what's good for me ain't good for you

a closing heart might make you bleed

but let your blood flow wild and free

i tried to call pals tonight, but all i got was machines, that's ok though since i enjoy leaving answering machine messages. especially to silvan, who always manages to have a beavis and butthead/metal/original rap greeting on all of his. he also enjoys leaving 45-second long hand-poot noises and for some reason everyone always listens to teh whole thing to see if he'll say anything afterwards and he never does, but you always know it's him.

i also started another letter to gaby since the first one, half-finished, flew down the rabbit-hole.

my parents are downstairs gossiping with one of the neighbors about neighborhood stuff. and so this makes me really incredibly sad because i now contemplate on whether i will be that boring, it was weird it's like all gossip sounds the same no matter what it's about. they sounded just like my little sister which sounds like us at WAIL meetings which sounds like shooting the breeze on teh quad which sounds like talking to your roommate which sounds like listening to my boss go on y on about whatever sexist snot-junkie party-hardyer ahole sleazy hypocrite racist spoiled alcoholic fuckup 21 year old sellout g105 loving woman-disrespecting livin with parents chowderhead that she fired for coming in all hung over every day 4 hours late. so anyway, i think there was some aggression there, don't you think campers?

tonight is a sleep in the backyard night. i wish it weren't so dry, i have really really been wanting to have a fire to put the names from TBTN to rest. my mom was really sweet and saved them for me after i left them in her trunk for months. i hung them on my door, i read a few of them silently and felt kind of weird, but actually i think i stopped because my mom was calling me about the iron or something, not out of guilt. it's one of those things where i only ask myself if i have a right to see them because i'm unsure of the parameters that i am determining. i mean, people offered them in a ceremony into the water for cleansing and support, etc., not to be remade or have whatever that experience means decided for them by me, as in what to do with them. now they're pieces of paper chillin in a plastic grocery bag hanging from my door. so i dunno what they are, but i don't feel like they're mine, just being safeguarded? dammit, it's not like they're even "in my care" no one put them in my care, no one told me what to do. until when? it was so weird, at take back the night, coordinating everything because not until that very instant when all those people were together can i really see what this means, and the gravity of all the hurt and pain and guilt and tears and HEALING that is really REALLY involved in anyone's life who has been hurt by violence, or by things that should NEVER have happened to them, that they NEVER deserved. like, the room was full of people (mostly women but quite a few men too), and i didn't know how to start, what to do, and i just like, threw out most of everything i had planned. and the songs by Womansong, they were beautiful but to me they seemed so flippant, so...like they were doing so little, like how oculd they BEGIN to even think that all that could heal such a hurt that some of the women in that room had been through. it was a space that felt alien only because it was unfamiliar but REAL territory, finally something real and it seared so hot and true, like there was no escaping it. and i made the decision to not read that poem i had picked out, that i thought would be so appropriate and calming and soothing, it meant nothing in this context (that's what you get from trying to squeeze a poem's lifeforce into some random context for your purposes). the one old woman who was so angry, it was because of what she said, about what happened to her. there was so much anger there, and that friday seemed sad, sad, like rusty submarine in the subconscious no-escape sad. there was hope there and healing and glimpses of possibility of the way things could be, and community and support, but for the first tiem i saw the pit and it fucking scared me so much. and i felt supported but really alone. the whole time i sang i shook really really hard, partly because it was really cold but my body wouldn't stop shaking. it felt clear to sing, but afterwards i didn't know why i chose that song, and then i thought it was because the music itself was healing. the words were powerful, it was fuckin maya angelou and it had everything and nothing to do with my crazy little white ass in this country in this lifetime in this environment, but the notes (not my voice) patch , blood vessels and clots and scars form a little raised and you can move again. but time stopped in that song like a meditation.....so literal and coming from deep in another place than city/county plaza. like from the place where i and all women want to please appease people, give them what they want, always be appropriate, yet at the same time push them, push me, scare us a little when we're already scared, do the "right" thing, i was convinced it would solve everything at the time, some dumb little song sung a capella by a well-meaning but inexperienced/uninformed white girl who the poem was and wasn't meant for. it's not even about handling the poem the right way it's more about not understanding it i think. whatever.

i feel cheap even mentioning it months after the fact but in that place of clarity and murkiness, it was like the very first page turned over in a book i just discovered i had. scary, but whether i was ready or not to face the battle (wasn't, ain't) it both felt hurtful and exhilarating that many of the people i love weren't there, by choice. i mean, i did probably freak brian out a little bit when i snapped at him hours earlier but ....dammit! i was wrong to yell, but he and i we do understand one another on some weird fundamental level but on some other one floating around there we NEVER HAVE AND NEVER CAN, and it infuriated me to see how little he cared about not only something that i had worked for months to put together but that HE AGREES WITH, at least he says he does. i just can't understand how so many men will NOT speak out about being against their women or kids being hurt. or just feminism i guess for that matter. i thought chicks LOVED feminist guys! my hypothesis is that guy sare afraid to be singled out or it's a death-knell for getting a date or hanging out with other dudes or something. though i KNOW how it feels to feel something about some cause or another and not do anything about it and feel guilty and stuff, but most people with this issue or feminism, they don't even wanna fuckin' TALK about it. like they're ashamed of being identified with it or something. so i felt really hurt when he didn't show up after he said he would, even if i hurt his feelings by yelling at him. and while i am complaining, let me just also mention something else so i can get it out of my system. perhaps this stems from my innate flaw of having a need to perform something/anything at any given time, but it really pisses me off when people i care about don't show up to see something i am proud of or might be cool for no good reason. it's my fault, i think i fail horribly at trying not to be pushy about asking people to come see stuff but i don't ever communicate how much it meant to me. i don't mean every fucking concert or performance or joel-imagined performance art project dance machine pretentious journey into the 7th level of hippie dreamland submarine mindfuck hell, but......i ask myself if i am expecting too much. the good thing about performing is that it's over, and you either make it or you don't. but a lot of teh time i feel like no one takes me seriously when i say that things mean a lot to me. it doesn't mean they're going to be GOOD, it just means that i care about it or i think it has worth. i don't invite people to shitty things, and i don't like wasting their time. but i feel like when i even try to TALK about things that get me excited, to let the silk ribbon out of my ear and let it stream around, and there's no one else who wants to do that that i know, they all just patronize me or cut me off with disinterest. i think i just need to find another highly insecure, anxious verbal person who never shuts up and we can just yell into megaphones facing each other and not listen, then i will be satisfied. but, i dunno, i realize that singing and dancing aren't things i'm necessarily GOOD at, but it's incredible how happy they make me and how much they mean to me. it's amazing how they make me feel, it's the happiest i have ever felt when i dance or MAKE FUCKING MUSIC with other human beings and share that thing we love. maybe i'm selfish in asking for other people's time, maybe it's tacky or i have no style or i'm a paranoid fucker on the relapse constantly and i really REALLY suck at these things but am in denial.

i'm a fuckin pleasant person these days, right-o? i wonder about these past few months and all teh directions my life takes when i have been ignoring/not actively pursuing or participating in or seeking out sexshul 'lations. it doesn't bother me that much.....and yet it DOOOOOES. am i just chillin, am i superior to sexual activity (that was a joke), am i in serious denial, am i ok, am i normal (that is one for the high school guidance counselor)? i DO think that i have NOT reached my sexual potential, as in i have never gone as far as i have wanted to, and nooooooo, i don't mean sex in teh butt sillypants, i mean i think i freak most dudes out. i like to make noise, i LOVE to yell and be loud and have fun and play. no one else like to do this, apparently, that i have found. so what the fuck am i supposed to do, because i fucking vow right here on the internet that i will NEVER have sex when i don't feel like it or where i'm treated like titsassn-an inflatable pussy cause i am so tired of that shit. it's fucking BORING. i don't mean i only like kinky sex, but i like FUN sex, and i am always afraid to push fun on people who want to be all serious and shit. which is all i've been with i feel. well, dave liked to have fun but he had a dozen or so little "issues" going at any given time. and the last 2 times i fucked anyone, which would be brian of course, they were extremely weird, the second to last a bad weird (read inflatable pussy comment) and the last just puzzling weird (whatever).

wait, what is that i hear? shhh, let's listen.....

"oh my god billy bob, look over there at that fat girl talking about sex!!!"

"oh my god what does she think she's doing, fat girls can't talk about or have sex!!!"

"yeah cmon let's go have some sex with those skinny girls over there!"

"i know, who does she think she is, being all fat like that and thinking she has a right to have hot sexy sex like everyone else!"

"i don't know but i am suddenly feeling this strange feeling, good lord billy bob that fat girl talking about sex is actually SEXY!!!! what are we going to do it is blowing my mind dude!!!"

"i don't know dude that sexy fat girl sure is confusing me, and now i have this funny feeling like when we used to climb the rope in gym class. why am i so in awe of her power? maybe i will ask her to come cruisin' Patton with us."

good question, fellows. and another thing--i am so tired of hearing that whole curvy is more likely to reproduce=good mate=sexy=attractive to men. can't we get a little more original, or evolve in some way?

i will have to think about sex pirates later, though, making this a bit of a silly note to end on, but who ever gets tired of talking about sex, right? not me.