Wednesday, December 26, 2007

i totally just killed a kitten while thinking about your moms, dude

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=kill+kitten


I am very, very upset that this did not occur to me sooner.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

i post on CL a lot cos of teh w33d

After I got my heart broke bad the first and last time, I thought I could fuck my way out of it.
I would train myself to never care, to play as I had been played, to feel the power of using my body to make men do things.. I hurt a lot of people, I ruined my reputation, and I had to move away because my sluttiness had rendered me unboyfriendable.

I was labeled as Crazy Girl and a Bad Girl (although also the Smartest Girl in the City) and I knew I would die alone, surrounded by my cats, watching Buffy.

That led, of course, to my friends and I deciding we'd live in a "tat bro" retirement home. Old rockabilly guys and tiny wrinkled old women with their hair died fire engine red and black, covered in tattoos, sitting around on our porches listening to records.


I may never have another relationship like the one that broke me. So I learn to be honest. Most of the people I hang out with are pretty broken. We're all just waiting for time to pass, hoping something would happen.

-We could hang ourselves.
-It'd give us an erection.
-And all that follows.

I might well be the kind of person who goes through life alone, who never finds someone. That could end up being ok. I have good friends I know will always be around, and if I just have casual sex with other consenting, absent-hearted individuals, that's better than ever going through that again. It'd kill me.

I've been chronically ill since high school, although it didn't truly begin to destroy my life until a few years ago. Fist my hands and knees started to hurt. I figured it was carpal tunnel. Then all my joints started to ache, a hot, flaring flame licking away under my skin. There were invisible ants chewing away at the muscle tissue in my neck and shoulders. Nails were being driven into me. I'd lie awake at night throbbing, and then stumble about the next day, feeling like I'd been thru a sleepwalked rugby game. I was so tired. They did a lot of tests and gave me some pills, kept telling me to come back later. Finally they told me I had fibromyalgia, a disease I'd heard very little about.

After years of keeping up with research, I know more about it than the rheumatologist I saw at Cook County, who barely even knew that it was, in fact, a nerve disease and not one of muscle tissue.

I've learned a lot about the brain. I spend hours reading random articles on Wikipedia and learned that burning wood re-ionizes the air, which affects the release of serotonin in the brain. I wonder why ionizers aren't just given out to everyone during the winter. I wonder this because I spent about 90% of my time in bed or on the sofa. If I'm not there I am on my bike (just switched to fixie), flying through the streets, feeling like I've defeated this crush of gravity that threatens to flatten me. It's the only thing that makes me not want to die. Fuck using the brakes.

I just recently stopped being employable. I went to college in all good faith believing that if I studied hard and was smart I'd be able to find a good job.

But I was too crazy to teach after that, so I worked in food. I got to where I really loved it, but then my body gave out.

I had a desk job over the summer, but the stress made me crazy and I just walked out. I hate rich people. I am not a capitalist. I have been very poor for a very long time and all I want is to go to the damn dentist. I don't need a damn Jetta and brazilian cherry wood floors and stainless steel appliances to make me happy. I just want my mouth to stop hurting.

I can't get jobs any more. I can barely walk some days, and I have no way of knowing when those days will be. I look fine, I'm in great shape, but I'm in wretched amounts of pain and all I want to do is distract myself with a book or a dvd or the Nets. I consistently have Kervorkian fantasies.

I answer porn ads from here on Cl to make a living. I don't feel particularly ashamed of it. It's all I can get. I'm good at sex, I have a great body, I've been modeling naked for years, and emotionally it's about the same as taking a guy home from the bar. And the money can't be beat. I just wish I knew I could get enough of it to pay my rent every month. Still, it's definitely contributed to my being off dating. I just don't have the energy to be emotionally AND sexually involved with the same person, not on top of fucking for money.

The snow is lovely, and I am dying to go ride in it, but my stomach has decided to burn and rumble. Fun with IBS on top of all the other annoying things like feeling like I have a sunburn, or being unable to wear long sleeves indoors. Or itching all the time, even after slathering myself in pecan oil.

I have to get a good night's sleep, because tomorrow I am going to take all my anger out on a man who will pay me to do it.

Nice work if you can get it.

I have no clue what is happening in my life. Sometimes I really just want a nice boy to love me, to want to take care of me so I can go back to school and get a job I can actually do even if I'm in a damn wheelchair. Sometimes I just want to die. I'm so tired. I'm sleeping 12-14 hours a night and I just get more and more exhausted. I wish I could just be in a coma. Wake up when they have a stem cell cure. or nanobots. I can still get excited about those. YEAH! nanobots might fix me one day!!!


or else we just get through each day until the zombie invasion happens.
or the plague hits. or the floods start. or the robots take over. or the aliens attack. or we start to live in space.

see, there is stuff worth waiting for.




Monday, December 10, 2007

Poem for Monday, December 10, 2007


The Story

by Mark Strand

It is the old story: complaints about the moon

sinking into the sea, about stars in their first fading,

about the lawn wet with dew, the lawn silver, the lawn cold.

It goes on and on: a man stares at his shadow

and says it’s the ash of himself falling away, says his days

are the real black holes in space. But none of it’s true.

You know the one I mean: it’s the story about the minutes dying,

and the hours, and the years; it’s the story I tell

about myself, about you, about everyone.

Burke's Book Store
936 South Cooper
Memphis, TN 38104
(901) 278-7484
www.burkesbooks.com

please don't take my picture




The year has begun its final tumble toward the exit.
So many things have added their weight to the push that first started its stumbling.

I walked out of a fulltime job, a "green collar" job running an environmentally friendly cleaning service, at the end of the summer. I couldn't keep my mind focused, I was stressed out all the time, and when the owner and I came to anger and yelling I just walked out.

I'd started performing for some femdom pr0n out in the suburbs, and would make as much money in six hours as I did in two weeks at my "real job." It was a bizarre feeling, but it was just like the acting I did in High School, in the long run.

Despite biking twelve miles a day, the new medication I'd started taking for fibro was making me bloat and gain weight. I look at pictures of myself at that time and I cringe. I was pasty and puffy and I weighed almost thirty pounds more than I did ten years ago.

I spend almost all my time now in bed or tucked up in the sunroom.



It's so hard to walk or stand. The ground slips and stutters under me. I panic at bars, need to sit with my back to a wall and drink fast, drink til the leg cramps stop. Smile and talk loud about my cat, about Memphis, but always always I end up talking about being Sick.

It's becoming all I am.

Monday, December 03, 2007

Poem for Monday, December 3, 2007

Poem for Monday, December 3, 2007

At a Loose End

by D. H. Lawrence

Many years have I still to burn, detained

Like a candle-flame on this body; but I enclose

Blue shadow within me, a presence which lives contained

In my flame of living, the invisible heart of the rose.

So through these days, while I burn on the fuel of life,

What matter the stuff I lick up in my daily flame;

Seeing the core is a shadow inviolate,

A darkness that dreams my dreams for me, ever the same.

Burke's Book Store
936 South Cooper
Memphis, TN 38104
(901) 278-7484
www.burkesbooks.com