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The guilt of being broken is breaking, all mental, stupid, wasteful, an endless negative feedback loop, ourobouro for real. Catherine Zeta Jones Douglas is crazy bitch but rich, and I'm neither, everyone has a thing, right? Sutures, supplant, supplicant, and I'm using that word right, right? Look at all these rights, right?, left with an aching need for validation of some sort, what we're all looking for, yes? Yes. Compulsive thinking, my psychiatrist said it is actually good for me, helps me be the guilt-ridden, hyperachiever that I am; but I have to admit: I'm not too sure about those types, people who delve into the psyche, now medicate! Wish mine would, but no, I don't need a mood stabilizer, because I'm not manic or depressive, no uppers or downers for me, I'm certifiably fine, just in touch with my existential side, and maybe a hair too smart but whaddaygonndo. Pay another co-pay to learn that I'm well-adjusted, just everyone around me is mad?? Ha ha, you fell for it, insurance don't come with no meaningful mental health benefits! I once had a boyfriend who said I was ultra-sane and hyper-rational, which sounds like a fair characterization, but fuck 'im, you know, because I cannot love someone who cannot love my crazy, let alone not see it. And I can't pay a shrink on the same basis. And if being a little bent is what has kept me so straight all these years? Fuck that ideology, too, because, let's face it: this world has enough ideology. My man is good and he takes care of me when I'm crazy, and if I'm crazy, he is probably doing double duty. But I'm duty-free, like a commodity. Silliness, all of it.

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I don't like: pens that are too thin, keyboards that are virtual, fevers, the high cost of modern beauty, work, semantics, pressure and more things, too. Oh yeah ... rice cakes, either. I hear their cries like a phantom limb and I am never not a mother. But I am the child now, who needs taking care of, looked after, attended to. It isn't hard for me to switch roles; I am due. To suffer so bad you don't even remember that you're suffering softens the blackened hole where the heart should be of even the most hardened surgeon. I'm sure there's a diagnosis for it, consult your pocket DSM. Or whatever. I'm tired. I miss my mom. I wish I could have things my way. I wish I didn't have to grow up. Some day, I will have all of the art hanged and pictures framed, but for now, we make due. Funny pair we make, us two, accelerated and arrested. But I never minded or even thought about it much, because we fucking catalyze when we're together, equation successfully balanced. Crazy friends are good and crazy husbands are bad, and I wonder if I can call in sick? I never liked easter too much anyway, except for the weather and the lighter-later nights and its proximity to summer. Be glad when this is all over. See you on the other side, Digitalia.

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My, some gall you have! (and which I won't)

Content? Blogger, you play fast and loose with that word. Oh, maybe you meant "content." Fast(ing) all the same, but thanks for asking, yes, content just hungry. Gravid men, can you imagine? Judgemental fuckers, and I have a good one, man and imagination. Shakey shakey now, sit up straight Brain, don't slouch, because Depeche Mode starting to sound like an endlessly goosebumped rump romp, like a fucking prayer, like christ can we get to summer already, or whatever season it will be when I'm normal and you're neutered? Sure, Uncle Sam, help yourself! Shrinking, maybe, but not a violet, because I am not shy about what I need. What I need: him, to live for a long time, their kisses and messes, sand, a baritone filtered through an old screened door, to make indelible to my mind those fucking perfect imperfections in his skin that make him him, each vampirish tooth, each soft breath, each cut finger, every single last orgasm. Spiral down, regress, pathetic puppy, but I stand ready to defend because this is me: a woman in love with a man, completely, and I could be worse things, remember, like broken for real and ever. Yours in Happy Bondage, Girl who shines right through

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Flashing eyes and dimples, sprout from some hidden, places we will probably only dream about, surgeries, elective and life-prolonging, because what does it really mean to save a life, doctors are all adrenaline junkies of the worst, stripes, splatters, drips, strips, the kind you grill, the kind where the girl, lift my shirt, release the hounds, cough, wonder, what's that word, that chemical word, it's like subvert, who cares, it's all one run on, you can count on that, on me, with only commas to breathe on, like how I, how you, how she, tastes paint, life, dirt, air, sand, salt, how Dallas becomes a small town, and how we have friends with ironic honorifics, like that defense attorney, like a master of anything, all humans, more or less, measure, observe, track, coerce, lie honestly, honorably, funny man, silly boy, blue screens, cracked doors, light floods, then spills, trickles, like moonlight, midnight, pre-dawn, like a digital rooster, like never ever fucking stopping, like: oh, this again??, like a woman of independent means ... nothing, too many books about princesses and their dresses, and how can that be dangerous, sheesh, and what about those people that say sheesh, is she for real, no, chimera, the only living girl, the most egocentric girl, the little girl, the sad girl, the rained-on girl, heartbroken and (life) full of sobs, acronym it if you like and read between the ellipses, if you're in the know, if you know, how it feels, how to grow plants and do karate, how to assimilate, because I never learned, too late for me, save yourself, yourselves, humans with cat eyes, but not like mine, with Cheshire grins, and grands, how do those women do it, what class did they take, how to be not crazy or stupid, how to be with your hair and clothes just so, and your mind right, if you have one, and we are just swimming, from island to island, except they are mirages, and we are in the desert, and the snake crosses the road in front of us, cue tumbleweed, cracking asphalt, heat waves, we wave back because now it has gotten to our brains, bone makes a mediocre cooler, insured and insulated against, not the worst crimes or acts of our gods, cringe, because I cringe to think that it is wasted, not too happy with my measurements, hips to the moon, balanced by breasts which are scarred for life and peeling with sun, nose like a I don't know, cancer this way comes, and my teeth will never fossilize, no part of me will, and will I ever get over myself before I become dust in a vase? Hard to say, but at this rate, turn to the next page for the happy ending.

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