7.31.2003
About claw marks.
Mike and I went out for two years, when I was 18 and 19. We flirted with each other in the toy department where we both worked. Except I had a boyfriend that I really wanted to dump, but he always cried. One time I dumped him in his bedroom and he called his stepmom in Cape Breton. He said, ---Claudette and I arent going out anymore.---- And spent about an hour crying on the phone while I was there. It was embarrassing. Plus his mom was a little tough if you know what I mean, so I was kind of scared cause when him and I started going out I heard through someone who told someone that she said, ---If you hurt my son, Ill get you.--- Or maybe she told me to my face at Shoppers Drug Mart. I cant remember. And another time, when he said something about getting excited about all the pretty girls at the music festival, his stepmom freaked out and threw all of his clothes out the window cause he was being disrespectful towards me. Except, I didnt even care.
Anyway, eventually I dumped him and went out with Mike. Mike was really nice. He bought me flowers all the time and took me out to dinner. We used to shag in his parents basement on the floor. We would watch ourselves in the reflection of the glass doors on the TV stand. One time, we were fucking in his bedroom, instead of the basement, because no one was home. We finished and I walked out of his bedroom to go to the bathroom. The bathroom was at the end of the hall and you had to walk past the kitchen to get there and his bedroom was slightly to the left of the kitchen. It was a small, crammed house. I saw his dad standing in the kitchen. Luckily his back was to me, so I scooted to the bathroom. But I didnt have my clothes. And Mike didnt know his parents were home because they were being incredibly quiet. I waited in the bathroom and bit my nails, trying to decide what to do.
Finally Mike figured it out and brought me my clothes. I arranged myself and went out to the kitchen to chat with his parents. Mike showed up soon after. That was fine, I was laughing or something and I looked up and saw Mike at the fridge. I nearly choked when I saw it. He wasnt wearing a shirt and there were thick, long, bloody gouges all over his back and shoulders. He had no idea and he was just milling about freely, exposing his back to everyone. I had no idea what to do. I remember feeling frozen for a second. So I jumped up and stood behind Mike. And everywhere Mike went, I went, behind him, trying to pretend this was normal while he drank his soda pop. He seemed confused, and moved quickly, so I had to move quickly too, practically at his heel, like basketball. I think someone mentioned that we were being weird, but I just smiled and kept doing it. I got my chance and hissed in his ear ---Your back.--- He left and put his shirt on. Im sure his parents knew everything.
Eventually I dumped Mike too. I told him I imagined myself in Europe. Alone. I remember dumping him. It was a few months later and he was living in Cape Breton for his job. He came to visit me for the weekend. We were going to a movie, a Brad Pitt love movie. We decided to go to the movie anyway after the dumping. At one point, during a really sad love scene where the girl screws her lovers brother cause she thinks her lover is dead, but he isnt, I hear Mike gasp and gulp. He leans over and says, ---Claudette, I cant do this.--- And I lean over and say, ---Could you try? I want to watch the rest of the movie.---
11:50 AM
7.28.2003
I would rather be here writing than fucking you. Your inconsistency makes me more consistent. I see what you dont see. I admit I am stronger than you expected. I know you underestimate every touch. You forget that it is a touch. And it is what it is. A touch. It is not danger. It is not false. Its meant to be, for that second. For a timeline of touches. For the flash of black. It is; the curls in our bodies, the lip on your wrist; the moments of silence and screaming. This is precious stop motion. This is forgive the next second. This is a side project. Please remember, I would rather be here writing than fucking you.
***
We are in his back yard, drunk.
--Speaking of relationships, he says, which we werent. --Lets talk about us.
--I dont want to talk about us,-- I said.
--Are you in love with me?--
So I went into this three minute spiel about how love grows, it doesnt just pop up over a few sweaty nights, and instant love is not instant love at all, its a radioactive contraction in your kitchen, chuck it in, heat it up, blow it up and you get two years of violence, intense sex, suicide, and none of it lasts and it hurts real bad and basically Im sick of it because love takes years to develop, love takes forever and I want to feel safe and I want someone to take care of me, so, no, Im not in love with you, Im just fucking you.
Its quiet.
--Do you wanna go to bed?--
--Yup.--
1:34 PM
It happens and theres nothing you can do. The first morning yawn, and you notice everything gone. Blowing in the field, down the street, from your house. All your pieces of everything. The bits. Your letters. The timing; and its neat package. This lover, that lover, all crammed up and floating in that friggin field. And it all disappears in a funnel up the middle; a giant flourescent pink straw and theres your mother and your father, and the lovers and the war, and the fucking snake on the driveway, whipping around in that big, gutless drink of your brain.
And youre sucking on it and theyre all sucking on it too. And theres no chance youll catch it as it all comes back down in one incredible whoosh. You forget it. You curl up. You become lava. You become pavement. You become in-----animate. You are no more cells and no more veins. Whatever is near you, beneath you, or above you. There is nothing you can do. It makes you question all the boxes, the trucks, your kissing, the dust. Whats put away. Whats ground away. Whats fucked away. Everything is done. Instead. All of the truths are lies. And all of the lies are true.
12:40 AM
7.25.2003
I just a bought a rad BMX yesterday. Flat black, plump cushion, meat-like tires. And Im already causing a buzz amongst the 'hood kids.
As in:
--Give me that bike.
And:
--Can I have your pegs?
And:
--I'll get your bike bitch.
Ive only had the bike for one full day and Im already making a splash. I drove on the wrong side of the road and got the evil eye from another biker (you know the kind, they have hand signals for side streets and they wear helmets). Not to mention the pedestrians. And my mother. I even rode the bike around the office and crashed into a lollipop blue partition (the ones they put up to keep out the researchers and the sun).
Im on everyones bad side now. Which is exactly where I want to be. Im starting a biker gang. Our colors are pink, black and female.
***
Again, last night was loud, rowdy and definately interrupted. This morning was lovely. Except we had a Peeping Tom.
4:21 PM
7.24.2003
Dog Days
A big truck trampled through our white picket fence. And parked itself on the lot beside our house. I saw a woman walking around with a helmet, jeans and a beater, looking important. I gave her a dirty look. But my roommate did even better.
She let the dogs out for a piss. Tuak is really gentle but he barks like he's gonna mangle your jugular, save the veins and lick them. Nice and clean. Later.
The important woman was in the back yard. They ran towards her. And she raised her hammer high above her head.
Kirsten has red hair and tattoos all over her body.
---What the FUCK are you DOING!!!!! If you TOUCH THOSE DOGS. I'll fucking KILL you!!!!?
Not only that. But they positively ruined the back yard. It used to be a jungle. Vines grew all over the floor with white bell flowers sprinkled everywhere. Green worms dangled from the tree. Crows screamed happily. It's all over now. They're building a god fucking 18-storey condo. I don't know what they're trying to do. Dot the fucking Commons with UGLY buildings.
This story reminds me of the time I caught that shirtless brat throwing head sized boulders at my precious American Eskimo, Candy. I chased him down the street with a baseball bat.
I was eight.
So that woman better watch out. Cause I'm going out and I'm buying some really heavy ashtrays. Ones with claws. And I'm not even a dog person.
Don't fuck with us.
8:13 PM
7.22.2003
I just got a whiff of myself in the bathroom mirror. I work for a TV show. Maybe wearing a see-through shirt with a bubble gum pink bra is not such a good idea. Oh well.
**
Every time I have sex with unprofessional guy it is rowdy, loud and interrupted. And always my fault. Usually it goes ok if everyone else is loaded off jagermeister too. Like the time we got caught in the kitchen. Naked. That was my idea. It turned out fine cause he made everyone laugh when he put a paper towel roll on his noodle, ripped off his blanket and danced around the living room. Apparently, later on, when we were in his room, they went outside and had a smoke. My friend told me ---we heard everything. it was comedy.--- Great. Join in, however you like.
But Sunday night was different. No one else was drunk or horny. Just us. First his roommate put on some music. Then I heard --Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!--- Ummmm, yeah.
Then the banging on the walls. And more banging. Unprofessional guy went upstairs and started clanking out an apology on the typewriter. Oh dear. B got up, screaming.
--Dude! It is four o-clock in the fucking morning! Go to BED!!
Dear B: I am really really sorry. I am. Im very selfish.
But really, you know, if Im being too loud, all he has to do is grab my hair, reach around my neck and cover my mouth with his hand.
To make it up to you, Im going to learn how to play the bass. Then Im going to start a Blondie cover band and wear practically nothing on stage. I willl dedicate every song to you. Im your dog...but not your PET!!! woooo, hooooo!!!
10:35 AM
7.20.2003
I guess from everyone else's perspective this is unfortunate and sad, but this is just how it is. Especially when this whole city is a predator.
Last night a boy told me he heard about me before we met. He'd heard that I was beautiful, but I'm a pain in the ass.
3:30 AM
7.18.2003
I spent my first 7 years in a trailer park. There's me, fat and bald, in a blue and white speckled one piece and the monsterous widow's peak. Staring at YOU and flipping my lower lip from the front window. A couple of years later, we packed it all up and my parents told me the cat ran off with his girlfriend and we took everything, the trailer and the swing set, to Quebec.
There were bats in the woods and French people all over. And all of a sudden I had no friends. My mother did the dishes.
"I'm bored."
She sighed.
"Well then. Why don't you make some friends."
Make some friends? Was she serious? Is this even possible?
I'd been smacked on the head. Stars...everywhere.
"You mean...with...bones and... blood?"
She seemed a little ticked that I didn't know.
"Yessss. Of course." She turned back to the dishes.
Wow.
I went outside. Plans, so many plans. I'll start with mud.
9:15 PM
7.16.2003
July 14, 2003
"After the burlesque show nothing happened with her
and I. We're not together and we're not getting together."
I remember the purple lace panties and the
sex in your eyes. Fuck, I even threw beer glass
all over the
sidewalk. "You're disgusting."
Only because you didn't tell the truth. I don't care who you fuck.
I fuck everyone.
"I'm disgusting?" And now you're twitching with your fingers.
"You have a pattern. You're happy with someone briefly,
then you want her back, then you're happy with someone
else and you want her back again. What the fuck? Maybe
you should calm down."
He looks sad. Christ, you suck.
Slowly.
"I wish I had never met you. I wish you hadn't dragged me
into this shit mess."
"I want my friend back and I don't know how to do it."
And later, at Point Pleasant Park, where you
go to cuddle on
the rocks
and watch the sludge or
have deadly conversations.
"Well, maybe some friendships are meant to be brief."
And we look and look at each other.
And you look so damn sad.
But I'm so fucking tired.
I'm sorry.
I'm jealous.
And I can't be your friend.
But I never set limits.
I'm sorry I remember all the other boys
and you happen to be here.
And I'm sorry you understand me so well, cause I just
love you more.
I'm sorry you're beautiful and your mom died.
And you lost your little girl. And you lose everyone.
But this time, I mean it.
This time I go.
Because I want you to miss me.
Because I want
control.
I'll take a Russian poem over love any damn day.
And we'll be old. Your dreads will fall out. Your knees will crack off. Your ass will drop down.
And maybe someday you'll fight. You'll get your little
girl back. You'll get your love. And you'll stop with "the lonely."
11:44 PM
About claw marks.
Mike and I went out for two years, when I was 18 and 19. We flirted with each other in the toy department where we both worked. Except I had a boyfriend that I really wanted to dump, but he always cried. One time I dumped him in his bedroom and he called his stepmom in Cape Breton. He said, ---Claudette and I arent going out anymore.---- And spent about an hour crying on the phone while I was there. It was embarrassing. Plus his mom was a little tough if you know what I mean, so I was kind of scared cause when him and I started going out I heard through someone who told someone that she said, ---If you hurt my son, Ill get you.--- Or maybe she told me to my face at Shoppers Drug Mart. I cant remember. And another time, when he said something about getting excited about all the pretty girls at the music festival, his stepmom freaked out and threw all of his clothes out the window cause he was being disrespectful towards me. Except, I didnt even care.
Anyway, eventually I dumped him and went out with Mike. Mike was really nice. He bought me flowers all the time and took me out to dinner. We used to shag in his parents basement on the floor. We would watch ourselves in the reflection of the glass doors on the TV stand. One time, we were fucking in his bedroom, instead of the basement, because no one was home. We finished and I walked out of his bedroom to go to the bathroom. The bathroom was at the end of the hall and you had to walk past the kitchen to get there and his bedroom was slightly to the left of the kitchen. It was a small, crammed house. I saw his dad standing in the kitchen. Luckily his back was to me, so I scooted to the bathroom. But I didnt have my clothes. And Mike didnt know his parents were home because they were being incredibly quiet. I waited in the bathroom and bit my nails, trying to decide what to do.
Finally Mike figured it out and brought me my clothes. I arranged myself and went out to the kitchen to chat with his parents. Mike showed up soon after. That was fine, I was laughing or something and I looked up and saw Mike at the fridge. I nearly choked when I saw it. He wasnt wearing a shirt and there were thick, long, bloody gouges all over his back and shoulders. He had no idea and he was just milling about freely, exposing his back to everyone. I had no idea what to do. I remember feeling frozen for a second. So I jumped up and stood behind Mike. And everywhere Mike went, I went, behind him, trying to pretend this was normal while he drank his soda pop. He seemed confused, and moved quickly, so I had to move quickly too, practically at his heel, like basketball. I think someone mentioned that we were being weird, but I just smiled and kept doing it. I got my chance and hissed in his ear ---Your back.--- He left and put his shirt on. Im sure his parents knew everything.
Eventually I dumped Mike too. I told him I imagined myself in Europe. Alone. I remember dumping him. It was a few months later and he was living in Cape Breton for his job. He came to visit me for the weekend. We were going to a movie, a Brad Pitt love movie. We decided to go to the movie anyway after the dumping. At one point, during a really sad love scene where the girl screws her lovers brother cause she thinks her lover is dead, but he isnt, I hear Mike gasp and gulp. He leans over and says, ---Claudette, I cant do this.--- And I lean over and say, ---Could you try? I want to watch the rest of the movie.---
11:50 AM
7.28.2003
I would rather be here writing than fucking you. Your inconsistency makes me more consistent. I see what you dont see. I admit I am stronger than you expected. I know you underestimate every touch. You forget that it is a touch. And it is what it is. A touch. It is not danger. It is not false. Its meant to be, for that second. For a timeline of touches. For the flash of black. It is; the curls in our bodies, the lip on your wrist; the moments of silence and screaming. This is precious stop motion. This is forgive the next second. This is a side project. Please remember, I would rather be here writing than fucking you.
***
We are in his back yard, drunk.
--Speaking of relationships, he says, which we werent. --Lets talk about us.
--I dont want to talk about us,-- I said.
--Are you in love with me?--
So I went into this three minute spiel about how love grows, it doesnt just pop up over a few sweaty nights, and instant love is not instant love at all, its a radioactive contraction in your kitchen, chuck it in, heat it up, blow it up and you get two years of violence, intense sex, suicide, and none of it lasts and it hurts real bad and basically Im sick of it because love takes years to develop, love takes forever and I want to feel safe and I want someone to take care of me, so, no, Im not in love with you, Im just fucking you.
Its quiet.
--Do you wanna go to bed?--
--Yup.--
1:34 PM
It happens and theres nothing you can do. The first morning yawn, and you notice everything gone. Blowing in the field, down the street, from your house. All your pieces of everything. The bits. Your letters. The timing; and its neat package. This lover, that lover, all crammed up and floating in that friggin field. And it all disappears in a funnel up the middle; a giant flourescent pink straw and theres your mother and your father, and the lovers and the war, and the fucking snake on the driveway, whipping around in that big, gutless drink of your brain.
And youre sucking on it and theyre all sucking on it too. And theres no chance youll catch it as it all comes back down in one incredible whoosh. You forget it. You curl up. You become lava. You become pavement. You become in-----animate. You are no more cells and no more veins. Whatever is near you, beneath you, or above you. There is nothing you can do. It makes you question all the boxes, the trucks, your kissing, the dust. Whats put away. Whats ground away. Whats fucked away. Everything is done. Instead. All of the truths are lies. And all of the lies are true.
12:40 AM
7.25.2003
I just a bought a rad BMX yesterday. Flat black, plump cushion, meat-like tires. And Im already causing a buzz amongst the 'hood kids.
As in:
--Give me that bike.
And:
--Can I have your pegs?
And:
--I'll get your bike bitch.
Ive only had the bike for one full day and Im already making a splash. I drove on the wrong side of the road and got the evil eye from another biker (you know the kind, they have hand signals for side streets and they wear helmets). Not to mention the pedestrians. And my mother. I even rode the bike around the office and crashed into a lollipop blue partition (the ones they put up to keep out the researchers and the sun).
Im on everyones bad side now. Which is exactly where I want to be. Im starting a biker gang. Our colors are pink, black and female.
***
Again, last night was loud, rowdy and definately interrupted. This morning was lovely. Except we had a Peeping Tom.
4:21 PM
7.24.2003
Dog Days
A big truck trampled through our white picket fence. And parked itself on the lot beside our house. I saw a woman walking around with a helmet, jeans and a beater, looking important. I gave her a dirty look. But my roommate did even better.
She let the dogs out for a piss. Tuak is really gentle but he barks like he's gonna mangle your jugular, save the veins and lick them. Nice and clean. Later.
The important woman was in the back yard. They ran towards her. And she raised her hammer high above her head.
Kirsten has red hair and tattoos all over her body.
---What the FUCK are you DOING!!!!! If you TOUCH THOSE DOGS. I'll fucking KILL you!!!!?
Not only that. But they positively ruined the back yard. It used to be a jungle. Vines grew all over the floor with white bell flowers sprinkled everywhere. Green worms dangled from the tree. Crows screamed happily. It's all over now. They're building a god fucking 18-storey condo. I don't know what they're trying to do. Dot the fucking Commons with UGLY buildings.
This story reminds me of the time I caught that shirtless brat throwing head sized boulders at my precious American Eskimo, Candy. I chased him down the street with a baseball bat.
I was eight.
So that woman better watch out. Cause I'm going out and I'm buying some really heavy ashtrays. Ones with claws. And I'm not even a dog person.
Don't fuck with us.
8:13 PM
7.22.2003
I just got a whiff of myself in the bathroom mirror. I work for a TV show. Maybe wearing a see-through shirt with a bubble gum pink bra is not such a good idea. Oh well.
**
Every time I have sex with unprofessional guy it is rowdy, loud and interrupted. And always my fault. Usually it goes ok if everyone else is loaded off jagermeister too. Like the time we got caught in the kitchen. Naked. That was my idea. It turned out fine cause he made everyone laugh when he put a paper towel roll on his noodle, ripped off his blanket and danced around the living room. Apparently, later on, when we were in his room, they went outside and had a smoke. My friend told me ---we heard everything. it was comedy.--- Great. Join in, however you like.
But Sunday night was different. No one else was drunk or horny. Just us. First his roommate put on some music. Then I heard --Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!--- Ummmm, yeah.
Then the banging on the walls. And more banging. Unprofessional guy went upstairs and started clanking out an apology on the typewriter. Oh dear. B got up, screaming.
--Dude! It is four o-clock in the fucking morning! Go to BED!!
Dear B: I am really really sorry. I am. Im very selfish.
But really, you know, if Im being too loud, all he has to do is grab my hair, reach around my neck and cover my mouth with his hand.
To make it up to you, Im going to learn how to play the bass. Then Im going to start a Blondie cover band and wear practically nothing on stage. I willl dedicate every song to you. Im your dog...but not your PET!!! woooo, hooooo!!!
10:35 AM
7.20.2003
I guess from everyone else's perspective this is unfortunate and sad, but this is just how it is. Especially when this whole city is a predator.
Last night a boy told me he heard about me before we met. He'd heard that I was beautiful, but I'm a pain in the ass.
3:30 AM
7.18.2003
I spent my first 7 years in a trailer park. There's me, fat and bald, in a blue and white speckled one piece and the monsterous widow's peak. Staring at YOU and flipping my lower lip from the front window. A couple of years later, we packed it all up and my parents told me the cat ran off with his girlfriend and we took everything, the trailer and the swing set, to Quebec.
There were bats in the woods and French people all over. And all of a sudden I had no friends. My mother did the dishes.
"I'm bored."
She sighed.
"Well then. Why don't you make some friends."
Make some friends? Was she serious? Is this even possible?
I'd been smacked on the head. Stars...everywhere.
"You mean...with...bones and... blood?"
She seemed a little ticked that I didn't know.
"Yessss. Of course." She turned back to the dishes.
Wow.
I went outside. Plans, so many plans. I'll start with mud.
9:15 PM
7.16.2003
July 14, 2003
"After the burlesque show nothing happened with her
and I. We're not together and we're not getting together."
I remember the purple lace panties and the
sex in your eyes. Fuck, I even threw beer glass
all over the
sidewalk. "You're disgusting."
Only because you didn't tell the truth. I don't care who you fuck.
I fuck everyone.
"I'm disgusting?" And now you're twitching with your fingers.
"You have a pattern. You're happy with someone briefly,
then you want her back, then you're happy with someone
else and you want her back again. What the fuck? Maybe
you should calm down."
He looks sad. Christ, you suck.
Slowly.
"I wish I had never met you. I wish you hadn't dragged me
into this shit mess."
"I want my friend back and I don't know how to do it."
And later, at Point Pleasant Park, where you
go to cuddle on
the rocks
and watch the sludge or
have deadly conversations.
"Well, maybe some friendships are meant to be brief."
And we look and look at each other.
And you look so damn sad.
But I'm so fucking tired.
I'm sorry.
I'm jealous.
And I can't be your friend.
But I never set limits.
I'm sorry I remember all the other boys
and you happen to be here.
And I'm sorry you understand me so well, cause I just
love you more.
I'm sorry you're beautiful and your mom died.
And you lost your little girl. And you lose everyone.
But this time, I mean it.
This time I go.
Because I want you to miss me.
Because I want
control.
I'll take a Russian poem over love any damn day.
And we'll be old. Your dreads will fall out. Your knees will crack off. Your ass will drop down.
And maybe someday you'll fight. You'll get your little
girl back. You'll get your love. And you'll stop with "the lonely."
11:44 PM
