and protection,
I want to love with you
and laugh with you
and me write a piece about you
and you write a song about me
and the audience will giggle whenever we perform them
and point to the person loitering in the back of the room and whisper,
"That's who they're talking about, you know!"

So do me a favor, Astro Girl, and marry me.
Wear a crown of daisies on your head,
walk barefoot through the forest,
tell me I'll always be yours
and you'll always be mine

and if you can't marry me then
do me a favor, Astro Girl, and have some coffee with me.
Sit at Urbis Orbis with me.
Bum a Red
while I pick your head
and no Grateful Dead
and no friend Ted
but dinner instead
and then we head to b...
(laughs) And then we head to a movie.

And if you can't have coffee with me, then
do me a favor, Astro Girl, and just keep playing your fucking music,
so I can slip into the back of the room,
close my eyes,
strap myself to your rocketship
as you blast through the astrosphere,
where nobody breathes...

and time stands still...

and we are zooming...

we are floating...

we are falling...

we are FALLING...

(whispering) we are falling...

Copyright 1996, Jason Pettus. All rights reserved.