The words we drug from
the sky and put upon the paper
will mean nothing in the end.
So I told myself I wasn’t going to write anything today. And I’m sitting in the car on this long ride from Salt Lake City to Cheyenne and I start to hear the words just playing like a song in my head and so I have to tell you, sometimes it isn’t our choice. When the force taps on your shoulder, you’re expected to deliver -uncensored…
I’m so tired of hearing myself, of seeing myself. I often wish I could be someone else and finally get some rest, someone who can sleep for more than 3 hours a night- because I can’t. Someone who doesn’t have a face or a stupid hindu name I can’t get rid of. Someone who isn’t filled with angst and restless discontent. Someone not susceptible to dead people and the astral world, hearing voices talking all the time…then I hear myself talking again- and I wonder- what’s worse-and I think, “God, why doesn’t she just shut up” BD says, “who put a quarter in you” I’m annoying- even to me. And also, I know everything- all you have to do is ask- and I’ll just start….there I go again. Stop! Quiet! No, not me.
Well, BD says I’m really scary when I’m quiet and that I give the dirtiest look he has ever seen when I don’t like or approve of something or someone- like I’m the only one who counts- I know- and when I’m quiet I’m just brooding or obsessing on death…the uselessness of everything and yet, I keep it going like I’m on some self proclaimed mission. You know, I’m very serious about what I say and write but I’m not hooked on any notion or theory or spaceship –I’m just bored and I know this isn’t it.
I know, this is supposed to be “it” but not for me, I’m not accepting, I’m never content – even though I know if you’re “spiritual” that’s like the main prerequisite -“contentment” – it’s a lie- it’s a nice idea- but whatever. Not right for me…because I know there’s more. And I’m going to find it in you- don’t be scared- More of everything. Less is only more when I’m in that mood. Sometimes more is more. A lot more. More intensity. More vivid and aliveness in the silence. It’s there looking for us…probing the depths of fearless love.
So that’s why I love you, so I can shut up if you’ll let me…a dark room, a dark face and no more me. Finally, a friend I can count on…
My ex boyfriend who I was with for 9 years before BD -recently told me that I was going to go broke because my blog is too defiant -and I’m not making myself a blank enough slate for you all to project upon me- or did he mean – jack off on me- because that’s what it sounds like to me-how insulting- good thing I don’t take it personally when my friend of 9 years basically calls me a lackluster prostitute -he sure has gone mad- that’s what happens to everyone I’m ever with- they snap and go mad- never to return to their former selves. I don’t know how or why this happens and that’s why I’m so very careful with who I get close to…I turn sane people into crazy people 100% guaranteed….it’s only a matter of time. And it’s worse for men than for women. I ruin men’s lives just by existing. They can’t go on after the fact… (just letting you know if you decide to come closer, beware)
And it’s because I carry a curse, I really do- and I’ve been dealing with it -but it’s a sharp and cruel double edged razor and I’ve got a lot of scars due to mismanagement of the slippery blade – if you know what I mean…she takes no prisoners. This is the real thing. So I told her I love her and I worship her as golden light and still she doesn’t make it easy on me and still she expects me to deliver- on death’s bed, at a gas station, in your heart- wherever you want to take this…
I’ve got to get over myself because she said so. And she doesn’t mince words and she’s an enigma, a contradiction and an oracle…and she’s a big talker too…
And she’s electrical and I have big electrical issues because of her- and being at this high elevation in Utah only makes things worse- and these flammable comforters on the bed spark all night when I move restlessly and my dogs are afraid of catching on fire because of me. I’ve been struck, electrocuted, my skin split open. Can you see yet why I’m so spun out? It’s all her and her ravaging love. I call it love because what else can I do? Totally horrid, oblique and up in the air with no trace of tomorrow I’m left pining for the wind to take me home. I left yesterday long ago and I have nowhere else to go…here I am just going off on you again…but I know you can take it because you’re real…you’re not just another straight line, you’re a five pointed star.
Speaking of pentagrams- driving through Salt Lake City, mormon cult central and baby capital of the world -reminds me -I’m a big topic amongst my billionaire mormon relatives (those not in the mafia in Italy that is) I have a lot of them because my mother has 11 brothers and sisters and they have a thousand missionary kids and I have hundreds of cousins I guess- I don’t know any of them but if I became a mormon I could be a billionaire too because they give each other money- but mormons are perverts and they wear these horrible big tight mummy underwear with a hole in them for fucking- (they are commissioned to breed) I’m serious, I’ve seen them hanging on the clothes line at my grandmas house as a child (and I’m sorry to insult any non- pervert mormons out there) and my mother says I’m the pervert. Ironic.
I only called her out on it, and apparently there are just some topics that shouldn’t be aired out-like sexual topics- and so I go there first like a blood hound- my nose is really strong – the scent of perversion is my trail. I’m trying to help myself, and love myself- like you say- oh, and remember God (I may be f’ing with you right now bird man) but it’s hard when I’m so hard up and vocal about the mess I’ve made. The mess is
the message wrapped in soliloquy and humor. I think it’s funny but I’m a bit sadistic. I think we all need to lighten up and get out the black crayons and draw a really scary picture of our
new found happiness. A happiness not dependent on retrieval or spice. A happiness not hoping for bedbugs to kill. A happiness that can’t always get it up. A happiness that’s failed so far.
A happiness that wears no underwear. A happiness that’s beyond the cord we keep pulling saying, “let me off, I’m ready now”
Do you even know the name of the street?
So I guess what I’m trying to say today is I’m slipping beneath you and you haven’t seen that your ground is actually gone. Your standing on me now- and I’m as white as a stone bleached by millions of years of sunlight. You can do whatever you want to me. I don’t change.
My tongue may not matter anymore.
I’m only speaking the slang of her man and what he prefers.
Don’t you see that I’m only a mockingbird?
Can’t you hear me in your head?
Give me back the reason I came here. Give me back my bodiless star. My blanket love is warm and quiet. My darkened eyes see only red.
Don’t stop reading now. I need to be needed. And that’s the story of my life…