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where are some peaks.
I wrote the longest of long tripes and lost it in the waiting between writings. that would never happen with paper. with paper, it would die with me. yesterday was Rachel's bday and Frank's mom's death day. I think Kent and Wendy had a 19 anniversary on March 6. My own anniversary would have been 7 years mañana. National Women's day hello.
and the diatribe yesterday was as it always is in this noggin - how to survive - how to make that money that will sit as capital and get rid of the debt and help me feel basic safe. How will I achieve that? and only fans (gawk at the aging manic pixie dream crone) came up and a fucking go fund me and both of those... although the go fund me intrigues me a bit as it forces me to produce "give me $33 or more and you get essay about you, tarot reading, or song"... it's just the humiliation of selling myself of asking for money.
Voice in my head: grrrrl didn't your ego fall in pieces on the floor when that man knocked you on your ass when you thought you had him by the balls?
yup
but it's only the second month. of
the new shitty deal I got because I thought I was
Voice: god, get over it!!!!! you felt like shit. instead of cheating on this one. you never loved this one - you just used him for his tall oldest credentialed white man self from the south. he was even sort of tattooed like the dream you had long ago about the man in the forge with the watches that wanted you to wait until he was extricated. (but you've used that dream on another man)
isn't what I write here a 100% of the voice in my head. It's hardly ever an essay assignment although I do crave one I'm giving myself:
ILM
She had been on the balcony of the rented studio White House on front street. Every morning she got coffee/espresso from the machine and pounced to the balcony to be with the tree and having nothing separating her from the town.
This third day, she had cancelled on Dan for the taco night (other folks were coming and she was in tragic - only the love - mode) and done some shrooms with the fudge she had bought from the shoppe downtown. (the most wonderful thing that still exists down town - one of only two things still wonderful: the cape fear coffee shop the other being the print shoppe)
And she did what was on her station of the cross - AFTER getting through the hell of the shrooms screaming at her "it's a trap! you're in jail. you are snacks for bad spirits. you've made this jail. you're special and your jail is extra fucky. you write because you have no fucking choice - it's survival. You were very loved. People count on you even now but you'll likely fail them."
She headed towards Greenfield lake. She had "hated" walking around that lake once as much as she now actually detests walking around the equidistant Lake Merriott in cali. Now, it called to her like a loon and she had PLENTY of nervous energy rage inside of her to express - so giddy up.
She wishes she could give you the photo, but she took a way she'd rarely/never gone to Greenfield lake - the 5th street way - but it afforded her the opportunity to RIP HER SHAMEFUL HEART OUT as she passed her old abode on 4th and Queen. She saw treasures and normalcy in her new perspective of 'fucked with debt and insanity' role. She trudged on to the lake the ghosts beginning to come.
This had been a holy place to her.
Greenfield Lake. Her original home was there and she marveled at what a bitchen deal it was. She recalled what that psychic once told her "you give your power to the people around you and never give any to yourself. everyone gets better off from having known you, and you keep denying yourself your own gifts."
She could knock her head against the old oak tree four million times for that riddle, yet she was very rich in friends. Maybe that's why but she chose to think it's because she was very particular.
So she walks the lake sweaty and wild and only really the top part and back along front street. She sees and recognizes this, but as she told Mark - downtown - that's where it's at.
Heading downtown, she stopped into an Irish pub to have a beer, but she looked wild and stepped away from the different freaks. after peeing and splashing her face and coming out looking like a queen (except sure her face was red - it was HOT in that October 2023). and she headed back to temporary home - the rented place across from that poor folks jersey? towers Gervey? and the air conditioning and the chablis and the balcony.
Even though there were huge jets periodically killing the buzz "duck it's the war!", the print shop guy says you get used to it. There were kind bartenders and German places Prost that looked like diplo and admired your journal. The egg roll place still existed and the Waffle House downtown was legit.
She had not really enjoyed the bitter edge of bobcat goldthwaite's comedy show when he kicked the old drunk man out, yet she enjoyed that Wilmington had a put and Had bobcat goldthwaite. She loved one other new (besides probst) restaurant that was down the north 4th street from mark's old place. she forgets the name, but it was wonderful. Her mission in Wilmington - her gift - was to pretend that she was rich and forget about money. She had sold her Queen Elizabeth gold coin for this. bask.
She spoke to Jungle that one night when they went to the satellite and she laughed and said "oh my god. I am SO FUCKED UP right now in life and one day I will look at this and go 'shit' but I am so much better than I was two months ago." She felt so safe with Jungle and was honored that he bothered to come out. She would have also hung with K yet the germs didn't feel that way.
And getting to walk the River Walk - ALL THE WAY! with Dan. She loved him so much and his new dog and getting to care about him knowing her heart broke even touching a sliver of the weight he carried. Karen and the blue bird were balm.
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And of course Kent. My sister calls him Kant because that's the way he is in my phone after an author. He thought my last name was proust and it tickles me. He and Wendy were shockingly solid and the son was happy. It feels hard to describe how many of my "self-validating" eggs are in Kent's basket. His opinion of me - as would Mark's I'll also say but it's different with mark - weighs a dark star.
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"I don't think you brought enough mushrooms. here's some more."
she looks at him and silently takes them. Not many human beings who knew her would give her more fuel for a trip into her hidden conscious. His life is like a picture. It's like a SIMs game a bit more stuff more modules now. His shoulders are less up to his ears on his home turf. That makes her happier. She doesn't want to fuck him, yet in the past that has been the only way she can ever know her prey/mate. She was a child when she knew him first. She recalls many power battles. She knows they had sex many many times, yet for her sex is always a means to the ends she wants. the blood she seeks:
honesty
talking and communicating for real.
no boundaries.
we are safe.
---
anyone she has achieved that with, they are in her coven for life.
She'll use any metaphor she pleases.
her artistic license got lost when her wallet got stolen along with the blockbuster card....
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