this one goes out to my family. if you can call it that. the one i originally fell into, with all the capricious grace of an indifferent universe. not my husband and son, who try their best and suffer me but it may not be enough. i hope it is, and i hope i make it.
my parents crushed me, and what i suffered outside of them, rather than help me, they only added to the difficulty i've had in negotiating this life. added to hardly encompasses the torments they compounded and turned blind eyes to. but i am tired of going through it in excruciating detail. i just happened to notice that my aunt does check this blog every now and then, so this is to you, auntie, and don't be shy about spreading the love, because it is to every last one of you, even art, though it is possible he missed the message i sent him, i'll leave that possibility open, but i am hardly inclined toward magnanimity as far as any of you are concerned. as far as grandma, i feel pity for her, knowing her story, but i feel toward her as i do toward my own mother, they should not have had children, they had no business being mothers to anyone; they were incapable due to the damage they sustained. and each created more cripples to carry on this tradition. i give you credit that you had the sense not to continue that cycle, but you cannot fall back on the excuse that you felt parents were responsible for their own children. that idiocy would mean there should be no child services, and children should be left to suffer with whatever abuse they are unlucky enough to be subjected to. i hold all of my cousins in contempt as well, except the ones i never knew. i only knew jessica as a baby. when grandma took care of her once while i was there, she was crying upstairs. i was 15. i tried to go up to her, though i knew nothing of babies, i knew of distress and need, and i tried to go and see what i could do. grandma stopped me, would not let me go, insisting that jessica needed to learn - i don't know what, maybe that she'd better get used to it now, the reality that you couldn't count on anyone to help you no matter how badly you needed something and how helpless you were to take care of yourself. i listened to her cry and knew it was wrong, and i was in my own distress over it. i had learned this long ago, but it pained me that anyone else would have to learn it. i don't know why i didn't disobey her and sneak up anyway, perhaps she was watching me, but for whatever reason i felt i couldn't go up. i hope linda did not buy into this notion of child-rearing.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
The Insane Spark of High Heeled Girls
It flips a switch for me. Have they gone completely mad? Clicking across the tile, it is not new, only sad. Women have been damaging themselves for centuries to gain love and attention. This particular trend is new, I think. I don't believe the shoes have ever been so high, certainly not for day-to-day casual and business wear.
I even saw two of them walking through Houston International with them on, traveling for god's sake! And that is a huge fucking airport! These are 6 inch spike heels with narrow toes. I could go on to describe what this does to the feet and legs and spine, but suffice it to say if you do it long enough you will wind up seriously crippled, if not right away, as you get older, the degeneration creeping silently along, even if the behavior stops.
I want to scream at them every time I see them. I want to tell them exactly how stupid it is, and that it is completely made-up, a mass delusion, a conspiracy, the notion that these things are even attractive. Two types especially irritate me. The ones in pants, since the argument goes that they make the legs look sexier, a moot point with pants. I have even seen them wear them with pants that come to the floor, covering the shoe completely. "Why?" I want to scream, "Why, I beg of you, explain your thinking in this, what possible reason do you have for doing this to yourself in this case?" Those, and the ones who cannot walk in them, they awkwardly lurch about, looking as graceful as the crippled member of the herd, the one the lions would take out first.
And now a new contender wanders my way at this very moment. The beast. The behemoth. Why? Are you like the delusional Jerry Springer guest, thinking you are sexy, while 50 lbs. of gut spills out of your lacy midriff tank top? Do you think it has an ameliorating effect, counter-balancing your heft and utter lack of any type of grace or beauty? Lank hair, likely dyed blond in a similar ham-handed attempt. As you sit next to me, and I glance over for these additional details, having politely asked me if the seat was free, I do feel a queasy sort of discomfort in the things I'm saying about you now, feeling fairly awful for it, but you shouldn't have worn those shoes and set me off, now should you?
low spark of high heeled boys
I even saw two of them walking through Houston International with them on, traveling for god's sake! And that is a huge fucking airport! These are 6 inch spike heels with narrow toes. I could go on to describe what this does to the feet and legs and spine, but suffice it to say if you do it long enough you will wind up seriously crippled, if not right away, as you get older, the degeneration creeping silently along, even if the behavior stops.
I want to scream at them every time I see them. I want to tell them exactly how stupid it is, and that it is completely made-up, a mass delusion, a conspiracy, the notion that these things are even attractive. Two types especially irritate me. The ones in pants, since the argument goes that they make the legs look sexier, a moot point with pants. I have even seen them wear them with pants that come to the floor, covering the shoe completely. "Why?" I want to scream, "Why, I beg of you, explain your thinking in this, what possible reason do you have for doing this to yourself in this case?" Those, and the ones who cannot walk in them, they awkwardly lurch about, looking as graceful as the crippled member of the herd, the one the lions would take out first.
And now a new contender wanders my way at this very moment. The beast. The behemoth. Why? Are you like the delusional Jerry Springer guest, thinking you are sexy, while 50 lbs. of gut spills out of your lacy midriff tank top? Do you think it has an ameliorating effect, counter-balancing your heft and utter lack of any type of grace or beauty? Lank hair, likely dyed blond in a similar ham-handed attempt. As you sit next to me, and I glance over for these additional details, having politely asked me if the seat was free, I do feel a queasy sort of discomfort in the things I'm saying about you now, feeling fairly awful for it, but you shouldn't have worn those shoes and set me off, now should you?
low spark of high heeled boys
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
lost...
we are all lost; it only differs in degrees. i have seen our differences poignantly; shall i now see our similarities? how bittersweet it will be, how it will always be. are we in this together? can we now be? we weren't once, you know, you turned away, all of you did, and i was alone. but i am determined to forgive your ignorance, and to try to understand it as that, rather than evil, which it has felt like. i will do what i can for you. i will love. the pain and hatred shall fade.
roger waters understands. can you hear? i'm asking you that.
goodbye blue sky
roger waters understands. can you hear? i'm asking you that.
goodbye blue sky
Friday, January 14, 2011
love me, love me...
i should distract myself. i should get busy so i don't hear it anymore, that fucking prodding, nudging voice, from so far away, inside, alone in the dark, forever. maybe she will always be there, there's nothing i can do for her, poor child. i have to abandon her, for now anyway, and hope she understands someday, that i had to finally take care of myself. she keeps crying for love and attention, only she is so far gone, quite mad, having been locked away for so long, it will never be enough. she can be soothed for short times, but it causes more trouble than it's worth, and when the soothing leaves, as it always does, having been more interested in quelling its own thirst than any concern for her, she feels worse, so much worse.
i want to be a veterinarian. i always have, but my mother shot that down when i told her, saying that i would have to deal with the pet's owner, knowing i had difficulty with people (that my difficulty was because of her and my father makes this statement so much more evil), in her derisive tone that deflated me. and of course i lost all will, strength, and direction as things progressed, as injuries accrued and complicated each other. if i pursue this, it will be a difficult road, but i want it, and i think i can do it, which is an amazing, though tentative and unusual, feeling for me to have.
i hate you, mommy. i want you to know that. to really know how evil you are. if you had any decency in you, you would throw yourself to the ground in front of me and surrender to the sobbing like a child, realizing the role you played in the destruction of all of your children, and beg my forgiveness, and ask what you could do now to help repair the damage you have done, knowing full well you can't, you can't even begin to make up for what i've suffered because of you. but you never will do that. you never will allow yourself to feel that. and you will die, miserable and alone, sitting in your own filth because no one in this world will take the smallest trouble to care for you, and maybe then it will dawn on you, but i doubt it. i know you were hurt as a child, and i am not unsympathetic, but you chose the wrong way to deal with that. i could have dealt with your pain, with unbalance, but not with the cold you opted for, so that you did not feel the pain so acutely.
and how badly i want to let these feelings go. they fucking hurt! and they will never be appeased, never. they need to be forgotten, i need to truly let it go, and i don't understand this part of me that enjoys the pain of holding onto it, i really don't. i think the part of me that wants to live is becoming stronger, and may be able to direct my energy to a better place, and just grieve them and move on, for they are dead, it is all dead back there, and to drag around this rotting corpse is insane.
i want to put myself back together now. maybe it's not too late, after all.
(i need a good hypnotherapist.
p.s. i really hate gwen stefani. she is all pop and image with no talent, no heart. what she pretends to have is just that, a pretense.)
i want to be a veterinarian. i always have, but my mother shot that down when i told her, saying that i would have to deal with the pet's owner, knowing i had difficulty with people (that my difficulty was because of her and my father makes this statement so much more evil), in her derisive tone that deflated me. and of course i lost all will, strength, and direction as things progressed, as injuries accrued and complicated each other. if i pursue this, it will be a difficult road, but i want it, and i think i can do it, which is an amazing, though tentative and unusual, feeling for me to have.
i hate you, mommy. i want you to know that. to really know how evil you are. if you had any decency in you, you would throw yourself to the ground in front of me and surrender to the sobbing like a child, realizing the role you played in the destruction of all of your children, and beg my forgiveness, and ask what you could do now to help repair the damage you have done, knowing full well you can't, you can't even begin to make up for what i've suffered because of you. but you never will do that. you never will allow yourself to feel that. and you will die, miserable and alone, sitting in your own filth because no one in this world will take the smallest trouble to care for you, and maybe then it will dawn on you, but i doubt it. i know you were hurt as a child, and i am not unsympathetic, but you chose the wrong way to deal with that. i could have dealt with your pain, with unbalance, but not with the cold you opted for, so that you did not feel the pain so acutely.
and how badly i want to let these feelings go. they fucking hurt! and they will never be appeased, never. they need to be forgotten, i need to truly let it go, and i don't understand this part of me that enjoys the pain of holding onto it, i really don't. i think the part of me that wants to live is becoming stronger, and may be able to direct my energy to a better place, and just grieve them and move on, for they are dead, it is all dead back there, and to drag around this rotting corpse is insane.
i want to put myself back together now. maybe it's not too late, after all.
(i need a good hypnotherapist.
p.s. i really hate gwen stefani. she is all pop and image with no talent, no heart. what she pretends to have is just that, a pretense.)
desperate straits
again, again. what is to be done? i've been moving closer to wellness, but am by no means yet able to stand on my own, or at least i tell myself that. if only...
if only i had a little, if only i had some change, if only if only if only...
i don't have this song and i couldn't see it on youtube from here, the real version, and all the live performances are recent. and for him it seems to have stopped. he doesn't feel it anymore. good for him. but he should stop performing this one. it makes for weak fare. i hope to get to when it stops. at least it's not constant anymore.
i am scared, i am hurt, and i guess that gets tiresome. i know it does because i have taken a walk on the other side of this equation. i cannot deal with them anymore. they will pull me down with them. now they were nuts. only it is not all i am, there is so much more, and i can see the light at the end of that long, dark tunnel. but what happens now? my best efforts may not be enough. i did so want to do something, i have tried, but it always dies. there is nothing here for it to live on. and so i put it in a bottle, but the ether is so littered with them, i am lost in a sea of meaningless bottles, so unsure of who i am, the very few who have heard me impotent to carry the message further.
i want to say so much more, i always do, and the words are not there, not the right ones, and not enough of them. it is so delicate, so intricate, and it is there, but to extract it in the first place, from where it lives, in my dense jungle, and then to clarify, well, that will take time, and it is getting dark again, again, as it does, and my compass just spins.
hello.
can you hear me? am i wasting my time? it doesn't matter. i can't stop it anyway, even if it were a waste. it still makes me feel like something more than nothing, even if i remain lost.
two words will do, if it is all you can muster. but if you have more, i'll gladly take them, for it is a jungle and a desert at once. would you leave me here, alone, with a dull machete and my water low...
if only i had a little, if only i had some change, if only if only if only...
i don't have this song and i couldn't see it on youtube from here, the real version, and all the live performances are recent. and for him it seems to have stopped. he doesn't feel it anymore. good for him. but he should stop performing this one. it makes for weak fare. i hope to get to when it stops. at least it's not constant anymore.
i am scared, i am hurt, and i guess that gets tiresome. i know it does because i have taken a walk on the other side of this equation. i cannot deal with them anymore. they will pull me down with them. now they were nuts. only it is not all i am, there is so much more, and i can see the light at the end of that long, dark tunnel. but what happens now? my best efforts may not be enough. i did so want to do something, i have tried, but it always dies. there is nothing here for it to live on. and so i put it in a bottle, but the ether is so littered with them, i am lost in a sea of meaningless bottles, so unsure of who i am, the very few who have heard me impotent to carry the message further.
i want to say so much more, i always do, and the words are not there, not the right ones, and not enough of them. it is so delicate, so intricate, and it is there, but to extract it in the first place, from where it lives, in my dense jungle, and then to clarify, well, that will take time, and it is getting dark again, again, as it does, and my compass just spins.
hello.
can you hear me? am i wasting my time? it doesn't matter. i can't stop it anyway, even if it were a waste. it still makes me feel like something more than nothing, even if i remain lost.
two words will do, if it is all you can muster. but if you have more, i'll gladly take them, for it is a jungle and a desert at once. would you leave me here, alone, with a dull machete and my water low...
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Confused States
"I don't think I am capable of having any friendships, but would you be my friend anyway"?
Steady now, don't quaver, don't get weepy. She just may take pity on you, don't fuck this up.
"Of course I will."
You thought she'd say that. She picks up stray dogs and hippies, and brings them home.
Should you say what you're thinking? No, just think how you would react to someone puking up such a mess on your floor. It's downright repulsive. This will do. Stay still. You just might make it out alive.
How the fuck do they do it? I know they have pain. So what the fuck is wrong with me, that I just can't hack it? It doesn't matter, though. You have to do it. You could break out, but they'd take another in your place, and he'd get even worse, you know that. Like it got you, when he took the out.
Fuck. This wasn't supposed to get depressing. Shit. This is me, trying not to get depressing. That's fucking depressing. O.K. Let's try this again.
I'm fond of my stray thoughts. Like homeless dogs, they keep looking for a home, for sustenance. But so many of their remains now litter my head, and I am losing my way.
Does suicide imbue one with a gravity they could not attain in life? Would they want to understand me then, would I suddenly become fascinating and have penetrating insights? They always ask about the note; and here are hundreds. I never knew who they were; I only have a vague notion. They have always been there, but out of reach. The ones that were in reach, I cannot speak of. Though it may not seem so, I am trying to get to higher ground. But I failed again. Let me try it at a run.
Breathe. There must be something light, something less ponderous, something to bring a smile. It is quick, but if I shrug off these chains I will catch it. I'm off.
Steady now, don't quaver, don't get weepy. She just may take pity on you, don't fuck this up.
"Of course I will."
You thought she'd say that. She picks up stray dogs and hippies, and brings them home.
Should you say what you're thinking? No, just think how you would react to someone puking up such a mess on your floor. It's downright repulsive. This will do. Stay still. You just might make it out alive.
How the fuck do they do it? I know they have pain. So what the fuck is wrong with me, that I just can't hack it? It doesn't matter, though. You have to do it. You could break out, but they'd take another in your place, and he'd get even worse, you know that. Like it got you, when he took the out.
Fuck. This wasn't supposed to get depressing. Shit. This is me, trying not to get depressing. That's fucking depressing. O.K. Let's try this again.
I'm fond of my stray thoughts. Like homeless dogs, they keep looking for a home, for sustenance. But so many of their remains now litter my head, and I am losing my way.
Does suicide imbue one with a gravity they could not attain in life? Would they want to understand me then, would I suddenly become fascinating and have penetrating insights? They always ask about the note; and here are hundreds. I never knew who they were; I only have a vague notion. They have always been there, but out of reach. The ones that were in reach, I cannot speak of. Though it may not seem so, I am trying to get to higher ground. But I failed again. Let me try it at a run.
Breathe. There must be something light, something less ponderous, something to bring a smile. It is quick, but if I shrug off these chains I will catch it. I'm off.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
trapped in a plaintive song
and not just one. it's a nightmare with a strange beauty. one trap after another, a habitrail, a cube, escape only into another trap. i can see out. i have imagined myself out there, i have run for it, but i begin to suspect terrible possibilities. i won't say truths, because, my mind, you know i can't trust it. as arrogant as i seem, it's a protection. i even believe the ruse sometimes. but really i know. i am crumbling, in more ways than one.
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