Guest columnist Kristen was one of the original robot staff members. Go back into the book reviews and you'll see that she reads a lot. She was also the very first writer on happyrobot. This was 1999 before we were all familiar with the term "blog" - so I called it "words". I just told her that it might be cool if she wrote stuff in her snappy style. Her last post was December 2001 and I recently asked her if she would want to write a guest column and update us on her life (she now lives in LA). So, she did. Enjoy.
March 9, 2004 My exile? What is my exile? I am as much entwined with Wilmington as I am with Mark. With both of those things stripped of me - at this time - I think I would go mad. I think I'm a bit ruined for the worky-work life. I would look at it as communing with people - for about 4 days - then it would be another fucking job. Having to abide by the time clock to have fun. Always conscious of having to look at the clock for elapsed minutes until the doom of 'them' owning you happened.
I've been off that grid for two years in July. They have been the fastest torpor of my life. I now live in Los Angeles and am waiting for my reason to appear. I have my ears open at last, and I am willing to listen.
Otherwise, madness is down this path.
I must take another fork - even if it's backward. I've jerniganed my house. What was the biggest horror story book of all time?
Jernigan by david gates. I get shivers just thinking about it. I wonder if Mark's read it. I just called him. Odd these things. I get comfort from calling Mark. It's weird of me to be honest. Like Karen, I don't want to wound anyone and have them not like me. It's a total bitch when that happens.
I'm really missing my eleventh house. This is the astrology house of friends and family. I have a lot of it in my chart. Which means I'm looking at different aspects of myself more . too much.
Mark activates my eleventh house. He makes my social life happen.
Have a given birth to a pink elephant?
I much prefer to have all of my issues on the table. I prefer a joke to a silent thought. I'm unable to believe that I could be forgiven for my sins.
I have cheated and gone mad and failed.
These all hang around me. They are my invisible luggage.
Karen wrote today, and I was reminded of the agony of love and freedom. When we bind them with our insecurities, we get cut by our own shards of mirror.
I also applied to be a poet's assistant - obviously from the fabulous words written hence. Oh I'm just bragging.
I am asking the universe for help. I am trying another path of being. I can't not be honest. I can't ignore what my body is saying to me. I can't ignore what my mind is saying.
Of course, I don't know what they are saying, but I can't ignore it.
(Am I ensorceling father figures like my sister is? Rather she picks rich and old. I choose honorable and bewitched.)
Mark is such a good mirror. He frightens me with his love of me. I must be frightened of loving myself.
I love remembering being told that great teachers often agree that to work on yourself is the first step.
[pb] JUSTIFICATION
When Greg was my suiter. Life was super fun. I went down the path of smokin., drinkin., never-thinking about tomorrow. I got all the adoration I could ever desire. I remember laughing to Stephen that I was a belle here. These times were my youth. I look back on these as happy times.
It was OK for me to rest and believe and ensnare.
I collected hearts. I became an intricate love for each of my friends. I drank, and I bellowed. I was on a hunt for the ONE. All had been forgiven by the friends.
They were all males. I fed on this like oxygen.
Now of course, I realize it was about control. I was looking to them to be my savior - my desiny - my partner. They would inspire me until the cycle hit again? Until I was too old to risk anything?
The pain I have caused - yes. However, I do want to slither out of the A-shirt.
I.m ready to be inspired . to believe in me again. The coterie is gone.
But of course I am a narcissist. I shall use this all as the fiction you want.
L.APOLIGIA
Greg was golden to me because his adoration was genuine-seeming. (Both my mother and Mark - whom the astrologer said were linked - say 'men only want one thing: to get in your panties'. I hate the word . panties. I more hate 'pussy'.)
His adoration was sudden. We had been such amazing friends. He helped me get through separating from Kent as a penance. I had acquired many reference points about his life with which to grasp things he said.
I'm all about context.
We had all gotten high (back then high was an ice cream sundae treat). We were playing frisbee. It often discombobulated me that I had seduced every one of the men there - except for greg. I believe it was Kent, Bob, Chuck?/Stephen?, greg, and me.
It was the park that reminded me of the forest planet in return of the jedi.. (off of 21st street and market). Well, it only reminded me a little bit. It was nice to go there. I really enjoy nature, and can only hope someone will say - like kent - that she doesn't even realize how much she's one with nature. It's just natural for her. or something poetic like that.
I always dyed my hair red then. I was 23-ish and dramatic. I cast myself as the Wendy sometimes. I was also the temptress.
I feed off of adoration.
We all split up a bit after the park - planning to get together maybe for dinner. We were a family and never really had trouble finding someone to do something with. Usually in groups of three.
I just got the most mind-numbing thought trying to remember the minutia - the stuff between the Events. Did I watch television? Did I sometimes read? I honestly don't remember. I think I was always with someone - or having the near-prospect of being with someone. I either had roommates or lovers. I used to cover the television to avoid it being seen as a focal point. I thought I would be a great writer one day.
After my great, the ONE love was either found or rediscovered? I was going on to a life of marital bliss (much like my vague idea of how life after college would be). I would have great friends. I would garden. I would grow. I would have great sex. I would feel fulfilled. I would paint and write. I would fuck. I would feel useful. [pb] But instead, I still have my anxieties. My neurosis.
Greg returned home that evening and called me up. I picked up.
It had been beautiful that day - radiant. I was funny. On my stage.
He said that he had to tell me something really important. He was a great tease. He loved the game and the hope. He was older. Perhaps the gasp 26 to our 23. I loved his mind a great deal.
You must understand that I loved them all. I still do love them all. (does an abuser love her children?) He taught me after we shriveled that it was OK to say and feel that.
He said that he had never called Ashley (his childhood best best friend - a male) before (except for one time with one of the other tester relationships we all went through). He had only once called ashley and told him this. He was in love.
I was the one.
He loved me. He had told ashley.
I tried to love him because he loved me so much. Back then, I was Plato's whore. If you were smart, and somewhat je ne sais pas - I loved you.
Greg seemed a mystic. Is that what I love?
He was a surprise for me. (at the time I didn't know)
I thought of him as I was searching for my old favorite font - century gothic. I used to use it back in my YOUTH at the film commission. I once told/asked greg if he had heard of it. Perhaps we were joking about these dumb jobs (back then we thought - maybe something better?).
He said - if only you knew how I feel. That is so weird that you said that. I love Century gothic font. Ah the bells tinckling down the alley. [pb]
