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write here, just where i left off. write in a little dream-scape, like the one that woke me this morning. i am a baby rhino, with a wee pachyderm sloppy ass, and am the dingy, grey color of elephant skin that's been rolled in dirt. i'm trotting along down a sidewalk in some suburb in the nineteen eighties, complete with manicured lawns and bunches of faded yellow flowers. i spy in the distance, down along the same sidewalk, a gorilla, huge and magnificent. a sleek, black head and powerful jaws and arms that reach to the ground and balance him upright. and he sees me. he breaks into a gallop, coming towards me faster than i can run, and bellowing angry primate insults that a baby rhino can only perceive as imminent death approaching. i know that i cannot outrun this creature, and i duck behind a white hatchback car, with black tinted windows. He stops abruptly on the other side of the hatchback, sniffing the air for my scent, head back, nostrils inflamed. angry. he proceeds to chase me around the car slowly. my four little legs tripping me on the slick pavement, and his lumbering slowed by the scraping of his knuckles. but we both know that after i grow weary he will catch me. and i will die. and i wake up. more afraid of being sent back to relive the eighties in my dreams than to be eaten by a gorilla, i sigh and shudder at the fading memory of the ugly, white hatchback car with its dark windows. thankful that i did not wake up back in my mother's house in fresno in say, 1989, wearing a denim scrunch-ie in my waist-length hair, and going to school in turquoise stirrup pants covered in an over-sized t-shirt that has sequin mirrors and puff-paint on it.
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i could see the smooth rocks on the bottom. they swayed slightly with the current. i blew bubbles through my nose with the last bit of an exhalation. i was floating... floating... on the top of a shallow solution. and then i changed my mind. a pisces is given license to do just that every now and again. i lifted my head out. fiery hair sticking to the sides of my face. and dripping... dripping... off of my nose. off of my curls. i kicked forward through the icy cold. and it felt good. the reflection of stark birches and wide, creamy sky came in to greet me. my boots were heavy, so i kicked them off. i like to think that maybe someday a fisherman will catch them, and dry them out. maybe docs are durable enough to wear after being sunk for a few months. maybe the coming ice will preserve them as it does so many things out here. the new life waiting to burst out from below once the thaw hits. but for right now, i am numb. too cold for goosebumps. too cold to notice the cold. and i round a small bend, and then another. up, up, up stream. fighting softly, gracefully, that old current that never ceases to try and pull me back. there are some logs below me. i feel their mossiness between each toe. a carpeted wilderness beneath the waves. and the moss and long grass hold them down. water-logged and split, they provide steps for me, there - just when i need them. and the little silver fish swim past. crowding away from me in quick darts. i put my face back under. it's so clear. when i was younger i used to rub an ice cube over my face each night before bed. there are so many things i was fond of like that. i've replaced them now. the ice cube with my head in the water. the feeling of spring with the feeling of winter. everything about the seasons of this dying year have been true for me. spring was a blossoming, summer a last reveling. in fall i fell, and the winter has brought a hibernation and clarity of the bareness of life, which is beautiful in its own way. i pulled my face out. in time to notice the doe who drank further upstream. i was silent. not wanting to disturb her, i stilled my movement. and then returned to moving when she had gone. short, white tail - the last of her visible as she escaped into the trees. and it was peaceful. running slowly underwater. making a path where there was none. learning the terrain with my whole self. arms, feet, legs, hands. pushing and pulling over the polished stones. over the earth and the water. moving through it and moving with it. the river and i were one.
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i had a dream that i was holding a kattana (a japanese sword) at my side and was running over a windy plain that was covered with golden grass. it was sunny and i don't know what i was running towards or from. but i was running and running, with ease, never dropping the sword, never becoming out-of-breath.... maybe it's some new olympic sport i'm gonna create.
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...but what the fuck? this community's so small you all must know the story already right? okay, so here's my version, maybe loosing it into the wild will help someone besides me. i just needed to get it out. and i do feel better now...
He didn’t want me anymore. I had triggered something in him and he began to see me as dangerous, one of those crazy femmes. He said he couldn’t trust me. He wanted to know what I was afraid of, well:
Every once in a while we all have a crazy idea. And we think “oh, maybe this will work.” And we run with it, full speed ahead, you know? And that’s what we were. But, after some time the idea isn’t crazy anymore. You nurture it and you create it and it becomes something beautiful, not always, but sometimes. And you spend all day, everyday making it beautiful. And you sleep next to it, and you take care of it. And you think it’s perfect. You’re an artist. You have built up a masterpiece. And you give it all of your energy, all of your time, all of your love. Then you stand inside it and look out on the world from it, and you think, “it will always be beautiful like this”. And you see that you have made rose-colored glasses for yourself. And you are proud of your creation. Then, one day you take a step back to try and get some perspective. And you see the world the way you used to for a moment. And you notice that you have constructed a tower of babel – good intentions, but you didn’t look where you were going. And when you take that step out and away, your precious work of art falls flat. It is dust. And no amount of huffing and puffing from you will help it to rise again. And you find yourself alone. And no amount of distraction can ease your suffering. So you write about it like this, with the horrible, angst-filled non-sentences of a teenager. And you can’t even see what you’ve written, because the tears are sheets upon sheets thick. The darkness is so vast, and you find you’ve forgotten how to swim. And there is no shore to be seen. And no one else can make his or her way across your sea to help you. And everything that you love is out of arm’s reach. It is the perpetual motion of smacking yourself into a concrete wall. You’re bloody and hurting. You do not remember feeling a pain like this before. This is why you never end relationships this way. You only ever have once, over a decade ago, when you were too young to hurt this much. And ever since, you’ve protected yourself by running first. Always making sure to be the one with the head start. I guess it's just a life lesson I needed. I fucked up my world by truly feeling, by finally knowing what it is to love. This is my damage. I kept myself from shutting down, and instead felt overmuch. And I’m sorry. I want it all to be smooth. I want to smile for you, but I haven’t got it in me just yet. My face hasn’t been dry in a week. Sleeping and eating have become problematic. I want him to be happy, and I suppose he is. But he doesn’t want me. God help me, I never expected to hear that from him. And he is all that I want. If I wasn’t so poor, I would be a raging drunk by now. If I wasn’t so ashamed of myself, I might have made myself even more pathetic by some traditional public display of femme pain disguised as anger or hate. If I didn’t love him so much, I might have written of something else. Or better yet, be out living, instead of sitting on an unmade bed in my robe. But I don’t hate him. I never will. I envy polyamorous people. What a marvelous theory they enact. All is fun, for them, all is love. I would love to be able to save myself from putting all of my trust and heart into a single person. But I’m not wired that way. I’ve tried to be. And I’ve hurt myself more because of it. I know me. I know what I can and can’t stand. But love overrides all of those things. I am in awe of my love for him. I didn’t realize how far I let him in. I wish it wasn’t so. Adonai help me, I didn’t know. He’s still home for me. Where I feel like putting my feet up. My beautiful baby. Mine. My baby. Distinctly fuzzy. I love him. I can’t help it. I built up this love, and now I live here alone. And it’s desolate in here. Adonai help me, pull me out. It’s so dark. I wish I were fucking fickle, like so many other dykes pretend to be. All of us are walking around trying to keep our hearts and wits about us, suspicious of feeling for anyone. They try to love superficially, safely. Neatly tucked inside themselves except for trysts here and there. Walking about every day wearing safe, practiced faces that betray nothing. I’ve never been that. I’ve been told that I appear to be unapproachable, stuck-up. But I’m just afraid of people, and I don’t play cool very well. I don’t have a safe face to show you. If I am happy, you will know it. if I am faking, you will see it. if I would rather be dead, my look is unmistakable. Often painfully shy, but I’m painfully honest too. No, I’m no martyr. Don’t feel sorry for me. Shit happens, they say. A bitch, a friend, a singer, a meditator, a student, a teacher, the fortitude of a mother, the cowardice of a child, a yogini, an artist, and until recently, a lover – I’m every woman or man, all cliches, the same as you. I just hurt tonight and I thought I would share, because you may have seen me around, but you’ve never heard me speak. I communicated everything with him. I am proud of myself for that. There is nothing I wish I would have said and didn’t. He knows me. Every stupid and wonderful thing I’ve thought and done, he knows. Adonai help me, help me to not shut down. I hope to always be able to feel this deeply. I don’t care how much it hurts right now. I don’t want to become jaded and bitter toward everything. I love him, oh fuckin’ Christ, how I love him, and want him. Just a look, just once, anything… I know what it is, now. I understand the ache. The darkness of separation. I feel the loss of you, gabe. What mighty and terrible distance there is between friend and lover. What hell there is in having no one there to give love to besides myself. And yes, I know my self deserves love. Fuck it hurts. But I’m not angry. I understand pain for what it is. I love you. Adonai help me, I love you, enough to let you go if that’s what you need. But I miss you and Jup-Jup more than you could know. You are beautiful and generous and honest. I appreciate that. And I am lucky that I was given the chance to love you and to be loved by you. Thank you. Thank you for loving me.
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just found out that janis martin died on monday of a terminal cancer. and i just started bawling at work. i was gonna send a comment to her myspace page that her granddaughter runs, but i didn't. everything i could think of to say is so fucking inadequate. how do you tell the family of a great rockabilly lady what her music and very existence in rock'n'roll means to you? and how do you say it without sounding like a superficial cad who only knows about it at all because you read it on myspace? i should be taken out in the street and shot clean through. nothing i can say would be poignant and sincere enough through the written word to make any sense. it is a mockery of her, dammit! and i feel more than that.
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i was nowhere 'cuz i was always looking for somewhere, someone. that was my problem. mama told me right. there wasn't nothin' out beyond that house worth all my worryin'. i'd always said i needed to be out there. but whenever i looked and wandered out there, i couldn't find nothin'. all i saw was open fields. dead, sun-parched earth. and that was okay. sometimes i even liked to be sure the fields were still there. it was a comfort, i guess. that i could leave it all outside and it didn't change very much. so stable, like the earth should be, i guess. everything i wanted... well, it was all in that house. with its big windows and warm, cozy rooms. mama'd said all i needed was god and to stay indoors. damn if that wasn't the truth. leavin' got me into trouble every time. but mama understood me like no one could. she'd forgive me when i'd come home bruised and dirty. she would take care of me when i couldn't take care of myself. i looked again out the window in the big room. that one we reserved for the company that never came. well, this time, company's comin'. i'm gonna turn the house out, for such a to-do ain't never happened here before. company's comin', so i'll be sleepin' by the fire for a while - just till i get a bed made for myself. and i've gotta make sure that my dog stays out of its way. if he wants to go catch a snake or two, i'll let him out from time-to-time. but he's gotta behave when the house fills up. 'cuz if he creeps around underfoot, company will trample him good. and i figured out that when i go outside the fields go on forever. yellow, dusty, but the same. day after day. but, if i look at them from inside, i can make them into anything i want. i can step out that door into a jungle, or an ocean. whatever i want. and after i figure out what i want, well, all the property's eventually gonna be mine. mama'll leave it to me, for sure. there's no one else to look after it. and by then i'll be ready. i'll go outside and build and sow and reap all over those fields, into forever. my dog might be long gone by then, but i'll get another. and i'll train him up right. to be at my side through all the labor of my land. and then the outside will match the inside of that beautiful house. that house that i use to hate so much. i'll just love it, more than i ever have. more than i do now. i'll never leave. and neither will my company.
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you sat on the edge of the bed, eyes down. i felt the conversation between us. it evolved all over your face. passing like a tele-prompter across your smile. i knew i was at a loss with this one. it was clear that our time was up. so i stood up straight and held out my hand, forcing a smile in return. you took it gently and shook. crushing my insides. crushing my future. as gently as you could. and i shut the door behind me and descended eleven floors. fumbling with my keys, i made my way to the old pontiac i kept parked on the street.
and you took off your robe. the one you always wore early in the morning. the one you wore to prepare you for wearing clothes. it was how you eased into your day after nude nights and dreams. and you stood in front of the floor-length window. watching me go.
i was determined not to look back. but my will vacillates as do those of all mutable signs. so i turned and found the window. you were so brilliant in that light. but there was a shimmering next to you. i squinted.
you had a gun. and you saw me and waved. and put the silver to your temple. and i dropped in the street, instantly, next to my car. knelt in the gravel. raising both hands, i prayed silently. summoning all the Light i could. begging for your life. begging that you would point it at me instead. i mustered the Light. and i threw it at you like a baseball pitcher throws a curve at a World Series game.
and you dropped the gun. out the window. and down eleven floors. silver and silent. life and not death. and you knelt in front of the window where i could see you. and we were one. across from each other. reflecting each other. one - together. reconciling. the severe with the merciful. Light in Extension.
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can you describe emotional pain? here, i'll try... you know, somewhere between a thought and tangible pain, but touching on neither. i actually ripped pieces of my emotional garden out with my own astral hands. they were inflamed and they hurt with that unplaceable twinge. here, yes - right here, between my heart and my head. part of me wanted to keep them here. but i saw that they weren't healthy like my other plants. they were burning with that blind focus, that corrupt fire. they were whirling turbulences, tormenting me below that delicate surface. weeds choking the other life in my flowerbed. taking up all of my time and energy. holding all potential goodness back. and shit, i have a lot to give!
i dug them out, an act in itself, and presented them to the reverse vacuum that releases unnecessary thoughts. before now i would have not had the strength to do that. my habit was to force manifestation on the most unstable and irrational of ideas, while turning my head away and pretending that they were not such a fearsome size and shape. there was the comfort of old fear in their existence. that fear of looking around and having nothing to hold onto and simply falling. i didn't want to feel that. i had no faith then. i thought i would be truly alone. well, ....i have never been truly alone. even when i deserted myself a few times, Ha-Schem was always there, loving me. i had to let go of shallow comforts and allow that faith to ripen. to fill me.
i healed and sowed anew with gentle Light the vacant fresh earth. witness this! the creation of a new pattern in the self. and my thoughts became new. and my emotions slowed to practicality, and burned with my true desires. there are no words for this freedom.
see how beautiful is the strenuous growth.
seek it.
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i am gazing up from three feet below a clear, blue moving water. i push up and break surface. i am in a river. before me is a dock. on the edge of which stands a woman. barefoot on the wooden planks. i rise up out of the water, weightless. seeing her feet touching the rough wood as i rise. and i hover before her at eye-level, dripping. long, black, waist-length hair in her green eyes. purple-pale, white skin offset by a silver and green taffeta ballgown. she is five-foot eleven inches tall; intricate, with piercing features, and circa 1763. off to her right side is a lush green oak, hurtling upward from the earth beside the dock. she makes eye-contact with me for a moment. then picks up her skirts, turns on her heel, and runs in slow-motion. hair swaying over-her-shoulder behind her. dress held firmly in both hands so her legs can move freely. she looks like death, she is so white. but i have frightened her. i, who am floating above the water, before the pier, by a force not my own. what must i look like? i cannot see myself, so i watch her. though i am over the water, my eyes behold her from every angle that i wish to see. when i place my sight in front of her and see past to where i am, i see only a blinding light above the water. the shore-end of the dock opens onto a healthy, grassy field that slowly rolls uphill. the grass is tall enough to brush her calves as she runs. still in slow motion, away from me. i can watch every movement of her. see every wrinkle her dress makes as she darts away. all the colours are vivid. green and silver ribbons from her waist come loose, trailing off from her. and then they catch the wind. and are paused in mid-air as everything moves in short, flowing frames. the sky is rolling with deep grey clouds. there is no sun. there is no darkness. only grey. me hovering still, over the water. i realize that before i emerged, the light from the water, she stood in darkness on the dock. with a fierce wind, and an impending storm overhead. looking into the depths because she saw what looked like a reflection of the moon in, not on, the water. and she didn't understand why she saw it, because the sky was dark with clouds. but she found comfort there... but i have lit up the day. and all chaos has slowed to stillness for me, has hastened away. bowed before the light within. but she, my darling of darkness, comprehendeth not the light... and i see. my maiden, rushing from me. and her ribbons. flowing back to me, at eye-level in the air. the grass bends towards me. the wind blows towards me. the tree and the water and the ribbons all come to me. but my maiden, beautiful in her chaos - and in perfect silence, breaks away for the other side of that hill.
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where to sit without upsetting the large nightstand vase, how to accommodate the priest should he require her assistance, these were all questions that she tried to answer without help as she was ushered into the room. "no need to be frightened, Mary," the nun across the bed from her said, reaching over to pat her hand gently, "these things are common in Rome." but Mary had never had an appointment in Rome before, and here she was, ten years in the Cistercian cloister and then sent away by Mother Superior, at the personal behest of Cardinal Vittoli, to witness and assist with the exorcism of an Italian contessa, of whom she knew nothing. Mary prayed silently for patience and strength and clutched her rosary with slippery fingers. she gazed down at the contessa, who slept soundly before her. for a moment she thought that Cardinal Vittoli had been mistaken. this sweet, angel-faced woman was suffering from possession? surely not. but, remembering that she knew nothing of this woman's character, and she was not to question such a holy father of the Church, she sat quietly and waited. looking about the room Mary noticed, on the far wall, what appeared to be life-sized portraits of the contessa's more prestigious family members, presented lavishly on lush mattings and in ornate frames. she shuddered, remembering as a child that life-like paintings of people always made her feel like she was being watched. but of course, that all seemed like nonsense now. she concentrated on the matter-of-fact features of each face. they were depicted as towering statues to humanity. each jaw was firmly set, paired with a decided stance and those eyes that follow you no matter your position in a room. the portraits seemed to question her. are you as upright a character as i? another queried, what have you contributed to this fine history of mankind? be mindful of your actions, a third cautioned. Mary was faintly dizzy now and had to look away from the fearsome presence of the art. a servant entered. "the Cardinal will be with you shortly, he is wrapping up a phone conversation." and the woman disappeared again behind the door.
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johnny sat wiping his boots with a paper towel. he wadded the towel up and chucked it toward a trash bin, barely making it. he rolled up off the curb and cruised east down the alleyway. gazing up, he looked at the rectangular sky that blued against the towers around him... remembering trees. and fields... and sunsets. he saw mostly man-made things now. and a lot of man-made people. even the park was strategically lined with pines and dirt trails. he took his shoes off sometimes and walked through the grass there at twilight. just to hear any birds that were left. just to feel close to the land again. there must be something of this in all humans, he thought. in some people it was buried deeper, but everyone here, in the city, feels that loss, somewhere within. he felt it as a lack of his senses in the now thickly-paved world. emerging away from it, and back to the park, he regained them all. as though each touch was new, and each wooden smell sacred. he used to have lucid dreams, long ago, of being a druid. being taken through candlelit hillsides to a meadowed rite. dreams of youth. they came back on those evenings when he didn't give a shit about his boots. when his toes, and his ears and his mouth were enough. when he could inhale and taste the scent of jasmine. and every scent had a memory that would blow past as he walked. those were precious nights, in the park. his only remaining connection with the earth. how the city drove him mad with its chaos, with its fear, its restless energy. providing no comfort for the living. just the aimless buzzing to and from nowhere. johnny was restless too. for the calm of the countryside at twilight. for the gentle hum of life.
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everyone has his or her own story that they feel they must express. that's a given. and one should be able, at most times, to do so with no holds barred. but in that spirited retelling, must one explain the personal details of another, whom they expressly claim to love, with such fiery anger and in such bare truths - to a completely biased public? - for the sole reason of drawing sympathy from friends in order that one feel better about one's own decisions on the matter? would it not be better to instead discuss said matter alone with the loved one first? what is most reasonable? especially in a time of sharp emotion and quick tongues? is there advice that can be given objectively from a public so conditioned? if from only one side? if without all of the relevant information? if without the temperment necessary to handle the entirety of the evidence?
or would a period of silent contemplation and thorough attempt at understanding be more profitable? the whole univserse lies in the self. what cause can there be for such actions on the part of the loved one? could there be factors of which the exposer knows nothing? could there be factors that the exposer does not believe exist, - but which obviously do? for because they do, said factors are being exhibited by the loved one for all to see, through a painful growth of the self. how does the exposer miss such evidence, with it even including himself at times like these? and if the exposer would only look on and ask questions of the loved one, so many things could be made apparent - as they were to begin with.
and what is to be gathered by the loved one from such an expose? only the obvious lack of tact and discretion which the two should share before all others. only a piercing distrust. only that something is failing.
what then can be done?
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i stood in line behind a row of angry, decaffinated, and recently discharged freshmen. time for that second dose before scurrying off to sleep anyway in their second classes. i sighed and folded my arms, waiting my turn. i suppose you could call it patiently. my only class today was always one interesting turn after the next. we would begin a class discussion and end up somewhere completely unrelated, while me and my friend, the closet-goth, would sit with our fists in our mouths trying desperately not to choke on our laughter. today our hilarity of choice began with the professor describing the "left-hand path of tantrism and the many uses of evil". it finished with two women in the front row arguing about why "...god places no value on innocent children because he punishes people like job and abraham through examples involving their offspring." the "lectures", if i may call them that, are usually so amusing that my evolving good mood is fixed into place for the remainder of the day.
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i saw it in his face so often now. that restless, scared-still look. like he was afraid he might actually be two feet tall and about to become roadkill at any moment. it is so hard to see. i'm constantly picking my own brain for the quick fix. a way to meet his one need - right now. and life just doesn't work that way. but i can't tell him that. shoot down his immediate hopes and explain that he needs to tuck them away for awhile. until we can get everything sorted out. the best attack is not often the impulsive one. but so much time has ticked away already. i'm sick of waiting for it myself. his fiercest want has enveloped me. i want it for him too. and it should not be so fuckin' hard. so psychologists, and physicians, and straight people can't figure out a term for it. so fucking what?! since when has one part of a whole understood the whole? since when has that been necessary? he doesn't need to be pried open, mixed up, and classified - by people who can never hope to understand. he already knows just what it will take to right an intrinsic wrong. how can anyone put a price on that? fuck this society for asking him to put a price on himself. if i could meet a millionnaire in the streets and mug him for his pocket change, you bet your ass i would, and it would be enough. and that's ridiculous. but i wouldn't think twice. politicians, famous people, and the wealthy live above the law. why not me? why not once? anything for him. anything.
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they leaned against the painted iron that came jutting up from the concrete. each had one foot propped on that sporadic wall, just in front of the glass. each with hair cut into misshapen angles on purpose. where velvet met chain-link. and the color of the night or day was always black. these two had perfected the bored, urban nightlife look. they never quite met your eye on the street. they never had a reason to, mommy and daddy were on speed-dial. and they were convinced of their own invincibility. as long as their sphere of comfort was thickly insulated with a bourgeois lifestyle and carefully rehearsed apathy. hipsters. that's right. the mode of art-cool stretched across all the cultures of the world that inhabited our anxious city. those kids who were on the precipice of adult-hood and were trying their damnedest not to live to see it. they preferred thrift-store clothes and smoking to the usual superhero get-up. though they thought of themselves as heroes, to be sure. cigarettes and sparks were the order of the day, every day. and everywhere you found them, the worshipers were the same. gathered in front of a laundromat, cafe, club, or huddled on street-corners.... the sullen two-some waited and watched. they weren't prowlers. they were an element of the scenery. such that one might experience a paradigm shift, were they to suddenly vacate our metropolis paradise. the other communities had but two options, ostracize or assimilate. but they inevitably permeated every subculture in sf.
the only choice was made clear. we needed to find a pied-piper for the self-declared "cool" kids. this piper would then draw them, by their own repulsive music, through a hole in the side of twin peaks, where they would be swallowed by the earth. and turned into magma. while the rest of us would live happily ever after. finis.... oh wait, piper. take the straight people too, while you're at it.
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then there were mornings like these. basil couldn't keep her head on straight. good thing i'm not a coffee drinker, she thought. the buzz-kill of a thousand early alarms set against a still dark sky and the anxious feelings passed between those moving about the city, everyone on their way to work, made for one frenetic cocktail. fifteen precious minutes in the shower before seven did not rouse her sufficiently. and all so that she could open the office by eight and spend the next four hours directing freshmen and an occasional international student to room 289, the english department, which happened to be only two doors away. dumb-asses. but it wasn't such a bad job, for a college student. at least it wasn't slinging coffee to a bunch of self-important ingrates with an addiction to the rat-race. that's what she had been doing two years ago. in downtown san francisco no less. where the throng of tourists and international business-people made her a sign-language pro. "vous desirez une forchette avec les baguettes?" she would ask the french couple while holding up a fork and pointing to it with eyebrows raised. "oh... oui, oui!" they would break into smiles at recognizing her speech. but she had had to get out of that mess. her boss played favorites with her from the moment he hired her. and once she even overheard the other hispanic manager, who had come to train the new crew for the store they would open, speaking about her looks to her reqular boss in spanish - assuming she couldn't understand him. they were such pigs! her manager hired pretty girls eight out-of-ten times. but she didn't understand why she had been singled out. she was obviously dykey and never missed the chance to correct a man or give one specific instructions so he wouldn't fuck something up. but people choose to notice what they want to, and no one would give a shit if she tattooed her face and wore only transparent clothing to the job at school everyday. so basil pressed on, day after day, automatically pointing to the left when she spoke to anyone who entered the office, already knowing what they would ask.
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ain't life grand tho'? i've worked all day + had a class. i've been hopped up on the amoxicillan i nabbed in mexico, (which worked for my sinus infection last month, so no, i'm not gonna get sick from it just because it wasn't produced in a bush-controlled environment), to curb the swollen lymphnode infection bullshit i've got goin' on, and also taking acidophilus to curb a possibly ensuing yeast infection from the antibiotic. and now i feel like i am developing a fever. does it ever fuckin' end? and i don't want to take anything until i can get home and take my temperature and see what it's risen to. ugh! i feel like poo. i need to get horizontal with a quickness. i wonder if anyone would notice much if i lay on the office floor. oooh! cool linolium sounds like it would feel so good on my face. but i don't have the ovaries to lay on a floor that hasn't been swept and mopped in at least a year. maybe i'll go splash some water on my face. i want my bed. i'm such a baby when i feel shitty. woe is me and all that. what a ranting bitch i am right now. but it's the only thing that's gettin' me through. be glad you have your health, people - because if you haven't, not much else matters. and you know the worst of it? i have a chocolate-chip cookie sitting on my desk that i feel too sick to eat. that's how you know for sure that something's wrong, i'm foregoing the cookie goodness. and where's my friggin' boyfriend when i need him? he's across the bay at a job he hates to commute to because he makes no money at it, and he's sticking around to see if the benefits from it help out with top surgery. aren't we a miserable couple? i'm sick constantly and he's still got boobs. we have each other though, and things are great between us, but our individual lives are not so fun these days. meh.
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it was just about that time, when she called me. i'm gonna be a little late. no problem. i set the phone back in its cradle. i was freezing. the temperature has to be 50 below in this damn place. i'm never warm here. instead, i'm usually partially thawed - the way cookie dough gets. you can eat it, even when it's been in the freezer a while, because its consistency is just kickass like that. well, that's how i am. a little bit kickass, a little bit cookie dough. and mostly frozen and thinking about the next time i'm gonna eat. well, i get to do some healing tonight - so that should harmonize this shitty feeling i have. i can't help it. whenever i have to face my shit, i want to crawl under a rock. with some cookie dough or a donut, of course. please, let's not be silly here. i will get hungry under that damn rock. watchin' my life go by like i'm at a parade. which is what i've done for long enough. time to stand up and be the light and be okay with criticism. my life may not be going the way a 'successful' life should, according to societal standards. but, then, when has society ever done a damn thing for me? i have the right to be my best self. and this does not happen by becoming one more pawn for the world. i'm comin' to see you raphael. prepare my usual spot. i'm gonna converse and learn and grow. its gonna hurt like hell, but it's gonna make everything better in the end. and i refuse to drag koala through my bullshit. i've drug too many others before. he and we and i deserve better. so here goes a magician. and some effort. watch!
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here she was - tense, and trying so hard to relax, bending forward to meet the icy wind from the opening carved into the side of the plane. she had always wanted to do this. are you ready? her instructor asked. she forced a smile and blinked back the tears that would have given her away. yes. she held eye contact with him. scared shit-less and exhausted from all of the energy spent being paralyzed, she saw no other route to learning except facing the monster of herself and all of the space that she could fill. what the hell else was she gonna say? she was already up there, strapped to the chute and staring out at an ocean of nothing. okay, go! he said. and on the signal, she freed her hands from the rails. he pushed her into the vacuum of open air. and she was sucked down, down, but slowly, with a motion that was deadly still. she arched into a stable body position, all spread- eagled in the sky. the wind stung from all sides, but time stopped. and gravity became foreign. all of the past wrongs, all of the trivialities that meld into one, big, impassible problem, were lost. the air gathered her in, pulling from every side without favor. the world paused in its miniature form below - seeming more like a crude, coloured drawing than a three-dimensional encasement of life. she thought over everything she had said, done, and denied. what did it matter now? here she was - alone with existence and looking at it almost objectively. or was it utterly subjective now? a cloud blew past. she knew no fear. the build-up of the plunge was fiercer woven from her mind than physical experience could make it. inside the space of all that was, she reigned supreme. happiness, fear, anger, life, death - all thoughts and feelings became useless. and she was simply content. nothing could penetrate her mind. free, she thought. and how good was the inhalation that came with that knowledge. the training for this moment flashed back over her. and instinctively, she pulled the first handle below her right armpit. whoosh! she felt something drop away from her back. then, her leg straps tightened and she held onto the toggles above her head. the ground rushed up to meet her, legs under torso, feet under legs. she landed, yards of cloth stretched out behind her. all in one piece. triumphant.
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jet squinted and rolled over. she couldn't understand what was taking so long. well? she asked the doctor. she could see his face, blued by the flourescent bulb, in her peripheral vision. he had a concerned, puzzled frown, and kept poking her back with a gloved hand without looking at her. we're gonna have to run some more tests. he finally nodded at her, turning the overhead light back on, and slam-dunking his glove into the biohazard can. she hated that typical, medical non-answer, that all-too-often described anything that the doctor was too stupid or too greedy to figure out on a first visit, and she glared at him in return. yes, but what are the possibilities? what could it be? she pressed. well, either a very angry mole - that will have to be removed, a growth of some sort, though it doesn't look or feel like a calcium deposit, possibly a concentrated rash, or.... at the very worst, a spot of melanoma that we'll have to get rid of, but right now, i just can't tell. okay, she hopped off of the metal table and pulled her shirt back on. he handed her a stack of paperwork and smiled thinly. the receptionist will arrange your test appointments at the front desk. have a good day. and he disappeared into the corridor. jet slumped as she left the building. yay, i'm in my mid-twenties, and i'm falling apart already. and mr. i-went-to-med-school-so-i'm-always-right dude hadn't helped at all. she grimaced and got into her car, being careful not to irritate whatever was on her back while settling into her seat. it's time for a friggin' vacation, jet said aloud. i feel like shit. next week, i'll just have them cut the fuckin' thing off me, and i'm taking a roadtrip.
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all jesse dreamt of was "makin' it big" in music. he was a hairband metalhead and learned the electric guitar from his dad almost before he could walk. an arrogant bad-ass, he knew he had the rough, chiseled looks and long hair to go with his talent. and he'd been through almost ten bands before leaving high school; playing the roxy, the troubador, and whiskey-a-go-go a few times. he'd put a few lp's out. he was familiar on the strip. he thought of himself as the new age of 80's rock - who would pick up where the past masters of the aqua-net had left off. so it was too bad that jesse had come of age in the twenty-first century and hair metal had died when ozzy first went into rehab some years back. poor jesse. he also had an insecure streak that left him bitter and heartbroken from the women he had chosen over the years to accompany him to stardom. sarah was just a young bimbo with no conscience, so he couldn't really be upset with her for leaving him. but after jackie and kat both pulled the same shit sarah had, jesse began to wonder what exactly his problem was with the opposite sex. maybe it was because he had the backbone of an amoeba? or perhaps it was the shameful way that his cock curved to the left as though it was constantly pointing due north and due north was always slightly over his left shoulder. whatever the issue, jesse found no difficulty in replacing his women, or finding good material to write music about after they left him. but he felt stuck, plateaued in his mid-twenty's - between the drug-addict drummers and the other assholes with starry eyes who thought they were better than he was - and, of course, were not. so he was in a jaded, bad mood on that tuesday in april when he met brett while auditioning drummers for a new band project he'd thought up. brett was a different kind of bad-ass. he was pierced all over his face and wore only black shirts, black utility kilts, and combat boots. he looked like he was glen danzig and rob halford's lovechild. and he pounded the fuck out of his drums, creating heavy driving rhythms. at one time, he may have been the entire percussion section in satan's orchestra - with a love of industrial music. together with jesse's singer, phil, and his bassist, russell, jesse thought he had finally found a lineup of guys who had the drive and the expertise to help him pack arenas. the tunes kicked ass and riled up all the drunks at the biker bars. a few producers had even invited them into studios to "lay a little somethin' down". after four months, jesse and the boys were setting their sights on hollywood. and then, brett ruined everything - by falling in love with jesse. his drum beats slowly became bright, and beach boys - sounding. his creative taste, that jesse had admired from the beginning, became clubby and trendy. brett pulled a 360 on the boys by showing up to their usual bar gig one night wearing a striped abercrombie and fitch shirt and, omigod, pants! jesse was taken aback and didn't really know what was going on. brett, is this a joke? what? brett looked at him curiously. your clothes, man. what the fuck are you wearing? do you wanna get your ass kicked? brett defended himself. they've heard the music before. these guys love us. yeah, um.... jesse bit his lip. what the fuck was he supposed to say to brett? he had no idea what was going on. he tried another approach. do you wanna borrow one of my shirts, dude? i have another black one in my car. no, i'm fine. let's just play, man. the next week the band went out drinking together and brett threw a few back and pushed jesse up against a wall in the pub. i love you, man. brett looked jesse square in the face. i know, dude. i love you too. we're gonna make it. we're gonna get to l.a. no man, brett held jesse against the wall, and pushed his own body weight into jesse. their faces were almost touching. i mean, i really love you. and brett kissed jesse - full on the mouth. jesse was so startled that he froze for a minute and let brett kiss him. then he recovered his senses and pushed brett off of him. what the fuck? dude, you kissed me! you're gay?! and jesse took a swing at brett's head and missed. i don't know, i just want to be with you, brett tried to hold jesse's fists away from his face. jesse shrieked, let the fuck go of me, you faggot! Omigod! Omigod! do you realize what this means? this means we don't have a drummer! we don't have a band! we can't go anywhere or record anything!.... and we have a fuckin' gig tomorrow night, you fucking asshole! brett tried to calm jesse down. we can still play it. no! jesse shouted in brett's face - putting all of his instant hatred into this one person in front of him who had just cost him his life's dream. another band down the toilet, he realized. get away from me! don't touch me! don't ever even look at me again or i'll kill you! jesse stormed out of the pub, kicking chairs as he went. the band was finished - jesse couldn't take any more music-related bullshit. brett's heart was broken. the next day, brett, (still torn apart by jesse's rejection and needing to feel secure) impulsively moved to las vegas and back to his last ex-girlfriend, (for whom he felt no feelings whatsoever), and jesse applied for a job as a gas station attendant a few blocks away from the house he rents to this day - with his dad.
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in waking sleep i saw it - about 15 feet in diameter, fenced in with a rickety, but thick, iron wall about three feet high with a matching gate. the shape is elliptical. the surface, what looks to be astro-turf, is actually closely-trimmed real grass. through its center there is a little winding pathway covered with a smooth, soft sand that leads from one side of the ellipsis to the other. and i've locked myself inside of it. oh, i could climb over the fence, but most of the time i think the grass is truly greener inside the room i've made for myself. the path leads from nowhere to nowhere. and i can see clearly over the fence, into all of the things that could exist beyond, but my boundaries are well defined here. i can walk the path a little ways and still believe that there is more to traverse as long as i stop before reaching the fence. i can shrink down to where the grass is as a forest. i can become lost and confounded in this place. a labyrinth of life - wasted. retracing my fears, my cycles, my self. a duration of meaningless achievements. i can be caught up in a hell within my mind, so that there is not time to expand my boundaries. jumping from pit to pit, the fire will burn me until i am no more. this is not the annhilation of self that the wise strive for. it is where those of a fierce ego think they live. but it is not living. it is the manifest world. and i have a view, a knowledge of the outside, but with that knowledge comes so much space, so much freedom. and it's small and cozy and i know this place too. all of the routine is familiar. one problem, however, is that once i've walked over every blade of grass, it stays matted down. and once the grass dies, i will have nothing but dirt and a sandy path that still leads from nowhere to nowhere, a desert - inside a fence, a cage, with a gate that stays locked. and if i don't stop seeing it as pleasurable, beautiful, and easy, then i will waste away in this place. there is no food in here. no nourishment of any kind. i will surely die. but that's the point. pleasures of this world are little more than this. they appear so vast. yet, upon viewing them objectively, in light of the rest of existence and the rest of negative-existence, they are traps. this just happens to be what mine looks like today. rise, they say. so i learn to unlock the gate, slowly. i learn to feed myself. just one of the paths that leads to loss of the self. find yours and you will know what happiness is.
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it's been chaotic. reds and golds and greens. i'm going mad. seriously. just walking down a street - all of these strange impulses come to me out of nowhere and it's all i can do to fight them and hold myself back. oh, i should pick up that patio chair and smash that restaurant window. oh look, i could grab that dog from its owner and take off running. or i could come up behind that guy and put my hand over his mouth and pretend to mug him on the corner in broad daylight. aahhhhh! stop it, brain! i could step in front of the bus instead of onto it. let's see. i have no history of schizophrenia in my family, so what can i sum all this shit up to? stress? i suppose. when bicyclists ride past me in intersections i just want to kick my foot out and knock them over into traffic. all of my thoughts are moving at lightening speed. this isn't normally the case with me. i am ms. cool, calm, and collected. okay not cool, but the rest of it. i meditate. i do yoga. i'm, i'm... still not superhuman. sigh. i feel on fire constantly. there is no end to the forest. i am always burning away in my mind. tormented by myself. i'm not self-actualizing. maybe that's it. or maybe this is just stream-of-consciousness writing that lets the fire out onto the page. and everyone feels it and everyone recognizes it. and i'm crazy to think it's all just me............ let me step back from myself for a minute. oh, look. i'm sitting in front of the computer. t-shirt and jeans, as usual. no mapped out goals. just these up-in-the-air ideas that i grab at and hold onto to comfort myself. even my solutions are quick fixes. i spend no time thinking about the consequences. i just rush around like a lemming. and now i've fallen off the cliff, again. lather, rinse, repeat. a thought cycle that rears its head every so often. but behind all the neurosis everything is perfectly clear. also, as usual. it's just habit. all of it. and i have good ones and not-so-good ones, like everybody else. updates and revisions are all that are necessary for me. my goals and plans are just tired. old. they burn me because i let them. they burn me because i have no fight in me right now. they burn me because this is right where i obviously want to be. right here. otherwise i would move. there is no blame that i can throw around. my mirror isn't crowded with other people. it's the usual face. with fistfuls of light and mouthfuls of dirt, i stare back at me. ashes and herbs and solutions. a medicine cabinet of elixirs just waiting to be tasted, if i would just open the door and pick one. i'm clingy and dirty and not looking my best just yet. but all of the answers are there. crude contents in a bowl. raw. blank. and all of this flesh is just a burning shell. with the highest of me hidden in its deepest cave. shining in blackness. pushing back the darkness that encompasses and cannot comprehend. all of the names i utter. all of the circles that be. why do i have to strain to hear, the music of my own damn sphere?
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silas worked at the corner liquor-store. he spent most of his evenings ringing up crap and crap-beverages with a red laser barcode gun. wishing mostly to be able to taze his more stupid customers with the pulsing line of red light, he grinned to their faces and shot at their backs. s'up this evening, son? old man meyers, a regular who resembled the zz top boys, would smile - throwing his thick newspapers up on the counter. the usual, silas tossed them back at him. my mom's dead, i never knew my dad, no girl, no future - just this damn store six days a week and tv dinners in the freezer, he smirked, going to refill the cigarette shelves. you get yerself a woman, and everything'll be alright, meyers called pointing at the magazines below the counter. and don't go after any'a these hussies, m'boy. git yerself a real woman. and he waved and was gone. silas sighed. what was a real woman? maybe the old man was right. when was the last time he'd had somebody? six months? and even then, he had only hooked up for a few nights - to remember that he wasn't the only warm-blooded creature left alive. what was wrong with him? he never noticed people anymore. they were simply moving shadows cast against flourescent lights or sidewalks. no lasting impressions, certainly. he leaned on one elbow and was almost asleep.... my skull is splitting open, he thought, waking up. a blue-haired punk beauty had been tapping on his forehead with the edge of her beer bottle. anyone HOME in there?! her voice was anything but soft and sultry, rather it was like being wakened by a drill seargent. ring me up, sleeping beauty! she put her 12-pack in his face and lit the cigarette she already had perched on one lip. hey! you can't smoke in here! take that shit outside! silas motioned to the door. look, i just need my beer and i'll be gone, she spoke out of one corner of her mouth and stood up square and tall and looked him full in the face. so you can take your time and die of smoke inhalation, or you can spare the air and help me out! silas pushed the beer back at her with change. alright, get out. she grabbed it and winked at him. you're alright. she stuck her hand out, name's cougar. silas sized her up. beautiful, he decided, but that was no excuse for bad manners. then again, she wasn't your average moving shadow. silas, he extended his hand also. and you know, silas, she took another drag. i used to be a boy and i can see that you used to be a girl, so cheers to us, because there's precious few who pull it off so well. and she winked again and was gone. what-the? silas leaned over the counter after her. he'd been passing daily for five years. yeah, he leaned back onto his stool and smiled at himself. i should get a woman. maybe even that woman. and he went back to shooting flies with the barcode gun.
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his cigarette hung off one lip sideways. eh, you gettin' in here or not, lady? 'cuz i got other places to be too, ya know? mecca ain't home for everyone. faye looked around at the empty street. it was freezing, and this cabbie was the only other sign of human life for miles. she nodded and climbed inside. hejira, please - she instructed. and as he swerved around the black hillsides guided by the bluish-white headlights, faye fell asleep and dreamed of her childhood in Alabama. she sat with a pail and shovel in the tall grass out behind her momma's old wooden house with the giant wraparound porch. nobody can see me, she thought. i could do anything, and nobody would ever know. momma's baking pies, and poppa's reciting his sermon for the church social on sunday. she started to dig into the high grass. pulling up stalks and roots and little curly bugs. humming her favorite bing crosby song, "silver bells", she threw herself into her work. grabbing at the soft dirt with both hands, she was up to her elbows in it. an hour later, faye's hole was three feet deep. a bit more, she mused, tossing bucket after bucket over her shoulder. then, she jumped in. and the hole swallowed her up. she looked to see the last bit of sunlight disappear as all of the dirt rushed back in to cover her. when she opened her eyes again, she was there. in medina. walking through its purple doorway that led to the forest. it was so sunny and warm. she would never have to see a cold night again. or a night at all, for that matter. and all of the forest animals came up to greet her, speaking most eloquently. faye was home at last. her long, perilous pilgrimmage to and from was over. she saw all.
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they were blue and teal in the corner of my east window. paper stars. they were all different sizes - placed in just the right spots. i licked the front of the last one and pressed it firmly onto the glass with the palm of one hand. flattening out all of the bubbles. there, finally! we stood back and marveled at the handiwork. you coughed, bored with all of the trouble i went through for my trivial pleasures. it wasn't anything fancy, but i thought it looked alright. i didn't really need to have them on my window, of course, but some cheesy, little touches like that added a cozy, lived-in feeling to the room. you sighed and nodded. looks good, babe. believing you were as convincing as you tried to sound. and you turned back - to concentrate on your book again. i felt restless. the room looked lived-in, but it wasn't. i was barely ever there, except to sleep. i'm gonna go out for a bit. i grabbed my sandals and my socks. okay, you nodded - not looking up. for if you had, you would have chastised me, as you always used to do, about wearing socks with my sandals. that's blasphemy! i could hear your words in my head - laughing like you did, but serious. but this time you didn't look, and i wouldn't have heard your comment anyway. i reached the landing and opened the backdoor. the breeze that hit me was surprisingly warm. good. it was exactly what i needed today. the pier wasn't very long either, extending out past the yard. it was sturdy and familiar. klunk-klunking along it, i advanced to the water, biting my lip. hands in pockets. hair in all directions. on the end-plank, i took off my socks and put them in my sandals. pulled my sweater off over my head and pushed my jeans down to my ankles - kicking them into a pile on top of the other clothes. and i stepped out onto its edge. bare skin on the warm deck. kneeling, i gripped the edge and lowered myself into the water. with an arm strength that i don't possess. limb... limb... torso... let go. the surface gave way to me and crowded in around my curves. rising above the water, i dove back in - hand over head - out to untether the jetski. i swung up onto it - like the good cowgirl you taught me to be, daddy. would've made you proud. it sputtered to life. and i was free. doubling back over my own wake. it could have been tears or waves for all of the spray in my face. beading up on my skin. no hands. no thoughts. just the sun and the water and me. squeezing the sides hard with my thighs so i wouldn't fall off. i guess i had been gone for a while. because, by then, you had come out to the edge of the pier to call to me, shielding your eyes with your hand. what are you doing?! wanna go out?! come on! we could do whatever you want! you motioned me to come back to the dock. i glanced at you - squinting and smirking and not slowing down. thinking, i don't have time for this - i'm already doing what i want to do. no! i called back at you. i shook my head and rode out further. my wants and my needs had been tangled up long enough. i shouted over my shoulder and turned back to take on my next wake. do what you want! I'm gonna ride!
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i knew just what he felt - wanting to push open the door. with a mighty strength that was, for all its proportion, still just too small. sometimes i feel clausterphobic being out in a drafty hallway when you're behind a rotating wall too. can't seem to get enough. everywhere is simply not the "right" where - if you're not there too. we have a lot in common, he and i. addicted to something i can't seem to put my finger on. i think it's the system of you. working all smoothly together. every one of those parts. i can't pick out my favorite. it changes from minute to minute. i love him too, but i think we fight for the closest space that you'll intrude upon next. we fight to "bump" into you first. we like it that way - being not-so-spontaneously interrupted by you. it's the greatest reward for our designs upon your time. and no excuse is thrown away. we're tied for the win. my sphere gets so lonely. you get used to sharing space with those who you're around often. sometimes there are indents in my sphere that nobody else can fill. stand right here, i say to my friends. but a few of them crowded into your void never quite equals you, does it? only you will do. i don't feel dependency. i don't feel lost. i feel in love. and the newness or whatever it is, is still right here. this spot in - between my heart and my brain. i think it's in my throat. sitting there keeping me full. satisfied. don't worry - it's below my gag reflex. i won't be coughing up shit on the carpet like he will. i know - he thinks that will gain you. pull you toward him. but this is a brutal tug-of-war. and he's gonna have to get straight up creative to stay out of the mud. i'll bring my best to this ring. and i'm known for my k.o.'s - ask the others. i love him so much. it swells up in me and i wanna let him win - most of the time. but then i glance at you. and i'll be damned if each look isn't better than the last. nope. kitty's goin' down. let me scratch on your door, baby. it makes me feel kinda selfish and silly, but it's been a long while since i've had a reason to be those things. and, i like it. so, step aside - fluffy planet of purring cuteness. it's mama's turn to chase daddy around the kitchen table. and i'm not swingin' no rolling pin at his head either, but a tightly-knotted lasso. and when i catch him,.... well, we'll just have to wait and see won't we? wha-do-ya-think? 8 seconds? place your bets.
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8 am. it was all fancy. i had a driver. i had a mission. i drew subject/other models of descarte's system on curly lined paper. also there were some brief deductive proofs. i was figuring it all out. making sense of the madness. there were people all around. but i was alone. well, almost. i had done all of the math, though. it came out to exactly free. thank you state of california. thank you for the stack of paperwork i carry around with me today. and for the offers to take care of me and mine, should we require such looking after. frequent trips were necessary. my driver learned the way. i became a bit of a celebrity, if you can call it that. my card came in the mail four days prior. inviting me to the event with a v.i.p. pass. it looked all plastic and official. 8:15 - i was ushered into the first room. where my pass was measured for accuracy. the jokes got the party rolling. i'm glad i'm not a hemophiliac. 8:25 - i passed through to the second room. they take your coat and gloves and hat. and they direct you to pick up your invitation and put on the formal black-tie attire. holding me firm by the wrist for a count before passing me through to the inner sanctum. 8:42 - the third room smelt of nothing and there were high television sets angled towards the walls instead of potential viewers. they witnessed a silent basketball game. i don't know who was playing, but they wore red. or that was all i saw. i watched the clock - thinking a v.i.p. would have reached the party long before now. but i understand security precautions these days. at the really big galas, you can never be too careful. 8:50 - exactly. i was given an escort. right this way, miss. she directed me while wearing very nearly the same attire as i wore. i followed, my mind perfectly still. i had never been to such an affair. i had no idea what to expect. i had reached nirvana, and perfect stillness of mind - before reaching the party. any and all thoughts were gone. just before entering the fourth room i signed the guestbook - next to my name. i saw yours there for a second. and then i passed through the doors. 8:53 - the party was already in full swing. the room was glittered with holographic walls and implements. very coordinated. i wonder who their planner was? i was surprisingly at ease for my first party - making calm and deliberate movements. i was offered the house best - and tried it, of course. but they must have laced it. 'cause i woke up exactly ten minutes later - being pushed out the swinging doors of the party and back onto the street to recover with the other v.i.p.'s. with no lasting after-effects my driver was around shortly. i don't even remember the party at all, come to think of it. except that it cost 395 and i didn't have to pay for it.
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he pressed his lips together and smiled at me. his mouth - full of food. he always grinned at me when he ate. sometimes i got the feeling that he had something he wanted to tell me, and then thought better of it. he looked away. i wonder what it would have been. you've hurt me. you've helped me. i love you. who knows? in between the two of us my housemate was well taken care of, whenever she had the slightest desire. he was there for me - and consequently, for her too. maybe he was tired of our routine already. i was so busy. he offered much to her to help me, i think. too good of a man to do less. lately i was too tired to protest him. but i thought of little else. i wanted us to stay even. i tried to be careful and independent. maybe he was worn out. he'd lay on his side next to me - strong and beautiful. eyelashes brushing the pillow. mouth in a comfortable little pout. sighing sometimes when he'd dream. no idea that i was watching. no idea that i was as fragile to him as his light sleep. he worried about my disapproval. put me in charge of whether he was a good or bad companion. he needed to hear things from me. as though i was always on the verge of kicking him to the curb. it was funny and a little sad. he didn't know how i ached for him. how, sometimes, i couldn't breathe for all the want i felt. in the night. at work and in class. no matter how often i told him. missing his smell. missing his laugh. missing the way he would touch me. every now and again, for a second i'd swear i could feel his hand pulling me closer. shit. i've never had it this bad. i've just never had "it". my body responded to his breath. to his gaze, to everything. i looked back at him over my plate. what, baby? nothin'. he smiled again.
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there were no trapdoors in the cellar. i stumbled around in the low light and ran into a workbench. dammit! splinters dug under the skin on my thighs. i held my hands out in front of me to steady myself. my left leg had started to bleed. i felt it through my jeans. dust and fingertips and bloody cotton. the room came into focus. a dirty brick box. the windows were clouded over with age. they were too small for me to squeeze out of, should i ever need to. i sucked in that realization and glanced at the stairs and the door at their summit. to make sure they were still there. there wasn't much air down here either. where'd i put that suitcase? my leg hit a book. stooping to pick it up, i saw the widow crawl off one side and spin herself down to the floor. aahhh!!! i flinched and dropped the book again. it landed open on top of her. i dared not move it to see if she was alive. the secret cult of serapis. yes, i remember this chapter. i moved away from the book and the possibly angry arachnid. here it was. under an old musty blanket - in the corner. a lime green suitcase from my mom's childhood. textured with metal clasps, and dust crowded in every indentation, it took on the appearance of an old attic treasure. and that was what i was down here to find. my baby doll. i kneeled and set it top up on the ground. fumbling at the edges, i found the latch. it creaked apart - coughing dirt in my face. how'd i let it get this nasty down here? all of the furniiture and boxes were damp with mildew. i was probably inhaling all kinds of shit. but the lime green beast encased my sweet. my only choice was to press on. i peered inside. crumbling rose spray fabricliner stuck to the back of her dress and legs. i pulled ferociously. give me!! she broke free. her head came off in my arms. nnoooo!! i fell onto my ass on the concrete floor and sat there. studying sara's pieces. head in my right hand hand. body in my left. i'll fix you, baby. i murmured to her - reattaching her head. there! you're still beautiful. i smoothed her taffeta skirts clumsily and held her to me. instantly loving her again. every memory that was stained onto us both. instantly flooded with her worth and my need to hold her. to feel wrapped up in loving her. i wiped her soft, porcelain face clean with her hair. she was intact. a bit fucked up, but still there now that i needed her again. i looked around at the dark celler and clutched her firmly. come on sara. let's get the hell out of here.
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it wasn't that he hadn't been there for me. it wasn't that. he had been there for me - even when i was gone. he slept in our bed when my side remained cold for as long as a week. he curled up into my pillow when i was out dancing with the girls. i would creep in at 3 AM and slide under the covers. always waking him up when i got in. his sleep was light and fitful without me. where were you? oh, you know - hangin' out. he would kiss and forgive. running an arm protectively across me. gently trying to keep me from myself. out of those dangerous spots in my head. i would remember her or her or her, until he wound himself about me. forcing me to forget. because his touch was warmth and constant love. i thought he could save me. i trusted his assuredness because i could not trust myself. i wanted him. i wanted to smell him and touch him and laugh with him about things only we knew. i wanted to fill the room with incense and worship in his presence. facedown on the floor. i cried so many times in that perfect light. he didn't know why. being overcome is no foreigner to us. he chalked it up to Matrona. and rightly so. she gave me myself in front of him whenever i called her out from my deep. and it was hell. we were so cozy. so kept. all of my fight subsided. and i had to go. and he doesn't understand. even now. but i do. distance is no saviour. his head remained bowed under my words. he had no fight for me either. it was better this way. and was what i should have done long before him. but the dream is there. the dream has been there for so long. it propels us. it haunts us. because there is no way. but the voice echoes in my brain. strong and calm. steady. it judges not. with all of the confidence and gentleness of a perfect fact. and perfect peace. but is it? it can't be. i love him. but i can't. don't ask me yet. i'm not ready. i know the cord is there. i feel it now. i may feel it forever. i hurt and yearn and push. with a violence that scares me. with a nephesch that rears up and rains down blow after blow. i am earth and breath, Oh Lord. earth and breath. and i've got fistfuls of light, but mouthfuls of dirt. give unto me. some semblence of him. i accept. i accept. give me my damage to quell and ease. give me my damage. force it down my throat until i gag and fall. show me how to rise from facedown on the floor. i will take it. i will live it. i am yours.
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just cotton. she flattened the dress against herself, surveying the mirror and her own form critically. i curve and bend in places where this thing doesn't. she sighed and set it back on the rack - brushing it one last time with her hand before turning away. it made no sense to torture herself with the idea that she could mold to the thing. better to find some meager distraction until the shallow pain of leaving it behind was gone. she walked through the sliding doors and was temporarily blinded in the afternoon sun. wondering why she had bothered to come shopping at all. she never bought anything. just looked at all of the merchandaise and felt relieved that she didn't have to make any lasting decisions. she didn't want to have any regrets when she got home and end up returning everything later. handing her choices over to the man or woman who would put the items back. sort of like a destiny adoption agency. just stand or sit in this place and time for a few minutes and decide whether you'd rather be transported somewhere else. there were no life-paths, no life-spans, she thought. only one avenue with doors that opened up to reveal other hallways and more doors. every moment simply a rabbit-hole of an existence. eat one side of the mushroom or the other. cupping her hand over her eyes, she stepped off the curb and walked out into the street. there were people all over the city. women and men who would fit better into that damn dress than she could. people who would be glad to wear such a thing in public. clothed for every other person to admire. clothed for the purpose of walking past reflective glass. and someday whoever bought that dress would stop wearing it. perhaps without giving it much use. and it would sit again somewhere waiting to belong to another life. waiting to be appreciated for its possibilities and the alter-ego that it lent the bearer. she smirked at that thought. because whoever wore it, or held it, or looked longingly at it would never be free. they would attach some worth - some bit of energy to it. and then would be beholden to it, until brushing up against the next little fate.
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sometimes a person needs to be able to cling to a hope. while the rest of life tears away all that is dear. and i couldn't rob her of that. so i put my own feelings in an envelope in my pocket and sent them to myself later that afternoon. so i'd be surprised and excited to find them intact in the mail in two or three days. i needed some hope of my own. hope that wasn't expendable just because i felt sorry for her. and somewhat guilty, but ferociously adamant. yeah, i'm me. who did you want me to be? oh, you? ha, ha. no one else will ever be you - thank god. and certainly not i. i've been a shell of myself for quite long enough. i love being me. knowing me. my skin can breathe. there's no quick fix elmer's glue keepin' me held together in front of you anymore, while you pound away mercilessly at my walls. in those days, i cried right in your face. invisible tears of fear and suffocation. I hid behind my smile - like so many of us learn to do - to save face. you never knew all of me. you never noticed how i drowned myself in your words. i heard fuzzy noises instead of you. on fire. feeling love and hate and pain from your ignorance. i am just like you. only i have no backup. no traditions or reinforcement in your midst. no sense of belonging to a majority. i am twice as strong, because i emerged out of nothing - and without sunlight. i am a phoenix plant. my ashes are my years of convincing myself and tormenting myself that i must be you. imitating the hardest parts. the ones that i couldn't fake so well. i arose from a birth. i realized myself from an inner contention. a contention that was always present. down, down - in the recesses of me. you didn't grow me. i came, fully formed - from that damn stork. ask him where he plucked me from - 'cause i don't know. i'm just here. waiting. with big eyes and a swollen heart. wondering if you'll love me - even though i bloom in autumn. even though my colors are fiery and potent, instead of being soft and pastel. will you count me among your number when you realize me, as i have? i still like to run through sprinklers in the heat of summer. i still sing in the shower until the water runs cold. i still like the taste of biscuit dough and your homemade pizza. and i still inhale when i laugh. and i always will. i'm not foreign. i haven't been redesigned by circumstance and location. and i can't cry for you if you choose not to see that. i have to be okay with me now. it's time. you don't have to hold me. or look at me. or understand me. but i'd like you to if you're able. i know you'll think i've gone, and you'll miss me. i know what it's like. to miss a part of yourself, a part you created - that is more yourself than you are. but give me your hand. see? i'm still here. all of me is right here - in front of you now. for the first time. strong and fiery and alive. in full bloom. don't cry. please don't cry. be happy for me. i know who i am. and that's rare in this confusing world. and i'm trying to be a better me every day. nothing's changed. i'm here. i'm still right here. your baby girl. so be happy for me mom. i still love you.
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i was old enough to stand alone. so i brought her out. didn't take much. she had sharp eyes. they were lookin' for me. and at me. i stood up. she faced me and braced her body. fearless. i brought everything i had. all my force. all my form. balanced with grace. balanced with hard work. the bitch loomed up before me. with all of my passion and my neglect staring back. she did not avert her eyes. she was so strong. but i had a weapon she did not. i had breath. i had spirit. and could keep on fighting when my body was done. after being torn and treaded upon, i could still stand up. i could breathe. and she would melt away. slowly. dropping her head into my hands. i touched her face. and held it there. i saw the clouds roll by in her eyes. there was fire dripping from them. she had no eyes at all. i took her. i took all of her. back into me. she sighed and let me. drawing her frail body up once more to full height. i knocked her down. i spread her thin. i eliminated her outline with mine. she had no choice. i owned free will. i owned venus. she was ugly. she was a badass. and i killed her with my hands. and my voice. and my breath. i vibrated the life out of her. i stole her and put my mouth on her. i swallowed everything i took from her. and she was gone.
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i got nothin'. can't help you with words. all of those things i say to bring your smile. i got nothin' darlin'... this time. i'll just run along behind you. and make sure you're alright. i'll hold the light. 'cause i can't follow you into that blackness. reaching out to pull you back. my hand grabs at nothing. you're too far away. stuck in your sadness. and those eyes that think too loud. i'll wait on the shore - for that day you turn back. wavin' your sails proudly. having beaten down the attack. i'll be there. i'm always there. girl, i can see it. the shit in your sphere. i know you don't want to own it, but you're foggy in there. and i'm tryin' to push at your corners and center. run for that skyline that saves, and remember - to cry. it's all right. woman, just cry. and get ready to fight. 'cause you have no choice but to suffer yourself to be placed on that sharp drop and fly. you'll learn how. there's not another way out - you'll just die. girl - fly. consecrate through the gate of yesod and you'll start to feel fine. in time.
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it could only be the sound of one thing. someone packing cigarettes on the palm of their hand. unmistakeable. but it wasn't. she caught me off guard again. i tripped forward slightly while trying to plant my feet and look at her a second time. she furrowed her brow at me for a second, noticing my clumsiness, and looked away again. give me liberty or give me breath. she was too beautiful to be real. there was a wind. my eyes watered. maybe i was seeing things. nope - she was there. hitting the side of her thigh with a map while she waited for the bus next to me. not from around here. neither was i. in fact, i wasn't here now. off in my head wishing there was something that wouldn't sound particularly stupid that i could say. but that was impossible. i had a special way of fucking up conversations by my mere presence. so maybe if i was just a voice. like the voice of god. she would hear - you will turn around and fall madly in love with the guy who walks up next to you on your right - forever. and then i would saunter up all cool and glance at her. and there would be sunglasses. and of course, my hair would blow just a little in the right direction. make me look all careless and cool, like i knew i really wasn't. without the help of hollywood and a large budget, that is. no bus in sight yet. my phone rang in my back pocket, vibrated really. dammit, i'm such a spaz. that's what chicks set their phones to. how many times have you found yourself out standing next to a dude whose ass suddenly snaps to attention with the buzzing sound a girl's sex toy makes? so she looked at me again, furrowing that brow once more and glancing at my ass. distinctly NOT like she thought it was a tasty morsel. shit. any and all hopes of a positive interaction are shot to hell. i answered my phone. uh... yes, i'm on my way right now. okay. i'll see you soon. i put my phone away. making sure to change its ring setting. can't risk having it make me look dumber than i already do... again. there's something about the way people talk to each other. strangers can always tell when you're talking to your significant other. you just can't hide it. the tone is a bit more casual or something. i tried to make it sound like i was talking to my mother. all short and crisp, and not at all lovey. but i'm pretty sure the hot chick knew it was my girlfriend. dammit. i mean, i love the girlfriend and all, i do. but there's only so much awkwardness a guy can take after fucking up so much with a complete stranger already. i'm sure she was just thinking the exact same thing. god, i'm retarded. there's the bus. what a relief. i can go my way, she hers. and i never have to think of this encounter again. but i will. 'cause i'm just that lame. and... it could've been different for us. um.... no, nope it really couldn't have. fishing in my pockets, i avoided her at all costs. where was my damn change?
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she knocked the honey off the table. it cracked open and oozed amber glue all over the floor. she just stared at it blinking. knowing what that fall was like. she recognized the aftermath - faltering on the crude wooden chair. leaning over to pick up the sticky pieces. what a mess. she licked her fingers. but it tasted good. she visualized yesterday's eucharist. little wafers of jesus. a swig of bloody wine. coupled with a latin lesson. honey and jesus and latin. it was calming to think about in that order. she wasn't born again. she wasn't alive at all at far as the church knew. but she had shown up in the confessional box a few times to spin some sin. listen for a change in the priest's tone. nothing. he'd been dead below the waist since before she was an egg. too bad. his loss. she was just a tease anyway. no real ambition. she tried to write down some goals a while back. the lists kept getting tossed in with the laundry. she couldn't remember the first thing she wrote. always too busy feeling out her day. maybe she just needed some focus. perhaps jesus could help with that. perhaps honey could. she laughed sadly at her hindsight. maybe she didn't need honey today. maybe she needed to move. run around with a head full of self-importance like the rest of the world. people who never made time to snap out of their tunnel-vision. anxious for the end product. everyone was too wound up for you to get too close. just plain, twitchy people. the phone rang. she narrowed her eyes and glanced at it - smirking. she sipped her tea and pulled its cord out of the wall.
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he got kicked out of his house for making sex noises too loud. it was half my fault too. apparently the neighbors couldn't sympathize. they rang up the landlady to stir the shit. nobody understood. he managed to smile at me - unconvincingly. i wanted to hold him and make it all right, but those downstairs bastards would probably lose sleep over our hugs being too loud. life was ridiculous for him these days. existing was painful. i could see the troubled thoughts swim by when i looked at him. he tried to wash them away. fuck them away. laugh them away. but they only rose up stronger from all of that effort he made to be free. when the good times subsided he would get distant for a minute and then fight his way back to really seeing me. i tried to be brave - comforting. i hoped at least his dreams were peaceful. shit, he didn't deserve this. and the worst part was, he seemed used to it. like it was a niche he'd been forced into many times before. he reacted to the situation, not just defensively, but almost in a systemized way. gallantly accepting and voluntarily wearing the universe's kick me sign. his initially evident self-confidence was evaporating. this one had been hurt - a lot. i chewed on my lip. dammit if i'm gonna be a statistic to him. one more person he has to try and get over. it's obvious that there's already been too many of them. and he's so good. god, let something work out. let us work out.
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something about today. i didn't want to be away from him. i wasn't ready. running my fingers through his hair. he gave me that groggy, dimpled smile and closed his eyes again. no, wait. i still have so much to say. the whole library of Alexandria is crouching down in my throat. waiting to give him all of my knowledge slowly, at the right time. i sang to him. carefully placing delicate kisses on his warm skin.
this was different. a drunken clarity. i can't make an interesting story out of this. this story is too sacred for words. but i'll try. look. i've tried a few times to make something good stay something great. and i've almost succeeded. but the truth is, in every other case of any duration - a part of me was left out. a crucial part. if i had known me, i would not have made the mistakes of getting into and struggling to find my way out of so many hearts, you know? before you, i found me. i met me. i hung out with me. i learned to love me. and now i am able to know when i can give and take safely. there is no confusion. no hesitation. i am in alignment. i have no need of anything or anyone. i am able to love you with everything i am. no bullshit. no fear. i trust you. i want you. it's simple. there is satisfaction here. can you see it? look deeper. i am not lost or broken or aching to get away. i don't need fixing. i am looking back at you. steadily, directly. not past you, not at anyone near you. just you. i'll make the effort. i know what i want. to be one of two independent people who still self-actualizes when with the other. i don't act with malice. i don't play passive-aggressive games. i am vulnerable to you. fragile. hold me with care and i'll do the same. let's belong to the living, baby. we can do this if anyone ever could. i can't be more sure. i love you.
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i ate meatballs alone in the dark corner. the bistro was nearly empty. the food stank like a strong cheese. but i kept shoving forkful after forkful in, almost rhythmically. staring hard at nothing in particular. trying not to cry. and, well, my christian name wasn't rachel anyway. why had he kept calling me that? i have gone by my first name, jordan, the name my mom gave me before she died, since i could understand speech at all. it was that damn old woman. she wanted me to call her grandma. though she would never call me by my name. stupid cunt. go by your pretty name - she squeaked at me. and then every blind date she sent my way was locked into calling me rachel. why she didn't just fuck them all herself i'll never know. if you were a twenty-five-year-old, would you wanna swap spit with someone who looks like he could've fathered you? and he coughed into his wilted hands every five seconds and then tried to put them on me. nasty bastard. i'm not some cheap whore eyeing his ass from a window seat. i've got better things to do - like eat alone in this busy city on a friday night. my own company is a perfect compliment to that empty chair across the table. it sits there and politely waits to be addressed. even if it takes me all night to make a sound. i won't catch it stealing food off of my plate when i look away either. and it sure as hell won't pair a marvin-the-martian tie with a blue striped shirt and then expect me to ask it back to my place after dinner. crazy fuck. thinkin' he was comin' off like a ladies' man. yeah, as if there were bitches lined up behind my chair waitin' to hike up their skirts and moan for his vienna sausage. reaching up under the table to grab me. that's why he got the wine in his face and a swift kick to the hotdog factory. that's why i like eating alone. i like my dessert without nuts.
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i built this house with my hands. it wasn't even a frame or foundation. just some tumbleweeds on a yellow patch of earth that was dusty and forgotten. i stumbled upon it. out between the towns by a single dirt road that you had to look for to find. just a path really. out in the high grass that ran from one place to the next. and i stood there once - on that precipice of an autumn dawn and folded my arms. yep, it's goin' right here. i drew an "X" in the dirt with my shoe. for days, weeks, i brought tools and cleared away the layers of broken life on the surface. mapping the layout and the plumbing that would be necessary. with dirt pushed up under my fingernails. dirt in my hair. and wiping shit out of my eyes with the back of one burnt forearm. i erected each wall lovingly. pressing each board into place and hammering in the nails that fit. there was no room for error. i would live in this place forever. it would be as close to perfect as i could make. the first time around. i poured the cement myself. getting one heel stuck more than a few times. giving my weight to its softness accidently. but i managed to smooth things out. cursing over my chapped and cracking hands. i cut myself open once really badly and had to see a doctor. but it was my fault. i tripped in a doorway over a shiny piece of metal. but i finished it. yessir. every bead of sweat worth it. every painful memory. i can look at it anytime i want. i can fix each piece that breaks. it's mine. it's all i want. all i need to live in. the place needs some remodeling these days. so i'm puttin' my nose down again and my hands will probably crack back open. i bet i'll lose my footing some too. but i don't care. it's all i have. and it's sturdy. no wind gets in. no bugs infest it. i take care of my baby. i have to. i built it with my hands.
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he was just about the stubbornest man i'd ever met. with a knack for fixin' things that you couldn't decide whether you really wanted fixed, you know? maybe the standup lamp with no switch would be better off back out in the street where we found it. but he sure was damn helpful. and shit, he could make vittles from scratch like no woman i'd ever known. so it was too bad i had to go and get up and leave him today. scraping the change off the stereo onto my clammy palm. he slept like a baby there. with a dimpled child's grin and a fistful of dirty blankets. spread across both pillows like a snow angel who'd frozen stiff. you just couldn't talk sense to him. maybe it was me. my thoughts always turned to gravy. a month, sometimes, seems like 50-odd years. and our silences were, at times, our best conversations. i lived for the moments when we would simply stare. me at him. him at me. in and out of focus. and even the cross-eyed glaze i'd look out from at his tan face made me feel a damn fool. i don't know that emotion none too well. it's unfamiliar - and creeping, so that it's got me before i can escape. what was it? shit, i feel hazy. must be real - 'cuz i never remember nobody's mama's name. but i know his mama's full name - and her saint namesake, come to think of it. and, you know, i like his ass in those old blues. and i like the smell of his sweat after a long day. pullin' down the back of his collar with both hands when he's fixin' something - just to kiss him once, maybe twice. pushin' my hands down into his faded front pockets just to be closer to him. he's home for me. where i feel like puttin' my feet up. he's home. i know it when i see him. that perfect face. soft, steady eyes. with that front-porch-in-a-small-town name. laughin' at what a damn fool i am, but i'm sure. i'm really sure. Jackson Lee Ray, i love you.
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my coworker and i found a dead dragonfly on a windowsill in the gym today. a member came and picked it up and carried it around saying, "i wanna take it home. can i?" she pushed the bug towards us enunciating her question. "be our guest." we manuevered stealthily around her, keeping our bob-and-weave game at least three feet away. she left smiling - holding it between forefinger and thumb carefully. we mused, "what does one do with a postmortem insect?" outside the gym she decided that one of its wings was damaged and she threw it in a flowerpot. and then... she proceeded to not wash her hands. yes, she went on about her way - distinctly not washing her hands - wouldn't want them to be too clean, i guess. that creeps me out. she's walking around with a death-stained hand. and not just any death - a bug death. why is that so gross? i can't stand to have life-stained hands from touching the living, but death-stains seem so much dirtier, so spent, so... near. i feel that i catch a bit of the death if it has time to marinate on my skin. i am conscious of where i encountered it, until over 105 degree water and lots of soap purify me against it. cleanliness is next to godliness? and godliness is two degrees away from bug death, but how far from kevin bacon?
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so i'm sitting at my desk collating a project and i look down and to my right. a mouse terd. yep, definately a mouse terd is chillin' on my desk right next to my right hand. i look around the desk. oh look, he has another relative slightly north-east of him. maybe they should get together and catch up. so i paperscoop them into the garbage so they can hang out in a controlled environment and won't miss each other too much. that's how my day is going, i'm concerned with mouse terd proximity. i think i need a coffee-break. too bad i don't really drink coffee. instead i roam around outside my office. the custodians are waxing the classroom across from me. the fumes are nauseating, so i hold my breath. i notice sometimes when i hold my breath i make little chipmunk cheeks like i'm storing nuts for the winter. so i'm walking through this toxic hallway, looking like a swollen chipmunk, and i'm starting to get light-headed. must be time for a donut.
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he snapped on the overhead light. get up. what? i said get up. it's 5 am. what are you talking about? we're leaving - now. he threw a suitcase onto the bed next to me. come on! i scrambled up and towards my pants that were slung over a chair. what's going on, paul? they know we're here. let's go! wha...? who knows we're where? i paused and slapped the bed with my pants to get his attention. he turned and stared, incredulous. i don't have time for this maggie. i met his gaze and held it. i'm not going anywhere. i set my jaw and sat down on the edge of the bed. baby, look. he sat next to me. i sorta got in trouble tonight. i kept my calm. i was starting to shake, but i pressed on. explain paul - and quickly. he sighed and looked around the room. i got into this place and the alarm went off. what place paul? you're out becoming a fucking criminal while i'm sleeping in a hotel room? in some city i've never even heard of? WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING? i wasn't, he wimpered. he inched closer to me, tilting his head. making his eyes all round and pleading in his best - i fucked up i'm scum voice. i stood up. my cool was gone. GET THE FUCK OUT! i shouted. i swung the suitcase over his head and it crashed against the wall. baby please. he held his hands out to me. come on. we can work this out. let's just go and i'll explain it all to you on the road. no. i sat back down. i'm here. and i'm not moving. let whoever is after your dumb ass come find me. i'll point them in your fucking direction. how could you do this to me paul? i can't even think straight right now. you bastard. i was sleeping. this is my fucking vacation. i don't know where we are and you want me to keep moving onto some other town and i won't know where i am. and now i don't know who you fucking are! go on! LEAVE! i don't have time for this. i'm going back to bed. i pulled the sheets over me and put my face down into the pillow. i heard a strange clicking noise. you're coming with me. paul nudged the barrel of a gun into the back of my neck. i froze. paul? get up maggie. he pressed harder. i sat up slowly. come on. he pointed with the gun to my clothes. get dressed now. okay paul. i moved real slow. he lowered his arm and grinned. don't worry baby. he laughed and slid the gun back into the front of his pants. it's not loaded. can we just leave please? i stopped. what? it's... it's empty baby. can we leave now? he motioned toward my clothes again. yeah - hang on a sec. i ran to the bathroom. i need to pee real quick. why don't you pack the rest of the stuff? paul nodded and turned back to the suitcase. i closed the bathroom door - looking around. aha. i knelt down and tried not to make any noise while i worked. paul was busy stuffing the hotel coffeepot into the suitcase when i opened the door and came toward him. he never knew what hit him. but i did. that rusty j-shaped pipe from under the bathroom sink. right above where his spinal column connected to his skull. it was the first and last time a man ever decided to make my decisions for me. poor bastard should've loaded that fuckin' pistol.
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ran away from home when i was sixteen. didn't look back once. not even to wave to my dog. he sat on the porch - watchin' me go. probably thinkin' i'd be back later to feed him. i looked like a mirage on the side of the highway. the sun beat down on the pavement. and cars swerved back away from me when they got too close. i'd hear the noises on my right and thought. what the hell are they doin' drivin' in the oncoming lane anyway? fuckers probably tryin' to scare me. but i don't scare so easy. i just had to get out of that house. out by itself on a wide field. nothin' to look at from any of its windows. and i felt tied up there. just itchin' to see if there was anything beyond the damn place. well, there wasn't. mama told me right. she'd look at me - my face stuck out the window in the big room. the one we reserved for the company that never came. ya might as well look at these four walls - for all the fun out there yer missin'. mama muttered eyeing me. nothin' out there worth all yer worryin'. she snapped the white sheets over a chair to dry them next to the stove. mama i need to be out there. i sighed and looked away. ya don't need nothin' but god. she continued to arrange the laundry around the small, hot room. my dog was more free than i was. he could run around that field all he wanted. always bringin' home somethin' new to show me that life was out there - waiting. a jackrabbit on thursday. a praire dog on friday. once even a big snake - proudly hanging limply from his drooling jaws. i had to get out. i followed the curves in the road for a few miles. nothin'. i felt stupid. hangin' my head and sweating my shirt cold in that sun. why was this my life? the dust in the air streaked down my wet face. i hated crying. now mama would see me defeated, sunburned, and smelling like the highway. i tripped and fell on the gravel. my right knee opened, smiling red at me. dammit. i looked around. waves of heat rolled off the road. i was alone. i was nowhere.
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