so anyway, we’re trying out a tool for asides. our big revelation was that we could make a separate section of our journal for it – then just talk amongst ourselves, twitter-style. we’ll see how it goes. i really wasted time i should have been homeworking – but, self care and all.
Archive for January, 2009
this is the most glorious kind of time-wasting.
testing asides out.
don’t fuckin fuck with me don’t fuckin make fun of me youlll be the sorry ones i fuckin guarantee it
They laid in bed, with their thoughts tumbling around each other in the usual jerky, repetitive fashion. A name came in – it was from a show – and suddenly, like a flash, Cody had them up against the wall, his blade at their jugular. No one saw him come in. A few saw him streak across the room, greasy black-brown hair and pale skin, boring eyes, all intent. They weren’t even sure if he spoke, or who was against the wall. The menace was palpable, of course, but the message wasn’t. Speaking his name summoned him like this, but his anger lacked follow-through, or purpose, or something.
don’t fuckin mess with me you fuckin got it don’t you FUCKIn laugh at me ill fuckin kill you
little girl, little girl, you been a bad girl you know it. you bad-mouthing father? and think you can get away with it? you think he don’t got eyes?? ill cut your little labia off whos the knif-fucker now? you just better fuckin step careful little girl im fuckin watchin you
you want to fan my fuckin flames you go ahead and laugh all you want. just don’t fuckin go cryin off to someone cos i hurt you. i give you fair fuckin warning
His knife seemed ubiquitous, like they’d always seen its shadow, even if just periphery. Like he could rend mirror with it. Like they’d known it in a dream. Like they were waiting for it.
can saying his name, not aloud, really give him power? over us? i thought the power of names worked the other way. i thought having a name gave us power over them. but it seems to be the opposite.
i write here so little these days, i don’t even remember to try. it doesn’t really make sense that there has been nothing to say. but there has seemed to be nothing to say. even now, i sit here with my hand over my mouth as if there was something i needed to stop from flowing out. but i don’t know what the stream would look like.
it’s not like there’s not events to relate, i think. but what scale? i’m settling into the quarter, i’m just getting over being sick, we got some markers yesterday that the kids are very excited about, nymph has been going to therapy and it’s draining the life out of us, i don’t know i don’t know.
twitter is easier. we haven’t had a problem keeping up with that. sometimes i think that outlet robs our journal of some of the output that would have been bottled up. but twitter is nice because people read it. i don’t know.
i guess i’d like to be able to write. but i have to first figure out what my block is.
i am reluctantly, wearily, achingly awake at four in the morning. there is no reason for this. it does no one any good. school has started, and i can’t tell if my nausea is because of that or lack of sleep or both of those and more. i am ok, really. i don’t mean to complain, i don’t mean to be dramatic.
we are confused and frustrated because we really think nymph could do such good therapy, but she is so reluctant. she is confused. we just want to push her through it but it doesn’t work that way. none of us know what is good for us anymore. her sex drive is absolutely genuine, not just some replacement for love, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt her/us. i don’t know what i want to be saying. i don’t know who i am. i am so fucking afraid of this quarter. sometimes it feels like nothing will ever be okay.
like most journal entries, this is stunted, abortive. (we just don’t post most of them.) but i am nauseous and i can’t hold on to the thread of wanting to write. oh well.
