know thyself

Just spent a great afternoon with the fabulous Nobuko, wending our way around the concrete wilderness that is Orlando, FL in search of a not-so-boring spot to take a picture. Retold some heavy stuff, talked the whole time, had yummy chai and poundcake, and left feeling exhilarated and scared silly. Still, makes me wonder - why am I comfortable putting my name and photo 'out there' to stand up and be unafraid? Why shouldn't I be? Why do I still feel like I've overstepped my bounds? Why am I so hesitant to name and put into words these things I dance around verbally even as I type this? Argh. Even writing out the sentence puts me in the passive position: I was abused. I was raped. Has to be that way as I can't name names, not now. Some part of me has to wonder, too: why does it matter? Is it that important for me to say this? What am I getting out of it? Why can't I just let it go and be done and get on with my life? This is silly and disgusting. Gazing ever inward and backward and downward isn't getting me anywhere but stuck. Know thyself. What if I don't like me? Can I leave? Make friends with someone else who'll take over the position? I haven't sounded this 15 since I was 15. I'll be twenty again tomorrow, I promise. Yuck.

Last updated: 12/7/01
Previous update: 8/20/01
People who checked a (for all intents and purposes) dead site in the last 24 hours and signed the guestbook: 3

Unbelievable.

out of the arm of one love
and into the arms of another

I have been saved from dying on the cross
by a lady who smokes pot
writes songs and stories
and is much kinder than the last,
much much kinder,
and the sex is just as good or better.

it isn't pleasant to be put on the cross and left there,
it is much more pleasant to forget a love which didn't
work
as all love
finally
doesn't work ...

it is much more pleasant to make love
along the shore in Del Mar
in room 42, and afterwards
sitting up in bed
drinking good wine, talking and touching
smoking

listening to the waves ...

I have died too many times
believing and waiting, waiting
in a room
staring at a cracked ceiling
wating for the phone, a letter, a knock, a sound ...
going wild inside
while she danced with strangers in nightclubs ...

out of the arms of one love
and into the arms of another

it's not pleasant to die on the cross,
it is much more pleasant to hear your name whispered in
the dark.

--Charles Bukowski

I really like the getupKids at the heretic. Lots.

Bertie Russell - 11.19.01 18:40 - fedallah

Helen: Bertrand Russell was at high table at some college or another at oxford or cambridge, chatting with the dons. They were mocking his claim that you can prove anything from a contradiction; one said 'so, if this is true, show me how 1+1=1 can prove that you're the pope'
Helen: So Bertie thinks about it for a bit and says "okay. i am one. the pope is one."
Helen: "if one plus one is one, then i and the pope... are one!"
Helen: q.e.f.d.
Helen: beautiful
Dave: lol - Yes.
Helen: I also really enjoy saying qefd
Dave: Quand.... um
Dave: I forget.
Helen: quod erat demonstrandum
Dave: f?
Helen: fucking
Dave: lol.

[edited out. i hate people.]
============================
Adolescent writing revisited. I've been dredging out old notebooks all day, fascinated by this person in ripped thrift-store silk and too much eyeliner who I've known for some time but never really took the time to listen to. (Though its servers are down for the time being, I'd also been adding a bit to the skinned knees repository.) A jolt to raise the dead? We'll see.

[edited out. i hate people.]

[edited out. i hate people.]