Take Another Look











Dear Diary,

the break up with Downey has been by far the ugliest and hardest on me… i dont know what to do. im still friends with people i dated in the past. A guy has NEVER treated me this badly and gotten away with it and received my pardon. Downey used to not return my calls when we were boyfriend/girlfriend.. and as time went further he got worse and worse and slid so bad that there were entire months where i had to initiate all contact with him. “Had” is probably not the correct word here- if I was more of a laid back “I dont give a shit person” than he might have called me instead, but I am not that type of person. So… now that we are not together he is doing it again but it is much worse. with ANYBODY ELSE i would not try to contact them. With anybody else, I would have given up six months ago. But things were different between us and every time I saw him I saw something in his eyes that gave me hope. That hope got broken over and over and over again. But fuck the pity party or blame game, fuck that, my point is simply what the precedence was in protocol and yes, I let it happen because I felt I had no choice in the matter. He set this huge precedent and said all these things about wanting to be in my life. But he knows I have no f-cking patience and not hearing from him is making me hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt. It’s not like the 24 interrogation rooms where they can only hurt you so far before you become dead of a heart attack or loss of blood and they can push it to the limit but… No; This kind of pain can go as high as it wants without killing you. And I can push it down but then the silence continues and I feel like he wants to torture me and I dont understand why. So I should say OKay he is an asshole. But he wasn’t an asshole when he was with me. I don’t get it. So I should leave it at THAT. But I don’t leave things there I am incapable of that. Why did he pick the one person in the universe who cannot leave a friend who they believe is in pain (yes, ironically, I think he must be in a worse spot than I am to be doing this and it scares me to think about it because in his world he has people that depend on him. Maybe he thought cutting me out of it was a bandaid, but I know better. I could go on but that would be going against what Downey wants disclosed. I’ve probably already gone against it but.. Fuck, his lack of trust against me freaks me out. I’ve proven to him i’m one of the few people he can trust. He shared more intimate details with me than anybody else and.. it’s like he is doing anything he can to try to get me to explode and reveal them. Like this girl that called me up and at the time me and Downey weren’t speaking and I thought we were over and she told me he lied about some stuff to me… anyway I forgot (for real) that I had told Downey I wouldnt talk to her about stuff. I told Downey what we talked about. Downey became visibly upset… and Downey said that he knew the next time she called me I would talk to her. Not true. Now that he had proved to me that she was a liar I proceeded to delete her from my facebook and I don’t have her phone number… and I have no reason to call her.. and I won’t. Ever. But his lack of trust in me.. that just makes me feel sorry for him. He has built a wall (he told me this when he was open with me and loved me, but once he felt the stakes were important be somehow became incapable of love. But I still love him even when I dumped him I still loved him! It doesn’t count though. Talk to the friends that try to get me to get over him and they will tell you I don’t call them because I dont want to fucking burden them because I know if they dig deep enough I will start going on. but anyway, going with my metaphor, metaphorically his heart will shut down from not being able to get out. I DONT UNDERSTAND WHAT HE WAS THINKING. THERE ARE SO MANY OTHER THINGS I COULD SAY BUT SOMEBODY ELSE COULD READ THIS. AND THERE ARE TOO MANY SECRETS HE COUNTED ON ME TO KEEP AND THEY BURDEN ME BECAUSE HE WONT TALK TO ME.

lol- i reread part of my book where i am yelling at radcliff (my best friend dave C. a composer, but I should be careful about using his last name the same way I am not using Downey’s real name as I think in the midst of all this I have forgotten to be careful recently about disguising names.) And I say “Radcliff, you know the number one easiest way to make a women violent? It’s to ignore them and not speak to them!” And I go on speaking and quoting from the magazine. I should find the paragraph. But there are many verbatim paragraphs with me analyzing the girls point of view and Dale Radcliff analyzing the male perspective. It is very funny… and some of it is prophetic.

There is so much I can’t tell you diary. Because this is a public place. But even if it were a private place, Downey made me feel like there were things I could not let go of… that is the first time anybody has done that to me…

Why do I feel I need him?

Is it just my problem of wanting what I can’t have?

I REALLY lack patience, that is a HUGE understatement, B understands that VERY well. On a good note, I was able to read large portions of my novel to Burdough (even with slandering remarks about him) and he said he thought it would sell to the audience I was aiming for. It had no damaging impact on our relationship. He did not say “ouch you slammed my hand in the door” (something Downey used to say whenever I brought up a boy I had a past with).

That was a huge relief.

I can still sleep with Burdough… and he brings me comfort.. and love..

but I miss the passion, the incredible “I cant put a word to it” rightness of Downey. Like he fit me… he fit me… how many other girls fit you Downey?

I need to give you time…. this sort of behavior is what scares radcliff away (he still holds a grudge for an outburst I had 7 years ago although he wouldn’t tell me to my face) but what upsets me SO much is that he can’t just be a f-cking man and say “Hey. Nicole. you know what? I need some space. SO to answer your question YES. We are friends. But I don’t want you to call me.. I’m sorry. I still care.. Etc.”

Or.. “No, I don’t give a shit, and stop contacting me!”

But this indecision.. it is torturing me. Not knowing how to handle it.. if I should take action.. ignore it.. Im trying to live my life and move on.. but he is crippling my ability to go on by not giving me any answer.

And the more silence goes by, the more bad things he did I am willing to forgive just because “I miss him.”

Christina said she wrote him a hate message on facebook but didn’t send it. I appreciate her caring and I love her but she is in a marriage that SHE needs to get out of.. I love her. He doesn’t deserve her. Anyway, I’m really glad she didn’t send it. I feel like everything I do is the equivalent of a tip toe but he interprets it as a gun being slammed against his head. I suppose after years of being oversensitized to violent behavior he could get this way. But what I REALLY don’t get.. is that it seems like the reason (in my opinion) his marriage failed is that they were too alike. Him and his wife. They both seem to approach life at the same tempo. Ying and ying as opposed to ying and yang.(I am NOT ying. Whether that makes me yang, we don’t know.) But Downey would never admit this.. HE IS MAN AND LET HIM ROAR! HE IS ABOVE WOMEN! WOMEN WILL NEVER BE EQUAL TO HIM! LOL!!!! Don’t think I’m some kind of fucking martyr for still loving him because I’m not.So what, I’m good at forgiving him. I don’t know why. I do know the second words out of his mouth when talking to me on IM was “I am your future.” Fuck you Downey for making that true. Maybe I was just a dare somebody set him up to take…Downey I miss you even though you were cruel… I can look past everything…. Why can’t you? Too afraid people will judge you for getting back with your ex? “I tried the relationship thing and I realized I just can’t do it,” you said. What crap… I don’t know how to understand that statement so I don’t try.

I just tell you how I feel, even if you don’t answer.

And I sound like a kid.

i miss you.

i leave out everything else

all the loneliness and despair

because that comes with the territory.

I guess I want to know if I’ve lost the reciprocity.

Ha, I’ve answered my own question haven’t I?

Not exactly (I’m talking to myself, something I can only do while typing)

somebody can love in silence, in secret.

I try everything to break the silence, but it’s impenetrable… Maybe I should just show up at his place and say Hi.He’s set me up for it.

I DUNNO.

Anyway.. later diary.

much love… somewhere.

Maybe I should stop living in isolation…. I have a lot of friends that call me but it’s like I’m going through the measures. Yes. my true friends break through those barriers, stop by my apartment at two in the morning, etc, at the time I dont like it, but I appreciate it.

Oh, good news by the way.. Zick (he wouldnt mind if I used his last name) is going to be okay, I think.. he has a 70 percent chance.. they are doing the chemo on him and hopefully he wont need a colonoscopy bag. I’m worried about him.. I hope he can handle all of this… plus the heart attack…And what does he have to live for? No family… no girlfriend…. But he has a good heart. Our friendship has not always come easy. But it is worth more because of that.

Later…

-Runaway Girl



{March 16, 2010}   thrashing

i want to write a lullaby that is also a requiem… something sweet has to come out of all this thrashing.Something of music to myself, like Neil Cassady in White Collar finding the music box. But does he go all haywire when he finds out Kate was just conning him? We haven’t finished the storyline, and we don’t know for sure, and being a romantic, I still say Fowler might have her, but being the character and hero he is he finds violence banal and mundane. The cons who have known him taunt him, saying he never could get his hands dirty.

Back to the upsets. The thrashing has mostly been tonight. It calmed me down,all that thrashing, that it did, but my anger had no direction. Well, maybe one direction, one target, one I keep being angry at because of the things they don’t do, the precautions they don’t take, the truths they don’t tell themselves at night.. I’m not usually angry like that, and it was easy to blame it on the fever that took over my life, made me delirious, but mostly it seemed to overshadow everything inside my head and all of a sudden I found every good memory burned to a crisp. And so I no longer cared. I no longer cared at all and something in me wanted blood. I felt untied from any attraction I had ever had to this person. I used to care so much that I would imagine a shield protecting them, a soft shield enveloping them, and I would be next to them… or want to me. For a few hours I only could  feel  the bright whoosh that comes when you’re knocked out. The tumble of the sound of whooshing in my ears,  the sight of stars, and most of all the pressure.  A wounded animal is the most dangerous kind of animal is what they say.  The target of my anger only responded in a way that created more pain, and I just felt shame, the dangerous kind that tests your limits. Then I receive a nice reply from a friend, a friend that never had to try so hard to be a friend. Maybe we’ve had our upsets and our downs, and we don’t keep in touch as much as we should, but there is something different about my target that I feel that the friendship deserves a lot of time. Certain people, you can pick up wherever you left off. Other people, they belong in your life every day, and without that, you hate them for their absence. It might not be fair, it might not be just, but you know they aren’t even giving one percent, and how can you look past that, when you gave so much more, and would give so much more. And they can never look at the whole picture, think about how much they let me down, and how little anger I have expressed, and think for maybe one minute this isn’t about them, it’s about me needing to express my anger at them. I don’t care how they find it, and if the timing is inopportune then it’s their fault for not ever being available and ignoring every humane chance there is.  I think maybe there comes a time where I should walk away, but right now I am so blinded by the stars and the rage and the fall that I don’t know. I need a reason to care again, for it’s been taken away from me. And in its place is a beating drum, a knife, bullets, guns,  a kind of violence I find barbaric.
At least I am back at that stage in my life where I don’t care if the rest of my life is alone again.

I have blocked out the shrieking noises….And I have blocked out the idea that they care.. or ever did care and are nothing more than a loser.. Okay it is hard for me to believe they are a loser but I somehow lost something of heart when I burned passed normal temperatures… Or so I think… and the only imprint of the steps  taken are being washed away by the ocean.



{February 21, 2010}   fear

Fear is what comes at us at the strangest times. It’s the thing that jolts you awake when you find yourself lying in a pool of your own vomit, in a place you don’t know. It is the animal coming to swallow you whole when you show up late to your new job for the second time. It is what causes you to break the law because you are afraid you might lose your prosecution case. It is what halts your breath for a second or two as you try to speak up in front of an entire auditorium of people who hate you. It is what makes you lose yourself in sleep for days at a time because the prospect of waking and having so much to clean up is shaking you down. It’s the friend you don’t want but can’t get rid of. It’s the enemy you never knew you had. It’s the shaking that arises after you text somebody because you need somebody to talk to, and even they don’t text you back. It’s the sobbing that emerges when you invite a married man over to your house, and only his hands can soothe you from falling into sharp pieces. It is the only thing keeping you from jumping off the roof of the mall, and it is the only thing keeping you from not jumping off the roof of the mall. It is what causes you to pee your pants in the first grade just because the teacher created a new policy, saying too many first graders used the bathroom pass. It gives you nightmares over and over again, trying to send you the same message and failing. It is the moment you stop nodding off as if you have been inhaling poisonous gas this entire time, as you remember somebody saying that medications mess with how much oxygen intake your brain gets, and how your body gets tired of the switch being fucked with all the time and your body not knowing how or when to intervene. It is what comes over you when you learn that you are losing your memory and that you will have to wear diapers as you grow older, using up the last of your pension fund. It is the surprise on your face when the only person you relied on laughs in your face and tells you they never wanted you around, they just liked your money or your body and they don’t care for it anymore. It is the moment you look into the mirror and realize you are getting old. It is the time you see your daughter running across the street, barely noticing when the car stops so she can keep running across. It is the moment you can’t save yourself, much less your own offspring. It is the moment you realize you are about to lose your kids and there is nothing you can do to get them back. It is the moment you pick up a gun to gain control of a situation and your hands begin to shake uncontrollably. It is the fifteen irritating voice mail messages left on your machine that you don’t want to listen to. It is the flood on your hands that you can’t bail out of. It is the mortgage pressing down on you and there is nobody to hold your hand. There is usually a place you to go to when you are that afraid, but what happens when that place stops letting you in. Then you have another fear. The fear of the 86. Being kicked out of the last place of refuge you had makes you quiver in places you didn’t know were capable of that kind of movement. Having to actually use those two quarters to call out for help and hearing no answer, not because they didn’t hear you but because they don’t feel like answering. It is the helplessness of having to leave a husband that makes demands you cannot meet anymore because they are beyond your scope of comprehension. He promised he would never go to a strip club, and now he says that he needs a third girl living with you for him to have sex with, and you don’t say anything, you don’t leave him, and your son grows up afraid that nothing will ever change. It is the hesitation  in a policeman’s trigger before he gets himself shot by the criminal he didn’t want to have to take out. The primal cry of a baby that won’t stop crying in its teenage mothers arms. The shivering of the hardest man in jail, trying to remember the sound of his mothers voice. The puff of a cigarette that helps keep denial at bay until one day the cigarette doesn’t work anymore.  The lovely plush of a needle into a vein until the blood clots. The only thing that circumvents fear is the absence of fear, but for as long as you use drugs or sex or people not to  feel fear, the fear will come back to you as soon as you don’t have your blanket around you. It’s the sensation that something went wrong and nothing will change it. The worst of all is being given a chance to fix it all, and fucking it back up for the ninth or tenth time. It’s what people like to harshly say stupidity, as if by treating it with an iron fist, they can beat it out of their lives for good. It’s the lie you swiftly tell the welfare workers who come in asking you about the bruises all over your body and you tell them, no, of course you fell down the floors for the tenth time. It’s the dreams you have after of leaving home and never coming back again. It’s the moment you turn from a victim into somebody that has to batter other people for making a mistake.



{February 20, 2010}   it’s on me, bitch

She used to invoke fear in me.
That is how I can measure what steps have been taken; know how different things have become.

She approaches, begging for a deal, but it is all a play to her. She blinks her surprise at the way I don’t try to shrink back.She tries to blot out her dismay and bewilderment like a person who had their face tattooed while unconscious- when they awaken, in shock, they frantically try to remove marks that are there for good using any means at hand.

I remember how patiently I waited for her passed out mumblings to stop. How I would try and patch them into sense. The only time I relaxed was during the pauses. I’d gazed through her hazed, unfocused eyes trying to make it to her inside. I used to believe- that I remember. I believed in her rehabilitation and is this my fault that she hasn’t gotten better, that her tricks have only gotten worse, more sloppy, less in control, but she was not expecting me to be somebody that would make anything difficult.

Only I still don’t know how to fight and I don’t want to draw attention to her or pull hair or dig my fingers into her skin or kick and yell. I want to count my losses and go, the difference being this time I have no wounds to lick for she doesn’t yield the hot poker stick anymore.

I am the one! The one that got you kicked off, that cut the line from your cliff! I am the one who gave the police sniper the sign to shoot.

I wrote the letter that finally did you in. My words were the words that convinced them you were a lying, thieving, conniving terrorist.

The first time I saw Keisha I mistook her for a twelve year old cancer patient.It was as if she had no hair and we always met in the cancer wing. Her eyes bore out of her skull like a death rattle.Now her ass is so large it takes up the space of two garbage cans when she leans over and she wears glasses that are copycats of the ones I used to wear.

She remarks that my hair is darker and I remark that she is larger- you must understand she was just a small little thing, skinnier than a rod. She says something about she doesn’t want to repeat this charade of mine which has irony seeing as she used to call me fat- my my how we’ve buttered up, must be hard to get at that last button buttered up like a girl in a gingerbread house waiting to be stuck in the oven, you should be afraid for it appears you are ready. Her insults never had that kind of imagination but what they lacked in creativity they made up for in delivery. I wanted her away from me and I got it.

Only later did I hear there had been a bed for her in some treatment program- getting that bed would have been akin to the person from the ghetto getting a full ride to an Ivy League Institution. But my letter cost her the bed because they kicked her out of the program before she could get the bed. So, they supposedly caught her saying something in line about selling cream. They wouldn’t have paid attention if it weren’t for the letter. My letter.

Today she led me through a haze that turned out to be a maze. 15 minutes she had promised. I didn’t know what to do when she suddenly stepped on the bus, and my hands, burning from the bills that had been snatched from me too soon were what steadied me as I climbed on and fumbled for a copy of a purple transfer that was stashed in my wallet.

I hadn’t realized just how much I had mellowed out in the last few years until, in retrospect, I noticed that my heart had not bounced off the walls from wild, primal fear and terror. The kind she invoked in me every time she asked me for anything.I ended up jumping off the bus ten minutes later in a bad neighborhood, sprinting across six lanes of traffic to get to a bus going back in the opposite direction.

Screw the sister that was supposedly going to fix things and make it right- part of me doubted it would be anything less than a war zone. And though she kept changing what she claimed she had said five minutes ago, the words were not changing in my head. Her promises had not unwoven from thread to cheap plastic given the span it takes to turn the TV channel from one show to another. The only thing that changed hands had been money, and boy did it bolster her ego.

Suddenly she says the only reason she isn’t busting my lip open is because we have known each other for so long, but this could change, she warns me as she uses her phone to either ask her sister for a favor or pretend to ask her sister for a favor.

“If it is so easy, just give me my money back.I don’t need anything from you. Here’s what you claim you can get from anybody.”

“No,” cries her shrill voice as we frantically push the elevator buttons, looking around for witnesses and security guards. “It can’t be done like that.”

“I want my money back,” I curse.

As she continues to discount the proposition, starting from a strand of the truth and ending in make believe, I’m shocked at  the time I once spent in her company. Off to classes with people who do nothing but study and practice. But then, those binges of racing time, slowly melted away, turned into a composite that made up a year, or two, spent in the company of whom? Of what. A nice balance, I think. People who  live in academia and plan on never leaving academia, and people who have only ever lived on the street, who believe they can only ever live on the street.

As if one morning I randomly decided to study the make up of sick sociopaths: I wanted to get them to love me; I wanted to find a flower in the desert: I wanted to enrich the soil a little: I wanted to see if it could be done. I hoped they all softened under the radiating beams of lamps put up so they would not be forgotten.

But they needed to be hard to survive- it was all they thought and it was all they’d been taught. Their first and last lesson of every day, the steel had been drilled into them every morning of every day- show mercy you get your head bashed in. I forgot where they came from–

something they spend every dime trying unsuccessfully to do.

The only rush of achievement these people know is the taste of blood.

Too often it ends up being their own.



{January 29, 2010}   Letter

Dear E. Downing,

I start asking why and the voices won’t stop. Please, can’t you just do that for me? Give me the answers and let me go. Let me go. Can’t you let me go? I bargain and bargain in my head and it gets so loud in there. I beg God, if I give away a kidney, will he tell me about the contradictions inherent in so many of the things he said? Will he please, please be straight with me? Will he tell me the truth? Or does the truth depend on his mood? Why can’t he just stick with facts. Tell me who he’s slept with while we’ve been broken up, or why his relationship status still says he’s in a relationship. Is it because he thinks we are still together, that we have not concluded our relationship? Is it because he doesn’t want to answer the questions people might ask if he puts single? And why, oh why, did he erase my message on his page when he knows it truly does hurt my feelings? Feelings he once cared about enough to not erase things and to promise he wouldn’t? How I hate reminding people of things they said and then didn’t do, I hate it, once spoken out loud I feel like the traitor for pointing out what was left undone. Like the nag, the hag, the rag. E, it hurt me so much to look at your page and see that you expressively erased a comment I left with pure intent, thinking the article would be of solid interest to you. On an intellectual level if nothing else. But instead you delete it as if to show me you can hurt me. Haven’t we already covered that territory? I want to know how good it feels to know you have the power to hurt me. Have you not felt powerful in a long time? I mean I would think you have too much power. You’re the boss and you are already really bossy. I have so much that is so important that we will never discuss. You have no idea how many conversations we can’t have. They over weigh me in their magnitude. Just the potential. And then, you want to believe I would care if you are fucking some girl right now. The truth is that I welcome it; at least then you will know not just hypothetically but viscerally that you cannot find what you had with me with anybody else. I try to find love and cover myself in it and then I feel like you yank the blanket away from me, why do you do that? You seem to care so little for anybody else. Every time the ball is in your court, and your dramas seem to be way more important than my little life. But other guys I talk to they talk to me like “holy shit your life is bursting with events and twists and subject matter that needs to be tended to.. and yet you are below zero maintenance girl.” You might say that is because they want to sleep with me. But I don’t know what you will say because the happiness is fading. It is fading and I don’t want to let it go, would you want to let it go? I sent you messages this morning because I felt this manic laughter rippling inside me and I wanted to share it with you, and in return I just felt waves and waves of sorrow that had an empty shell around it, as if the sorrow hated itself for existed, as if even the sorrow was supposed to fit inside the size of a mosquito’s needle. Why? Why did the sky fall on us? I thought you knew how to build a proper foundation. I want to know about your past, and you made it sound like my curiosity was something sinister when really it is childlike. I just wanted to know you. You made me feel abnormal for asking normal questions. I don’t have much of a sense of normal, and you took advantage of that. Oh, I’m well aware that I am very fucked up!!! but I was open about it, as open as you were closed. But I compromised.. I kept compromising. More than I knew I could. But you didn’t. When I wanted something, was it so important to keep it from me? What was so important that you had to lie to me everyday? Even the last time we spoke. It’s always the last time we speak. It takes my breath away and I’m back to being five again, during an asthma attack, and there is no oxygen. No matter how I gasp, I can’t get the air in. That is the feeling. That captures it. The big gap of what you won’t disclose to me. So what deep dark closet is so important that it has to be hidden from me? Are you really so self-important that keeping your secrets secret are more important than me or you or your life? I was part of your family. You said I was just a toy for your kids to play with. Even they would have been offended of that description of me, and there is so much shame in that statement. If you said it to hurt me it had no affecton me. I don’t know why. Sometimes I don’t recognize the worst things people say. Because, anyway, it never would have mattered? I still bargain. I say, dear God, if I had only not done this, or not said this, would it have been okay? Would he have not sodomized me like a boy in a juvenile prison? Would he have not clap clapped his whip and said, ah-hah, you came back, because in this damp place I am the only thing you have! Ah-hah! ah-hah! E, I could hurt you so much if I wanted to but can’t you see how much control I am exercising? Yes, I am not flawless, I write these things down after I cry or whatever things you probably thing are sickening, that sickening disgusting sincerity again, do we have to go through it again? I couldn’t hurt you. I know many ways to hurt a person. Maybe more than you. But I can’t. I won’t. I refuse to. Not even you could get me to hurt you. Is that why it’s over?

It would take so little. Is it so much to you?

These promises you make. They remind me of the hustlers who borrow money from me and never pay me back. Did they believe they would pay me back?

Was I anything to a mark to you?

I just want to know, dear lord, I just want to KNOW. Why? Should it matter? it matters to me so yes, it matters.

I would have sacrificed so many things for you and now I find myself in the position of my sacrifices being totally meaningless to you.  Because I wasn’t mean enough. I show my feelings too much. I tell you I miss you and you say you know, as if it is a burden you carry rather than a gift. I am so sorry I gave you myself because it made you feel bad. I’m sorry I can’t return myself to wherever I came from. I am tired emotionally, like somebody with a throat that can’t speak. If I come over tonight, will it all have been a bad dream?

Let it be a bad dream. Let it be a bad dream.

I need to get away from myself. From everything. I need to get away. If I can’t have him, and I can’t live without him, than I don’t want anything at all. I don’t mean that, do I? I know I feel as if he is the only person that can make me feel better. I always thought it was a lie when in books the writer described a physical sensation of pain on his chest. But I can feel pain. I can feel it as if I am drowning in my lungs, as if my heart is deteriorating from lack of will.

O Domina nostra.



{January 27, 2010}   the sanctimonious prick (x-rated)

cant remember what it ever felt like to have the sanctimonious prick’s cock in me. oh, he is one of the very few who needs to pretend he must resist me if he is going to want me. anything worth wanting you have to play a bargain game with, well, this kind of game can be emotionally tiresome, especially after a long day when i just need somebody to wrap their arms around me and say, you are okay the way you are, but no, he told me i was supposed to love myself more, why? because i had a history of people like him. or maybe he said it because he knew that after him i would be so wounded that i would need all the love i could take, that i would become so sick i would need to suck off the love from homeless men. i want to say he knew what he was doing when he resisted me and that it was always intentional because oh, if he had to worry about weakening for one second he might lose his power, the only thing he cares about in the world, besides, he likes to think of a world where people think about what they must not do with each other. oh, my long term boyfriend or husband or fiance or ex, i must think about what we shouldn’t do. i would think now that we have broken up you are so angry at me for leaving that you want to believe that it was your resistance that made me leave, that i didn’t know about it. i knew about it and i tried to build on it but you were too simple to learn. to stuck in old habits. if your ex was a nun in bed, what were you? besides, i banished any feeling of what sex was like with you out of my minds-eye first, they were the easiest to forget because the feeling is too familiar to me, that sickening need to gush their seed into any slit at all, but he acted like he was different, and don’t go on thinking i don’t feel unworthy every moment of the day for believing in a prick like him who cant even pick up the phone, who doesn’t have the courage or character to even say hello to me, for in his head i stopped existing the day he pretended to acknowledge my existence, and if only i had known that then, i could have walked on and over him, not by him but over him, because people like that, they don’t go away if you walk by them, after all, how many other young pretty girls did he send friend requests to, and if i believe he was ever sincere in anything he did, if i let myself believe that he was different, which i do, then i won’t get better. for they tell me to move on and forget but i keep screaming, no, it’s not over, and i’m not going to let it be over, all i have to do is reach him, but they remind me that his heart is dead and i’m pumping on and on for days on a corpse, saying no, no, i won’t let his heart be dead. maybe it was dead the whole time and i thought a person was making love, but now it feels like we are simply paying for a clash between our different previous lovers. i’ll move to his grave and look for some sign that he left something for me, i will get machines and tear open the ground looking for a tiny piece of paper with a number, a name, a sign, even a picture. but his daughter cared for me more than he ever did. she left me a picture to remember her by, but this guy didnt even want to get me a holiday gift, a birthday gift, or an anniversary gift. i must accept i was nothing but a dog for him to kick. a dog for him to kick and kick and kick and kick and kick until my gut spilled out and then that part got boring for him, but for some strange reason sadists like to watch their dicks get long and hard, they like to see somebody else as powerless and just a receptacle for their waste and toxins, and the people who want to get rid of their emotional toxins by kicking me are a lot worse than men who just plant their cock in my mouth. so girls want to give them a taste of their own medicine by saying they can play it loose and fast too, they can kick their head back and treat it like a game, going about the search for instant gratification by any means necessary, but it just comes down to remorse and despair, i dont even have the energy to muster up anger at him, i never did, i only wanted to hurt myself for what he did. after he caused so much pain you wonder, what is wrong with you, can’t you fight back? it was never about fighting, i want to say, it was never about a fair fight, either, nor a crooked one, it’s the fact that i was out of my league the first day, and still i loved, i loved so hard and so good, and i took every kick like it was a kiss because i thought maybe it’s the only way he can show anything, just like i seem to notice criticism more than i notice praise, but why now, why this silence, why this cruel, everlasting taunt, it’s in the air, invisible hardening everywhere, and just like the employee he fired i want to plaster papers everywhere saying, this man is not real, this man is not real, he is lying to all of you right now, but im still hoping that he will show up at the last minute and say it was just a test, im sorry you are so exhausted, but the truth is he was never very nice to me anyway, so why cant i find somebody nicer? plenty of guys let me call them any time of the night, even if it is to hear me go on and on about my problems, so why am i wasting time wondering about somebody who never was very nice? because we fit together, that’s why. we fit together, but we are both so fucked up we couldnt even make perfection work. he had to go and ruin it his way and my way, well, i told him from the beginning it was a long shot, i told him all my weaknesses in our first conversation whereas he told me nothing, shouldnt that have told me something? well, i thought his privacy was interesting, and i like puzzles, but this one is ruining my life, taking over my time, i have t0 look over my shoulder all the time now because i think i am still standing on the grave he sent me to, but he didnt even send me there, he sent me to no mans land, a place where children are kidnapped, because he doesnt want me to get my ending, it is the only power he has right now, trying to hold my ending over me, and i cant stop that, he does have a role in the end of our goodbye or in the continuation of us, but he is too lazy to think about it, he doesn’t want to decide, he wants to decide not to decide and one day he can just crawl over and die, and then it will be decided for him. if he never says goodbye or hello, then the fate decides for him. i hate him for this philosophy, i see how it ruins everything he touches and i cry out, and i do things to hurt myself in front of him to show him how it affects people, but it is too late, he hardly cares about a few scrapes and falls and he is too hardened to soften when he sees a boo boo or a drawing or a little girl by her swing set crying. he is hard. he is so hard, maybe he is made of metal, so why do i care? why do i waste my time with a titanium robot? maybe it is easier than facing my own demons? i dont know. I dont know. I just don’t know.im so tired of thinking “how will he react if oh no he sees that i wrote something unflattering about him when he said i wasnt supposed to write down anything about him?” but he broke so many promises you’de think he of all people would understand somebody else breaking a promise but no. and this one is for my sanity. dear sanity, i do not feel sane. please help me. i feel like i need him to feel sane again because my heart is on life support, im willing to give it to somebody else who needs it. put it on a ventilator or something i cant handle it inside me anymore, please, oh please, oh, i will do anything if you give me that. but it doesnt matter how many times i say please, does it. and what is it i want back anyway?



{December 17, 2009}   Extreme states

dancers
“I thought you always wanted crazier. ”
“No!” I holler. “What would make you think that?”
“Fame is an extreme state by the way. And you have an attachment to extreme states.”
“What does this have to do with me living a crazier life, which is something that would probably get me institutionalized.”
“You getting institutionalized would be like my brother smoking pot. Some things are karmically impossible.”
“So why do you think it is that I can’t write?”
“Why do you have writers block? Maybe you are oppressed by this mercenary mentality. Maybe you are oppressed by the need to look for work. You are not free somehow.”
“I know. I just don’t know how I am not free.”
“Well is it guilt? Some bourgeois implantation from your parents? You should be flipping burgers in your spare time? What is it.”
“I think it’s something akin to fear.”
“Well, maybe you should try for the very compact, the very profound.”
“Who says that something compact is something profound? What do you think are the questions I keep needing answered?”
“Do I still matter, Do I still matter, do you love me, do you love me.
“Who am I asking that of…The world?”
“Maybe. Or maybe just this tri-county vicinity.”
“Well, being angry yesterday seemed to return me to some semblance of what it feels like to have any power at all.”
“I don’t understand.”
“what do you mean.”
“Well maybe I need that explained to me one more time. ”
“Well, remember I explained to you that I felt like a bloody heart without any skin? Instead I was seething with fury, but it was contained. For the first time I felt some control. Being angry gave me some control.”
“Well good, but you always have control.”
“It doesn’t feel like I have control when I am out of control sobbing uncontrollably.”
“Some feelings should be toned down. Not every feeling should be exalted.”
“I do seem to have developed a tendency to look for comfort in the wrong places.”
“Hard to think of you as comfort seeking.”
“It just seemed like all I ever felt anymore. The seeking of comfort.”
“The craving of comfort?”
“Yea.”
“It’s a Judaism thing. These late marrying years. So many Jewish girls in history would have been married by now. The organism is aware that you have not started a family by now and it’s making you edgy.”
“That’s very true what you said; I am edgy. But I don’t care about marriage… I mean…. I could be a single everything as long as I had what I wanted if you know what I mean.”
“Well, you don’t have the Jewish papa though. You have a Wasp father. ”
“So how would you explain the conflict? There is a conflict within me. I am willing to sacrifice everything to have my art expressed.. but I feel like I’d be admitting to a huge breach if I admitted- even to myself- that I do want to have a kid someday. The guy I’m with- he doesn’t want that.”
“Poor girl. You should be joyful. You are closer than you have been in the last six weeks. Striking a blow for honesty and truth.And he’s probably thinking about everything. The history, the future, the present.”
“He’s always thinking about that stuff. It’s just his problem with promises. It only happens that things went my way- or maybe I should say our way last night. But I can’t keep forgiving now that I’ve done that for so long and just been treated like shit. It only stands to reason that I should be more vigilant than ever. ”
“Well if you want to be-”
“I don’t want to be! I don’t know. Well, it’s preferable to the pain. I can’t let my guard down. Like this morning I was too blissed out to be angry when he said ‘Oh, we’ll talk before next week. I will call you.’ I should have just answered ‘whatever,’ and rolled my eyes. I let myself hope and I can’t… I left him a message begging him to break up with me because there is no way in hell I want to break up with him! ‘It’s not a relationship if you can’t call me back..’ and I said some other things but it was eloquent, not the way I’m saying it now. But I’ve gotten so many mixed messages from him it’s like reading spam. ”
“I’m sure you have a lot of company. ”
“A lot of company in what?”
“I think there are a lot of women in precarious situations, unsteady alliances, shifting liaisons.”
“Yeah, and the Muslims think we are all whores, and the men here all have conflicting views. It’s the chaos here I can’t deal with.”
“Here, you are not going to get raped and then stoned to death by your family because you dishonored your family. Besides, a lot of those countries practice female circumcision.”
“I wasn’t standing up for that culture- I’m only trying to understand.”
“It has great sides-”
“No! I’m trying to understand MY culture!”
“Our culture doesn’t have enough steadiness. Enough structure.”
“That is the problem!!!!”
“Greed. If we can’t stop worshiping money we will all shrivel up.”
“I sort of worship beauty. Beauty in words, and beauty in art. ”
“Accountants run everything. But they can never tell you the future. But we’ve taken the salesman, the engineers- we’ve kicked them out. The customer is definitely not always right in this marketplace. It’s smash and grab, lowest common denominator.”
“Again, that is something that has been weighing on me heavily.”
“But there is some hope. Our country hasn’t been unified for a long time. Not in my generation, not in the generation before me, and I’ve only heard stories of a time when it was unified. But the left side-”
“I don’t want to hear about the left. The democrats, the republicans, there’s no difference anymore to me.”
“The people in charge don’t want the US to be unified. It’s like the oil companies. They don’t want zero pollution. They want to cross that bridge when all the oil is gone. Or the insurance companies. They are effectively sort of demonstrating that they are more powerful than the people, the president..and some of these people were involved in the bailout and they are still arrogant. I mean that is just not patriotic, that’s grotesque. Even these interest laws. They used to be called usury laws.” ”
“Yeah, the bank stole 125$ in 37 dollar charges because an internet company stole sixty dollars and though they considered it fraud, I have to have the fraud clear it up, and then try and talk them into giving me the money back. I put in 300 dollars into the bank the other day and came out with only 196 in my account. But I have to use the bank to pay my bills.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Well, I wish I could be helpful.”
“I wish so too,” I whisper.



et cetera