Monday, December 27, 2010

The Truth About Sylvia

When I said that my wonky penmanship drove me crazy, I wasn't speaking literally.
I just meant that it really fucking got on my nerves.

No. What really drove me crazy was my inability to orgasm.

It was a bitch, yaknow. You have three kids and
you've never once achieved the big "O."

When I stuck my head in the oven that night, a miracle happened.

Ya see, I took the silver whisks out of my eggbeater
and turned it on "low..."

Just after my moment of climax, I decided I wanted to live.

Just before I tried to pull my face out, I lost

Tuesday, December 21, 2010


I want to hang above you.
Breasts out.
Shoulders back.
You reach out and a rope pulls me away,
pulled by an invisible

I want you to watch as others touch me.
Bare neck.
Smooth thighs.
The jealousy and desire unbearable,
you writhe in eternal

Wrongs needn't be righted,
shouldn't need to be righted.

It's in my head,
but it's no use.
I want vengeance.

No matter how much I love you,

I want to hurt you

so badly

just once

to even

the score.

Monday, December 20, 2010

Thanks, Elly.

My teeth had been grinding furiously for the past who-knows-how-long?
I became absolutely still and focused on feeling my body, but everything was numb and buzzing slightly.
I was vaguely aware that my left leg was crossed over my right, but I felt as if I were suspended in a vat of jello or floating in a dark pool of water at exactly my body temperature.
Something felt so wrong.
I couldn’t put my finger on it.
I thought about a lot of things in that who-knows-how-long?, like,
“How can other people even exist?”
“Can anyone ever get me but myself?”
I felt crazy.
My mind was racing, but my body and face were calm. Anyone who looked at me would think I was simply tired or uninterested.
What went on inside my head was a milling factory or a crowd rushing toward the last scrap of food on the earth; it switched between the two, as the first was structured and productive, and the latter was maniacal and primitive.
I thought about how I simply did not care about anyone else. I thought about how I hated everyone else.
I spent thirty minutes trying to think of a word.
I read a book and decided that people just let themselves think that they’re crazy when they’re really not, all the while doing that very thing myself.
I remembered all the times I’ve tried to get across the point that the limits of language make it impossible to really get a point across.
I thought about how I’d never express anything exactly as I meant to.

I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but thoughts of death and forever crept in through my nostrils and eye-slits and traveled up to my brain which sent messengers carrying feelings of fear and desperation to my heart and my fingertips, who received them gladly and made me a writhing nutcase in my bed.

I wrote about it all before all of it even happened, and I mixed up the order so I could pretend that none of it was real.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010


I know that lovers always lie, no matter how hard they try, and no matter how convinced they are that their words are truths.
You can't please someone always, and you will always sometimes hurt them in theory or in your head. That's where the fibs come in.

I thought that I heard a hijacked aeroplane headed straight for my skull.
It crashed through my eyeball and into the office room where my brain stores my truths and my lies and this song and that scene and his sentence and her face when she cried;
it stores them all in neat little files in neat little cabinets in neat little ways
so it can neatly pull them out and give them to me on demand.
The plane crashed in through the window and into those cabinets,
and the files went flying.
And the filers also went flying, down down to the gravel below, where their own
brain-files smashed and flew and the world was a mess of floating information for awhile.
When everyone picked up the papers and folders and put them back neatly into their slots in the cabinet drawers, a few things happened.
1) Some of the truths were filed in the lies files, and some of the lies were filed into the truths files.
2) A song with 6 billion copies was filed into the file of every person on the planet, and we all hummed the same tune.
3) His memories got mixed up with her memories, and soon everyone had some memories that weren't their own, they belonged to someone else, and we all felt connected in a strange way that seemed real but wasn't at all.

I look at you and you think you see a glimmer in my eye; remind yourself that you're wrong.

We're all just victims of disorganization.