1.31.2004
You know that moment when you’re driving a car. You look out the window, and the sun hits your hand and flickers of snow from the tires float by like miniature parachutes carrying tiny green men or worms for the Spring. I can look at an ugly or beautiful moment for a long time. To me it seems suspended. Slow is retching your eye away. And I have all the time I need to slowly push my foot on the pedal. Maybe the whole car is a giant gentle rose. And we’re floating, floating.
When we hit the car ahead of us, it happened POW. It was fast and jam packed with seconds. But then everything moved slow again, I felt my body going forward, the first part of forward, as I turned to my passenger, I saw him cup the lens of the camera because it was on his lap and he turned to me too. Together we went forward, the last part of forward, looking in each other’s eyes.
3:22 PM
1.28.2004
My name's definition from here
The influence of Claudette makes you positive, self-assertive, and independent. You can be creative, inventive, and ingenious in practical matters, such as handicrafts.
handicrafts. That made us laugh.
When you have the opportunity to pursue your own goals and interests free from interference, you can feel very agreeable and express a buoyant optimism.
On the other hand, you can be impulsive and forceful when opposed, and act without due forethought and discretion.
Oh now I get it.
Hence you have many bitter experiences and generally rather unsettled conditions in your life, with little progress and financial accumulation. You cannot tolerate any domination by others, or circumstances that restrict your freedom and independence. You are inclined to make changes abruptly in your life as an escape from such conditions.
Yup. I'm fucked.
10:54 PM
Hurt finds place way beyond this.
I just don't care who fucked who when at what time.
10:01 PM
1.24.2004
“This will feel cold for a little bit but it shouldn’t be so bad.”
Dr. Camp leaned over me and I got a good look at his nose. It’s big and red and crumbly. I have watched everything. Dr. Camp has been my dentist since grade three. He says the reason he bumps into things is because he’s lost a lot of his hair and hair helps you to orient your position.
It felt like I’d bitten into a polar bear burger. He didn’t freeze the front part. What is he doing to my tooth? And then the dental assistant brought out an instrument that looked a gas noozle from space and it glowed red around edge and made a humming buzz noise. It never touched my tooth but she kept it there for about 30 seconds. Radiation? Please don’t fry my ovaries.
“Nerves of steel,” said the dentist. Not really. You just have to transport yourself.
I thought if only I could fall asleep. I hadn’t slept in two nights. Or at least not properly. Earlier in the day, in the edit suite, I laid my head on the desk and fell asleep with my hat on, while my editor, who says I like it fast and blurry, chopped up my item. “You don’t need me,” I said, “All I say is yes, no. That’s cheesy. Get rid of it.”
I also fell asleep on the bus. I also laid down in my old bedroom and fell asleep for 20 minutes before my appointment.
The left side of my jaw and my earlobe were frozen for about 6 hours. I had no reference point for not biting off my tongue.
This must be what it feels like to have a stroke.
Drool could be dripping down your chin and you wouldn’t know it.
3:19 PM
"What is our new plan if we can't sneak in?"
"A new plan?" he said. "We'll get in. That's defeatist."
"No," I said. "That's strategic."
3:17 PM
1.17.2004
Tobin and friends tore apart Bella Muse last night. I'm glad I wasn't there. It makes me feel sick and sad.
4:00 PM
Don't ask me personal stuff in the comments box, it gives me bad nerves. If you're my friend I'll tell you later. Maybe.
Just know...THAT IT'S MARK BLACK'S 25th BIRTHDAY!!!!!!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY Mark!!! He's sick. Bring him pea soup. That stuff is so thick the candle will surely stay up.
2:44 PM
1.16.2004
Clean the Desk Day, avoid writing your last script ever.
-three dollar store bought burgundy mugs that look like fake marble. Packed full of black mold that has begun to separate. From last year.
-a bladder bag for a mountain biking back pack.
-a purple sharpie, a green sparpie, a turquoise sharpie, a red sharpie. I once told a boss that I think in color. She left.
-a 1960s Paymaster Ribbon Writer Cheque presser that I bought at the Musquodobit Yard Sale two years ago.
-a 1951 Webster’s 2006 page dictionary with drawings of the US of A’s presidents' heads, outdated populations and maps and the History of Canada all in the back. This used to be at my grandfather’s cabin in Margaree.
-three pairs of scissors.
-a mini disk tape recorder which I’m stealing because I’m secretly going to tape my conversations with you.
-two tubes of deodorant and I don’t even wear deodorant because I have special sweat glands.
-Christmas lights
-nicorette gum that someone put on my desk because they want me to quit.
-one dead plant
-two finger puppets, a pirate and a sea monster king. Mine.
-photos of me and my friends in our early twenties. I had long hair and I look Spanish. Where did that velour zip up go, where did those combat boots go and what the hell happened to me?
-Art Nouveau postcards.
-hair gel, a Skratch Bastid Demo CD, Q-Tips, lubricated Trojan condoms, extra strength fast relief of gas chewables, cotton balls, a CD from Philip (was I supposed to do something with that?), blister band-aids, hand warmers (YES!!!), an open package of margarine.
-About 3000 Beta SX tapes.
-a clown’s nose.
3:03 PM
1.15.2004
The phone's been cut off (but not the Internet!!!???) I'm starving and there's no food. I'm going to lay in bed and listen to Leonard Cohen.
7:05 PM
Stacy's drunk neighbour told her that he would marry me in a second and would take care of me "real good."
"He said you caught his eye in the summer. Something about a bike and a skirt."
Of course.
I finally got my shit together and got my passport photo taken. Except I lost my birth certificate god knows under what circumstance. Maybe in Korea. Why the hell did I even take it there? My SIN card is floating around somewhere in the spiced cabbage or the vats of chopped off pig heads on Slaughter Street. I used to stroll around and smile at the Russian whores and step over blood.
I think Stacy should dump her life here and come with me. But first, we're going to start going to the gym together so we can point and laugh. errr, I mean... lift weights.
"Do you think we could say FUCK in the gym?"
"Yes, but we might have to whisper."
4:42 PM
1.14.2004
"What time are you off work, Clodette?"
"Ummm, I don't think I can come sell those comics with you. I need to take a nap."
"Oh Clo-debt!!! You Screwball!"
Also, Mark Black bleeds a lot because he has good circulation.
The bouncer evil eyed me. "What?" stare stare.
"Ohhhhhh, Riiiight. I'm in the BOY'S washroom."
And I poured beer on Gerry's head while he leaned over. He immediately blamed Mark Black while Emily and I giggled about how easy it is to get away with shit.
11:27 AM
1.12.2004
I've run out of cigarettes. I need to change locations. I have the Bible taped to my foot. I'll keep you updated on my homelessness and waning looks.
If you don't hear from me, send flowers.
8:05 PM
Also there's been some crowbar discussion. Can I crash at your place?
8:03 PM
I am offically locked out of the house until midnight or god knows when. It's alright. Don't worry about me. I'll just wander around in my SNEAKERS during the tail end of a DEEP FREEZE.
My cats are starving. Crazy stuff is probably happening at my house while I'm gone. Like Law and Order. The Pixies. Cheese and cracker are doing the jamba on the table. My clothes might even be washing themselves. Boy. I wish I were home.
7:33 PM
I'm still locked out of my house. Also, it's not so much that I hate winter, it's that I hate all the layers. I am a Walking Lump of Baggy-Sweater-Arm-Coffee-Stained-Paint-Tainted-Tights.
I also wish I had a boyfriend or a pet monkey who would log my tapes for me while I take a nap.
And today my ex winter boyfriend told me I'm a troublemaker. Last week another ex boyfriend told me I am an anarchist. I find all of this very funny. Considering.
6:09 PM
I am not in a great mood today. I think I got about 10 minutes of sleep.
And it's the fault of Mark Black and Philip Clark. Who wouldn't let me leave until 2 am. And then I was locked out.
I banged on the back door and Mark Black showed up in his underwear. Boxers, if I recall.
"I'm locked out," I said.
Mark grins, turns around, walks through the kitchen and yells up the stairs. "Hey Philip! Claudette's locked out! hahahaha."
"What are you going to do Claudette?"
"Ummmmm..."
"Well the planter's in the living room."
At least they didn't make me sleep outside on the porch with the snow and cigarette butts.
1:48 PM
1.08.2004
Bella Muse is closed. Gone. For good. Selling booze without a license. This sucks but I'm not surprised. Now where am I going to have that body plaster party slash art show? And just when good bands were starting to play there. Cappucino. Gone. Crash Mat. Gone. Those yummy avocado, red pepper sandwiches. Gone. My social life. Gone. After hours parties. Gone. And it was looking so pretty in there. And really fucking busy. Jeez. Halifax licks. Hello Manchester.
7:38 PM
Who has a DVD and wants to watch a bunch of movies before next Thursday? I had to rent 6 movies for a shoot I'm doing tomorrow and there's no way they're going to waste. And I don't own a DVD. Movie Party?
1. Man Bites Dog. docu dudes follow a serial killer around. Sweet.
2. Rabbit Proof Fence. true story about Austrialian aboriginal kids who travel like 1 million miles to escape being maids.
3. Punch Drunk Love.
4. Laurel Canyon. Rock and roll record producer has to live with boring son and his boring wife.
5. X Men 2.
6. Contempt, by Jean-Luc Godard. I just realized I've already seen this movie like 5 times. But it's good. And Brigitte Bardot is hot.
1:21 PM
1.06.2004
deleted because there are people who read this blog and I'm afraid.
so read this instead.
it's good. to ocassionally censor yourself. i don't do it often. some people even think I'm crazy. so I've been told. am i?
I like…
1. stepping on thin layers of ice puddles and the sound of the crinkle.
2. the dogs playfighting, especially when Shammi bites onto Stephen’s face flesh and it stretches out really far.
3. drawing on my friends with markers.
4. Terminator 3.
5. red lamp shades.
6. my whiny cat.
7. swinging on swings.
8. opening books at people’s homes to any page and reading while everyone else talks.
9. Natty’s concern and bravery.
10. wrists.
9:44 AM
1.04.2004
For three days I have had a part of a poem in my head. “People don’t like to be told you’re sick and then be forced to watch you come down with the hammer.” I couldn’t remember all of it. A lot of Anne Sexton’s poems are heavy. And she was obsessed with death. Here is what another poet wrote about her.
“Anne’s counterphobic response to rejection and admonishment was always to defy, dare, press, contravene. Thus the frightened little girl became a flamboyant and provactive woman…’
But then I looked the poem up. I had put these books away a long time ago. The poem is called ‘Live’ and it’s not depressing. Here it is.
Live
Live or die but don’t poison everything…
Well, death’s been here
for a long time—
it has a hell of a lot
to do with hell
and suspicion of the eye
and the religious objects
and how I mourned them
when they were made obscene
by my dwarf-heart’s doodle.
the chief ingredient
is mutilation.
And mud, day after day,
mud like a ritual,
and the baby on the platter,
cooked but still human,
cooked also with little maggots,
sewn onto it maybe by somebody’s mother,
the damn bitch!
Even so,
I kept right on going on,
a sort of human statement,
lugging myself as if
I were a sawed-off body
In the trunk, the steamer trunk.
This became a perjury of the soul.
It became an outright lie
and even though I dressed the body
it was still naked, still killed.
It was caught
In the first place at birth,
like a fish.
But I played it, dressed it up,
like somebody’s doll.
Is life something you play?
And all the time wanting to get rid of it?
And further everyone yelling at you
to shut up. And no wonder!
People don’t like to be told
that you’re sick
and then be forced
to watch
you
come down with the hammer.
Today life opened inside me like an egg
and there inside
after considerable digging
I found the answer.
What a bargain!
There was the sun,
her yolk moving feverishly,
tumbling her prize---
and you realize that she does this daily!
I’d known she was a purifier
but I hadn’t thought
she was solid,
hadn’t known she was an answer.
God! It’s a dream,
lovers sprouting in the yard
like celery stalks,
and better,
a husband straight as a redwood,
two daughters, two sea urchins,
picking roses off my hackles.
If I’m on fire they dance around it
and cook marshmallows.
And if I’m ice
they simply skate on me
in little ballet costumes.
Here,
all along,
thinking I was a killer,
anointing myself daily
with my little poisons.
But no.
I’m an empress.
I wear an apron.
My typewriter writes.
It didn’t break the way it warned.
Even crazy, I’m as nice
as a chocolate bar.
Even with the witches’ gymnastics
they trust my incalculable city,
and corruptible bed.
O dearest three,
I make a soft reply.
The witch comes on
And you paint her pink.
I come with kisses in my hood
and the sun, the smart one,
rolling in my arms.
So I say Live
and turn my shadow three times round.
to feed our puppies as they come,
the eight Dalmations we didn’t drown,
despite the warnings: The abort! The destroy!
Despite the pails of water that waited
To drown them, to pull them down like stones,
they came, each one headfirst,
blowing bubbles the color of catarat-blue
and fumbling for the tiny tits.
Just last week, eight Dalmations,
¾ of a lb., lined up like cord wood
each
like a
birch tree.
I promise to love more if they come,
because in spite of cruelty
and the stuffed railroad cars for the ovens,
I am not what I expected. Not an Eichmann.
The poison just didn’t take.
So I won’t hang around in my hospital shift,
repeating the Black Mass and all of it.
I say Live, Live because of the sun,
the dream, the excitable gift.
11:37 PM
I don't remember the last time I felt safe.
1:51 AM
1.02.2004
People have been telling me stories. People go to get help at Abbey Lane and are turned away "Oh you're fine dear." And they are diagnosed with having paranoid episodes and are sent home. And she killed herself that day. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get help when your head is messed up? It is your last hope. Brave people get help and then they're rejected.
What about "Oh you have some lumps in your tits. They're not that big, go home dear. Come back when they're bigger and we can't do anything about it. You know. Cause you'll be dead."
I have thought about suicide a lot. I know that a lot of suicides can be prevented. I have tried to figure where I fit it. I want to help.
My friend wants someone to write an article. "You have a lot of power." he said. I also have balls. Maybe I will.
10:19 AM
You know that moment when you’re driving a car. You look out the window, and the sun hits your hand and flickers of snow from the tires float by like miniature parachutes carrying tiny green men or worms for the Spring. I can look at an ugly or beautiful moment for a long time. To me it seems suspended. Slow is retching your eye away. And I have all the time I need to slowly push my foot on the pedal. Maybe the whole car is a giant gentle rose. And we’re floating, floating.
When we hit the car ahead of us, it happened POW. It was fast and jam packed with seconds. But then everything moved slow again, I felt my body going forward, the first part of forward, as I turned to my passenger, I saw him cup the lens of the camera because it was on his lap and he turned to me too. Together we went forward, the last part of forward, looking in each other’s eyes.
3:22 PM
1.28.2004
My name's definition from here
The influence of Claudette makes you positive, self-assertive, and independent. You can be creative, inventive, and ingenious in practical matters, such as handicrafts.
handicrafts. That made us laugh.
When you have the opportunity to pursue your own goals and interests free from interference, you can feel very agreeable and express a buoyant optimism.
On the other hand, you can be impulsive and forceful when opposed, and act without due forethought and discretion.
Oh now I get it.
Hence you have many bitter experiences and generally rather unsettled conditions in your life, with little progress and financial accumulation. You cannot tolerate any domination by others, or circumstances that restrict your freedom and independence. You are inclined to make changes abruptly in your life as an escape from such conditions.
Yup. I'm fucked.
10:54 PM
Hurt finds place way beyond this.
I just don't care who fucked who when at what time.
10:01 PM
1.24.2004
“This will feel cold for a little bit but it shouldn’t be so bad.”
Dr. Camp leaned over me and I got a good look at his nose. It’s big and red and crumbly. I have watched everything. Dr. Camp has been my dentist since grade three. He says the reason he bumps into things is because he’s lost a lot of his hair and hair helps you to orient your position.
It felt like I’d bitten into a polar bear burger. He didn’t freeze the front part. What is he doing to my tooth? And then the dental assistant brought out an instrument that looked a gas noozle from space and it glowed red around edge and made a humming buzz noise. It never touched my tooth but she kept it there for about 30 seconds. Radiation? Please don’t fry my ovaries.
“Nerves of steel,” said the dentist. Not really. You just have to transport yourself.
I thought if only I could fall asleep. I hadn’t slept in two nights. Or at least not properly. Earlier in the day, in the edit suite, I laid my head on the desk and fell asleep with my hat on, while my editor, who says I like it fast and blurry, chopped up my item. “You don’t need me,” I said, “All I say is yes, no. That’s cheesy. Get rid of it.”
I also fell asleep on the bus. I also laid down in my old bedroom and fell asleep for 20 minutes before my appointment.
The left side of my jaw and my earlobe were frozen for about 6 hours. I had no reference point for not biting off my tongue.
This must be what it feels like to have a stroke.
Drool could be dripping down your chin and you wouldn’t know it.
3:19 PM
"What is our new plan if we can't sneak in?"
"A new plan?" he said. "We'll get in. That's defeatist."
"No," I said. "That's strategic."
3:17 PM
1.17.2004
Tobin and friends tore apart Bella Muse last night. I'm glad I wasn't there. It makes me feel sick and sad.
4:00 PM
Don't ask me personal stuff in the comments box, it gives me bad nerves. If you're my friend I'll tell you later. Maybe.
Just know...THAT IT'S MARK BLACK'S 25th BIRTHDAY!!!!!!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY Mark!!! He's sick. Bring him pea soup. That stuff is so thick the candle will surely stay up.
2:44 PM
1.16.2004
Clean the Desk Day, avoid writing your last script ever.
-three dollar store bought burgundy mugs that look like fake marble. Packed full of black mold that has begun to separate. From last year.
-a bladder bag for a mountain biking back pack.
-a purple sharpie, a green sparpie, a turquoise sharpie, a red sharpie. I once told a boss that I think in color. She left.
-a 1960s Paymaster Ribbon Writer Cheque presser that I bought at the Musquodobit Yard Sale two years ago.
-a 1951 Webster’s 2006 page dictionary with drawings of the US of A’s presidents' heads, outdated populations and maps and the History of Canada all in the back. This used to be at my grandfather’s cabin in Margaree.
-three pairs of scissors.
-a mini disk tape recorder which I’m stealing because I’m secretly going to tape my conversations with you.
-two tubes of deodorant and I don’t even wear deodorant because I have special sweat glands.
-Christmas lights
-nicorette gum that someone put on my desk because they want me to quit.
-one dead plant
-two finger puppets, a pirate and a sea monster king. Mine.
-photos of me and my friends in our early twenties. I had long hair and I look Spanish. Where did that velour zip up go, where did those combat boots go and what the hell happened to me?
-Art Nouveau postcards.
-hair gel, a Skratch Bastid Demo CD, Q-Tips, lubricated Trojan condoms, extra strength fast relief of gas chewables, cotton balls, a CD from Philip (was I supposed to do something with that?), blister band-aids, hand warmers (YES!!!), an open package of margarine.
-About 3000 Beta SX tapes.
-a clown’s nose.
3:03 PM
1.15.2004
The phone's been cut off (but not the Internet!!!???) I'm starving and there's no food. I'm going to lay in bed and listen to Leonard Cohen.
7:05 PM
Stacy's drunk neighbour told her that he would marry me in a second and would take care of me "real good."
"He said you caught his eye in the summer. Something about a bike and a skirt."
Of course.
I finally got my shit together and got my passport photo taken. Except I lost my birth certificate god knows under what circumstance. Maybe in Korea. Why the hell did I even take it there? My SIN card is floating around somewhere in the spiced cabbage or the vats of chopped off pig heads on Slaughter Street. I used to stroll around and smile at the Russian whores and step over blood.
I think Stacy should dump her life here and come with me. But first, we're going to start going to the gym together so we can point and laugh. errr, I mean... lift weights.
"Do you think we could say FUCK in the gym?"
"Yes, but we might have to whisper."
4:42 PM
1.14.2004
"What time are you off work, Clodette?"
"Ummm, I don't think I can come sell those comics with you. I need to take a nap."
"Oh Clo-debt!!! You Screwball!"
Also, Mark Black bleeds a lot because he has good circulation.
The bouncer evil eyed me. "What?" stare stare.
"Ohhhhhh, Riiiight. I'm in the BOY'S washroom."
And I poured beer on Gerry's head while he leaned over. He immediately blamed Mark Black while Emily and I giggled about how easy it is to get away with shit.
11:27 AM
1.12.2004
I've run out of cigarettes. I need to change locations. I have the Bible taped to my foot. I'll keep you updated on my homelessness and waning looks.
If you don't hear from me, send flowers.
8:05 PM
Also there's been some crowbar discussion. Can I crash at your place?
8:03 PM
I am offically locked out of the house until midnight or god knows when. It's alright. Don't worry about me. I'll just wander around in my SNEAKERS during the tail end of a DEEP FREEZE.
My cats are starving. Crazy stuff is probably happening at my house while I'm gone. Like Law and Order. The Pixies. Cheese and cracker are doing the jamba on the table. My clothes might even be washing themselves. Boy. I wish I were home.
7:33 PM
I'm still locked out of my house. Also, it's not so much that I hate winter, it's that I hate all the layers. I am a Walking Lump of Baggy-Sweater-Arm-Coffee-Stained-Paint-Tainted-Tights.
I also wish I had a boyfriend or a pet monkey who would log my tapes for me while I take a nap.
And today my ex winter boyfriend told me I'm a troublemaker. Last week another ex boyfriend told me I am an anarchist. I find all of this very funny. Considering.
6:09 PM
I am not in a great mood today. I think I got about 10 minutes of sleep.
And it's the fault of Mark Black and Philip Clark. Who wouldn't let me leave until 2 am. And then I was locked out.
I banged on the back door and Mark Black showed up in his underwear. Boxers, if I recall.
"I'm locked out," I said.
Mark grins, turns around, walks through the kitchen and yells up the stairs. "Hey Philip! Claudette's locked out! hahahaha."
"What are you going to do Claudette?"
"Ummmmm..."
"Well the planter's in the living room."
At least they didn't make me sleep outside on the porch with the snow and cigarette butts.
1:48 PM
1.08.2004
Bella Muse is closed. Gone. For good. Selling booze without a license. This sucks but I'm not surprised. Now where am I going to have that body plaster party slash art show? And just when good bands were starting to play there. Cappucino. Gone. Crash Mat. Gone. Those yummy avocado, red pepper sandwiches. Gone. My social life. Gone. After hours parties. Gone. And it was looking so pretty in there. And really fucking busy. Jeez. Halifax licks. Hello Manchester.
7:38 PM
Who has a DVD and wants to watch a bunch of movies before next Thursday? I had to rent 6 movies for a shoot I'm doing tomorrow and there's no way they're going to waste. And I don't own a DVD. Movie Party?
1. Man Bites Dog. docu dudes follow a serial killer around. Sweet.
2. Rabbit Proof Fence. true story about Austrialian aboriginal kids who travel like 1 million miles to escape being maids.
3. Punch Drunk Love.
4. Laurel Canyon. Rock and roll record producer has to live with boring son and his boring wife.
5. X Men 2.
6. Contempt, by Jean-Luc Godard. I just realized I've already seen this movie like 5 times. But it's good. And Brigitte Bardot is hot.
1:21 PM
1.06.2004
deleted because there are people who read this blog and I'm afraid.
so read this instead.
it's good. to ocassionally censor yourself. i don't do it often. some people even think I'm crazy. so I've been told. am i?
I like…
1. stepping on thin layers of ice puddles and the sound of the crinkle.
2. the dogs playfighting, especially when Shammi bites onto Stephen’s face flesh and it stretches out really far.
3. drawing on my friends with markers.
4. Terminator 3.
5. red lamp shades.
6. my whiny cat.
7. swinging on swings.
8. opening books at people’s homes to any page and reading while everyone else talks.
9. Natty’s concern and bravery.
10. wrists.
9:44 AM
1.04.2004
For three days I have had a part of a poem in my head. “People don’t like to be told you’re sick and then be forced to watch you come down with the hammer.” I couldn’t remember all of it. A lot of Anne Sexton’s poems are heavy. And she was obsessed with death. Here is what another poet wrote about her.
“Anne’s counterphobic response to rejection and admonishment was always to defy, dare, press, contravene. Thus the frightened little girl became a flamboyant and provactive woman…’
But then I looked the poem up. I had put these books away a long time ago. The poem is called ‘Live’ and it’s not depressing. Here it is.
Live
Live or die but don’t poison everything…
Well, death’s been here
for a long time—
it has a hell of a lot
to do with hell
and suspicion of the eye
and the religious objects
and how I mourned them
when they were made obscene
by my dwarf-heart’s doodle.
the chief ingredient
is mutilation.
And mud, day after day,
mud like a ritual,
and the baby on the platter,
cooked but still human,
cooked also with little maggots,
sewn onto it maybe by somebody’s mother,
the damn bitch!
Even so,
I kept right on going on,
a sort of human statement,
lugging myself as if
I were a sawed-off body
In the trunk, the steamer trunk.
This became a perjury of the soul.
It became an outright lie
and even though I dressed the body
it was still naked, still killed.
It was caught
In the first place at birth,
like a fish.
But I played it, dressed it up,
like somebody’s doll.
Is life something you play?
And all the time wanting to get rid of it?
And further everyone yelling at you
to shut up. And no wonder!
People don’t like to be told
that you’re sick
and then be forced
to watch
you
come down with the hammer.
Today life opened inside me like an egg
and there inside
after considerable digging
I found the answer.
What a bargain!
There was the sun,
her yolk moving feverishly,
tumbling her prize---
and you realize that she does this daily!
I’d known she was a purifier
but I hadn’t thought
she was solid,
hadn’t known she was an answer.
God! It’s a dream,
lovers sprouting in the yard
like celery stalks,
and better,
a husband straight as a redwood,
two daughters, two sea urchins,
picking roses off my hackles.
If I’m on fire they dance around it
and cook marshmallows.
And if I’m ice
they simply skate on me
in little ballet costumes.
Here,
all along,
thinking I was a killer,
anointing myself daily
with my little poisons.
But no.
I’m an empress.
I wear an apron.
My typewriter writes.
It didn’t break the way it warned.
Even crazy, I’m as nice
as a chocolate bar.
Even with the witches’ gymnastics
they trust my incalculable city,
and corruptible bed.
O dearest three,
I make a soft reply.
The witch comes on
And you paint her pink.
I come with kisses in my hood
and the sun, the smart one,
rolling in my arms.
So I say Live
and turn my shadow three times round.
to feed our puppies as they come,
the eight Dalmations we didn’t drown,
despite the warnings: The abort! The destroy!
Despite the pails of water that waited
To drown them, to pull them down like stones,
they came, each one headfirst,
blowing bubbles the color of catarat-blue
and fumbling for the tiny tits.
Just last week, eight Dalmations,
¾ of a lb., lined up like cord wood
each
like a
birch tree.
I promise to love more if they come,
because in spite of cruelty
and the stuffed railroad cars for the ovens,
I am not what I expected. Not an Eichmann.
The poison just didn’t take.
So I won’t hang around in my hospital shift,
repeating the Black Mass and all of it.
I say Live, Live because of the sun,
the dream, the excitable gift.
11:37 PM
I don't remember the last time I felt safe.
1:51 AM
1.02.2004
People have been telling me stories. People go to get help at Abbey Lane and are turned away "Oh you're fine dear." And they are diagnosed with having paranoid episodes and are sent home. And she killed herself that day. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get help when your head is messed up? It is your last hope. Brave people get help and then they're rejected.
What about "Oh you have some lumps in your tits. They're not that big, go home dear. Come back when they're bigger and we can't do anything about it. You know. Cause you'll be dead."
I have thought about suicide a lot. I know that a lot of suicides can be prevented. I have tried to figure where I fit it. I want to help.
My friend wants someone to write an article. "You have a lot of power." he said. I also have balls. Maybe I will.
10:19 AM
