Thursday, December 31, 2009

Slave Girls

Mrs. Sharon Montgomery browsed the aisle of the grocery with her little nigger girl following behind her. The new year's eve dinner party had depleted her kitchen of most of its food. She needed more canned goods for the week and dropped several handfuls into the basket the nigger was carrying.

Too refined to be a slave.

Anabel Box was born in 1790. She was a slave to Mr. and Mrs. Henry Box. The Box's never whipped their slaves, although did threaten them ever so often. Mr. Box was a shoemaker and owned a shoe shop. He trained his male slaves in the art of shoemaking. He also entrusted them with the job of delivery men when orders of shoes would come in from neighboring towns and cities. Mr. Henry Box owned about 70 slaves, 10 of which worked continuously at his shoe shop, the rest on his plantation. Mr. Box did not rule with an iron fist, and believed in treating his slaves kindly. Mr. Box died in 1796. Mrs. Box died 6 months later. It was believed she died from sadness, for there were no known causes of death.

Anabel Box was sold at auction when she was 7 years old by Mr. Box's only son, Jeffrey. Anabel was sold to Mr. Dayton Clemensfield, who promptly assigned her as a servant to his 12 year old daughter Patricia. Patricia took a liking to Anabel and often treated her as a playmate. Dayton Clemensfield had an overseer named Peter Grandy that was very cruel, as told by his slaves. He would flog slaves every day for no reason, or for the slightest infraction. Grandy woke Anabel up one morning shortly after her 9th birthday took her to the barn and raped her. He told her if she told anyone he would cut her head off. He left her in the barn. Anabel tried to get up to go back to the slave quarters but could not walk. In the morning, a young slave boy named Aaron found Anabel and ran told Dayton Clemensfield Anabel was naked and bleeding in the barn. Dayton believed that Anabel had started her menstruation cycle but upon examining her determined that she had been raped. Clemensfield was not a man to tolerate the rape of a child on his on grounds and demanded that Grandy bring him the man that did this. After a day of terrorizing the slaves on the plantation, Grandy brought Aaron to Clemensfield. When asked if Aaron was the man that raped her, Anabel commenced to screaming, not because Clemensfield told Grandy to flog Aaron then take him to the law officials office in town. Grandy flogged Aaron to death.

6 months later Grandy came to the slave quarters again, took Anabel to the barn and raped her. He was not as violent as he had been the first time, in fact he was very careful not to force himself into her. Anabel did not bleed this time. Grandy told Anabel to meet him in the barn once a week in the barn. If she did not Grandy would kill her. He often varied the ways that he would kill her, first kidnapping her and making believe that she had run away from her master, then telling her he would torture her in various ways, pull her insides out from her vagina or cutting her arms and legs off and letting her bleed to death. For her obedience to him, Grandy did not flog Anabel. Grandy raped Anabel once a week for three years. One night a slave saw leaving the slave quarters and asked where she was going. Anabel told her she was going to see Grady and begged the slave not to tell. The slave, Virginia, did keep Anabel's secret.

Clemensfield wanted Anabel to begin breeding but discovered Anabel was already pregnant. When asked whose baby she was going to have, Anabel commenced to screaming again. After several days Virginia came to Clemensfields wife, Florence and told her that Grandy was raping the girl for some time. Florence told Dayton and Dayton confronted Grandy, who vehemently denied even touching the nigger child. Anabel did finally confess to Patricia that Grandy had been making her have sex with him since Aaron was killed and that it was Grandy that raped her, not Aaron. Dayton called on the authories immediately, firing Grandy and turning him over to authorities. After 3 days in prison, charges were dropped and Grandy was released from prison.

An old slave woman named Mary was about to die and Master Clemensfield put her out in a shed near the edge of his plantation. Anabel was told to bring her food and water once a day until she died. On the day Mary died she told Anabel the secret on how to abort the baby was to drink a tea made with pennyroyal for 5 days and the baby would come out. Anabel did so and the baby was aborted.

Anabel became pregnant 3 times while under the ownership of Clemensfield. Each pregnancy ended in miscarriage. Anabel decided at the age of 12 that, so long as she was living, she would not bring a child into the world to be a slave. So each time she became pregnant she drank the pennyroyal tea and introduced an abortion. Her breasts still leaked milk and she became the wet nurse to some slave children and to Clemensfield's eldest daughter Catherine. Anabel became pregnant by a young slave named Robert. When she had her second miscarriage Clemensfield began to worry that the girl could not carry children. She was sold to a tailor named Masey after her third miscarriage. Masey had a wife and 2 children. They all helped the family business. Mrs. Masey taught Anabel how to sew and Anabel helped with the hemming of pants and cutting of fabric. Mr. Masey had about 30 slaves but when the tailor business became slow, he sold Anabel to a cotton owner named Allen Montgomery. The sale was made in front of the son of the town grocer, Zachariah Chandler.

Zachariah Chandler was born in 1779 to Nathan and Isabel Chandler. His father was a grocer in the town of Caswell and Zachariah did help with the managing of the store starting at the young age of eleven. His father made him manager at 16 and would leave him in charge when going to various neighboring counties looking for property to start a new grocery store or other type of business. In 1804, when Nathan was 24, he married a woman named Julia, daughter of a blacksmith. Julia became pregnant almost immediately and gave birth to twin girls, Claire and Diana. During the winter of 1809, Julia took her daughters to New York to spend christmas with Julia's parents. The city was overtaken by a blizzard and Julia, Claire, Diana and Julia's parents froze to death, along with 400 other people in New York.

Zachariah was devestated at the loss of his wife and children. He did not leave his house for a year after learning of their deaths, not even to attend their funerals. His father had to make all the arrangements to have their bodies brought back from New York and funeralized. Zachariah lost considerable weight, and did go about his house and yard, talking to himself. After a year, he seemed to regain some of his senses, as he did show up on his father's porch one morning and ask to work in the grocery store once again. His father granted him that but always accompanied him to the store and stayed at his side for a full year, for fear that Zachariah might digress back to his previous mental state. Zachariah would not talk much anymore, only to answer questions from store patrons, or the occasional exchange with his parents when he would have dinner with them. He continued to live in the house that his family had lived in. He would only occassionally attend town functions. He would only stay for an hour or so, usually watching the other party goers from the periphery. He did not attend church service after the death of his family, even at the behest of his parents. Gradually, Zachariah became more personable, and did even come to resemble a bit of his old self. On occasions far and few between, he attempted to date again but never courted a young lady for more than a few months. One young lady remarked that he was very polite and gentlemanly, never wanting more than to go strolling and talk for a while. Towns folk who knew him well always claimed he was "never quite the same again."

While Nathan was away from Caswell one month, Zachariah brokered a deal between the hardware store owner and his father for the sale of the hardware store. The Montgomery's heard of the deal and were glad to see that Zachariah had a business sense about him. They began to try arrange a courtship between he and their youngest daughter Melissa, who was about 23 years old.

Mr. Montgomery acquired Anabel Box in April of 1814. Anabel was assigned to servant of Mrs. Sharon Montgomery. The Montgomery's were cruel to their slaves. After noting that Anabel had never received a flogging, he promptly stripped her clothes off, hung her up by the hands and gave her 100 lashes upon her back. The blood did run down her body and dripped freely upon the ground. Anabel could not walk for several days and was weak from all of the blood loss.

One day, while traveling through town with Mrs. Montgomery, Anabel was instructed to go into the grocery and get 10 cans of Big Sea canned oysters and apply the purchase to the Montgomery account. When Anabel first entered the store she asked where the canned oysters were. Zachariah told her the Big Sea brand. Anabel went to the shelf and started to pick up the cans but stopped and again asked Zachariah which can was it. Zachariah came and pointed the can out. Anabel bought the cans and started to leave the store. It was then that Zachariah came out after her and stopped her in the street. He asked her if she knew how to read. Anabel did not respond. Zachariah, taking a can of oysters out of the basket Anabel was carrying, asked her how she knew to reach for the Big Sea brand of canned oysters. Anabel told Zachariah she did not know how to read. Zachariah asked if she was protecting Mr. Montgomery since it was illegal for slaves to be educated and without thinking Anabel blurted she would never protect Mr. Montgomery. Zachariah told Anabel to be careful of what she said about her master. At that point a customer came to the grocery store and Zachariah left Anabel and Anabel returned to her mistress Mrs. Montgomery. When Mrs. Montgomery found nine cans of oysters in Anabel's basket instead of 10, she found a flog at a near by store and gave Anabel 50 lashes. She did not even have Anabel take off her dress. The dress was torn to shreds.

When Zachariah discovered he did not place the can of oysters back in Anabel's basket he promptly ran out after Anabel and found her receiving her 50th lash. He explained to Mrs. Montgomery that it was his mistake, that he had forgotten to put the 10th can in the basket, but Mrs. Montgomery gave Anabel an extra lash for not making sure there were 10 cans. Anabel was carted back to the Montgomery plantation and left in the shed on the edge of the plantation until she healed from her wounds.

After the acquiring of the hardware store, Nathan expanded the grocery store to include general supplies. Business flourished, the Chandler's began making home deliveries to wealthier clients, the Montgomery's were one of them. One day, Mr. Montgomery came to the store and asked if there were any cushions in supply. Nathan was expecting a delivery that evening and promised to deliver them to the Montgomery's plantation. However, the wagon was held up several hours in a neighboring town because of a wheel repair. Zachariah stayed and waited for the wagon which did arrive at around 9pm that evening. He took the cushions to Montgomery and on his way off the plantation he saw a small circle of slaves around a campfire. He saw Anabel singing and dancing and did stay to watch until the slaves dispersed to their quarters.

Six months after the acquisition Nathan had a heart attack and died.

I'm really waiting on the red carpet deal.

Amy you are not utilizing your talents. I am so disappointed in you.

Per mommy.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

"Rodney is going to kill me."

She stared up at Timothy as he stood over her. She once heard that a man was most vulnerable after sex but didn't know if it was true or not. She'd never needed to ask a man for anything that she couldn't get or do herself. But today that would change.


"What?"


Timothy looked down at her. He was still weak from orgasming and his knees felt like they could barely keep him up.

"He said it. The last time he was here. 'I'm going to kill your nigger ass'. That's what he said."

Timothy said nothing. He just looked at the brown woman as she sat in her cat-like position on the floor staring up at him with her big brown eyes. For a moment, he thought she might meow.

"I just wanted you to know what he said. I always wondered which one of you would kill me and now I know it's him. I didn't think you wanted me dead...do you?"

Timothy said nothing.

"I don't want to die. I know I don't have much of a choice - any choice, really, but I don't want to die. I would rather stay here...with you. I...I like when you come to see me."

She wasn't lying. He could tell from one day when he came to visit her, he didn't need any lubrication, like he would normally use. And she had started to move her hips while he was inside of her. She didn't want him to know he was giving her an orgasm, the way she buried her face in his chest the first time and screamed. She was crying, but she was coming too. That was the first time it had happened. After that, she stopped fighting him. She began to touch him at his lower back at the point where she was close to her orgasm trying to signal that she wanted him deeper inside over her. She still hid her face, even cried still but she came every time with Timothy. Eventually, she knew his schedule and would be aroused by the time he got there. She even asked him to suck her breasts on occasion. After a while, Timothy began to take better care of her. When she got her period he would be sure to come by every day or so, unchain her from the radiator and let her take a shower. He brought her food and stayed in the room while she ate instead of leaving her and locking the door behind him. One time he asked if she wanted 2nds.

Rodney was never a pleasure. He usually left her bruised and beaten, crying, after having nearly choked her to death with his penis. He liked violent oral sex. She often vomitted before she could get him to orgasm. And he would make her lay in the vomit while he had sex with her. Her mouth, vagina, and anus were always in pain after Rodney left. Always.



Today would be the day that she put herself out on the chopping block. She knew she would die there.



Saturday, December 12, 2009

I had a thought...

...of us being sick at the same time. Both stuffy noses, and coughs and fevers. Both stranded at home. I have the brilliant idea of catching a cab to your house and being sick together. Then I realize that's not such a good idea. We agree to stay on the phone during our sickness. And we do. Even when we have nothing to say and there is silence coming from both ends. You ask if I'm still awake and I inform you that I am then we both retreat back to silence. We are both fine with this. In the quiet I think of how silly this is but how much I love it and how much it shows how much I like you. Love you, really. It is love but I haven't said it to you yet. Neither have you. Then you blow your nose and I comment about how the snot sounded ready to come out. I try to blow mine and you say the snot is not ready. Give it about 15 minutes.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Notes on Jomo

He's a bully. Every time I speak to him it's like he is trying to strongarm me into doing something or agreeing with him. He did that on the subway platform one day. He wouldn't leave until I said I agreed that I would tell him about the sitters I've used for the baby. I feel like I cant utter one word to him without him trying to entrap me. He's always argumentative, aggressive, and menacing. He's not supposed to call me. So what do I do now when I need to go home to California. I could ask but he would never agree to it, just because he's always looking to make a power play. Always has to be in control of the situation, right down to the inflections in my voice.

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Nayo does not live on the planet

"The Virgo Special. The Special. Ivory is a bust off. I can see them both in here brawling. Nayo is relentless and demeaning. She goes in. She's a humdinger. "I don't have money to celebrate the coming of Nneka. She's not Christ."


I'm not old enough to see that movie.


Character name - Mr. Piano


"People will hold you hostage to their feelings."


"She's crazy? Cross the street. Who runs to lightning? Who does that? She's walking in the gate, live and direct."


Establish boundaries.


"TMI to the 15th power."


It felt like a hiest. He walked in, said what he had to say, and it was just like "do it." And you saw everybody's head buck back like oh shit.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Jeremy stood in front of Amy

She had the brightest eyes he'd ever seen. They were so wide and white. And she was always smiling. Just by looking at here she made him feel happy. He looked into them for along time today. He knew they wouldn't be bright for a long time after what he was about to tell her.

"Amy, there was an accident."

Her smile faded.

"Brian was in a car accident."

Her eyes went the widest he'd ever seen. He braced himself.

"He's dead."

He had made sure he was standing close to her in case she fainted. He could grab her and let her fall into him. He had planned to be strong for her. But all the planning in the world could not prepare him for her reaction to the news that her husband of eight months was dead. Upon his words, she grabbed him by his jacket and shook him violently. She shook him while staring into his eyes. Three times she did this. Then she let his jacket go and screamed. It was the most chilling scream he ever heard in his life. She did not let her stare go. She screamed right into his face, as if trying to scream the truth back into his mouth. He forgot about his plan. His body began to shake. He tried to reach for her but his arms had become suddenly so weak, he could not lift them. He hated himself for having said those words to her. Her scream was long and loud and high pitched. It was dreadful. She stood there screaming at him. And he stood there letting her. Then, she finally stumbled back into a chair. Still screaming, her hands now curled up in tight fists, drool running out of her mouth, her scream becoming scratch and hoarse. But still screaming. Jeremy still stood. He looked out of the window and had an odd combination of thoughts. He thought about the eggs he'd had for breafast that morning, the funeral that he would have to plan for Brian, and if he would try to become Amy's husband after she finished mourning for Brian. He hated himself for his thoughts.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Ballistic Trauma: Cause of death

"I've been calling you, Amy." He sounded antagonized. He also sounded pleading and relieved. "I came back to my apartment and you had vanished. All your things were gone. That was six months ago. And I've called you every day. I've left messages."

She sat on top of the wooden park table with her legs crossed Indian-style, staring out across the wide grassy range in front of her.

"I don't want to make you angry. God knows I hope it wasn't something I did. I thought we were good."

She wasn't facing him so he didn't see the small smile that lifted one side of her mouth, the vanished back into the grimace that was her permanent expression.

"Amy?" His voice sounded closer.

"Don't come near me."

There was a long silence. She couldn't see him but she knew she'd murdered him a little bit more with those words; the first words she'd spoken to him in six months.

"...okay Amy." Another long pause. "Listen Amy, you know I would do anything for you, anything in the world. And if...if I'm making you angry by being here...if you are uncomfortable...then...I'll go...Amy."

He was still the same gentleman she'd fallen in love with. He was still accommodating and considerate even in this moment, at the risk of never seeing her again; loosing the woman that disappeared from his life without giving notice or reason.

"How did you find me?" she asked, choosing not to address his last statement.

"I looked everywhere. Everywhere you were known to have spent time. I And I had a thought yesterday about that little place you told me bought a few years back, but never mentioned again. And I was on a plane this morning. I drove around, and when I didn't see your car in any of the neighborhoods, I just sat in my car at the park. You walked by about an hour later."

He always listened to her. He always remembered what she had said. She had appreciated that the most about him.

"You've wasted your time," she said flatly. "I don't want to be with you anymore."

The silence said she sliced into him again, probably rupturing a lung.

"Okay...okay then."

There was long silence then. Amy stared across the grass into the woodsy part of the park.

"I just wanted you to know," his voice cracked, he coughed over his cry, "that I love you. I still love you."

She did not respond. The wind blew a chunk of her uncombed hair across her face. She brushed it back and watched the school of crows fly out of the park.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

The real issues are getting lost in the crossfire

Dr. Joy DeGruy Leary - Post traumatic slavery syndrome

Slavery is some fucked up shit.

african american male adolescent violence.

the hours that belong to sleep

Negro, unamed

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Do not exaggerate what I said

Then tell the truth when you use an example, she said.
You might say that's my problem, but it's not, it's our problem.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Middled aged?

Middle ages is more like it.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Books

Ken Saro-Wima - Sozaboy: A Novel in Rotten English
Ken Saro-Wima - On a Darkling Plain
Re: Fela "Fela was talking the truth." So it is a cruel irony that his downfall was caused by self-deception.
www.villagevoice.com/news/9945,schoofs,9850,1.html
better: http://www.pulitzer.org/archives/6343

Thursday, November 5, 2009

A storm

It stormed outside as if to split the house in half.

Like "doop de doo, the world is flat."

Character name: Duwalt, Lively

You need to hang that shit up, i.e. stop.

Done da da.

Monday, October 26, 2009

I hate talking to him

It's like you have to solve a rubics cube every conversation you have with him.

If you eat some PU you will feel better.

What the fuck do I want to learn German for. To become a Nazi? No thank you.

Friday, October 9, 2009

The souls of fish

And if I cry it means I'm hurting, don't kick me when I'm down.

And if I turn up missing, follow the trail of jade eggs that I tell him to buy

To love is to serve time.

And my belongings, I say again, do not belong to Dr. Strangelove. I want them back.

Consistently riveting.

I hate when you ask me if I like it.

Turn your eyelids inside out.

An art show for Jomo.

Energy curtailment.


Trying not to think. I just want to feel.

Your demons will reach out and tap me on the shoulder to say hello. Like "Hi, I'm a demon."

He said the beginning of the relationship is the best when you want to talk to the person all the time. What an ass. You just told us that you're not good for longevity.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

No one swallows their tongue

It has occured to me that I need to read more. Talking to Nneka last night and trying to express myself and being at a loss for several words was embarrassing. I took a book off the shelf this morning (well the book was on the floor in front of the shelf, to keep myself honest) and started reading. Stephen Kings Everythings Eventual.

Blacker than black. Blacker than any black you've ever seen. Blacker than midnight in a black hole.

Now is not the time to be vague. Now is not the time to be obscure. Now is not the time to be indistinct.

But when she saw him her vagina went haywire. It felt like alarms and bells and whistles going off. It was like the Price is Right was happening in her vagina. Someone just won the showcase showdown.

You're joking right?

Monday, October 5, 2009

songs poems thoughts or whatever

How dare you put your apocolypse in my cereal.

All But Four

Sometimes I can't wait to die.

You want me to kiss your ass because you play the guitar? He's not a rock star. James Hetfield is a rock star. Aerosmith, Bono. You play the guitar.

You send an invitation to bid to people whose work you know. You're not going to send and invitation if their shit looks like a shanty town. A shanty town is an improvised dwelling.

What's wrong with yall? You're looking at me like I have an arrow through my head. That was wierd wouldn't you agree?

Monday, September 28, 2009

Thoughts again

My own private hell - song

What do you want me to do, scale the side of the building? I look like Spiderman? Go web go. Spidey web go. Shazam.

I want to fuck all night. I want to fuck till it hurts.

I felt so white. Wonderbread white.

It's necessary but not sufficient.

My teeth are going to hell. The rest of me is heavenward bound.

You need to start a task force.

Fuckin shit felt like a shakedown.

You must have hung up the phone and jumped in a canon. Kabloom! Did you take your umbrella to break your fall? No? Then you landed on his doorstep like crash, boom, kaping. He come out like "What's all that racket? And why are you so dirty? And why you smell like gun powder?"

Please, I'd have to have bullet proof everything. Bullet proof eyelashes, bullet proof deoderant, bullet proof hairspray. Like ssshhhhhhhhhhh, shhhhhhhhh, sssssssssshhhhhhhh. I'm going to see 50. Putting on deoderant lift pft, pfft, pfft, pfft, pfft, pfft. I get there he be like, "Why are you so flakey?" "It's my deoderant."

Friday, September 25, 2009

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Dream conversation

Woman - Would you like to watch ?
Man - I don't like the way it makes me feel.

Monday, August 10, 2009

A phone call

James, I got a question and I need a quick and dirty answer...hello? Not that kind of dirty. Ima call you back after 8 o'clock for that...hello???

Ooh wee, white boy.

Ooh wee, let me.

Can you please move away from me? Your breath smells and it's contaminating my icecream.

There's condescention here.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Re: a husband

Leadership, protection, financial support

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Come on now, that's wet meat rubbing together.

There's only a matter of time before it starts smelling. You think if we fuck until tonight it's gonna smell like strawberries? Okay then.

I don't know what it was. I wasn't dehydrated. And I don't have vertigo.

Re: the guy from the union, He's a little hairy. And he's a little scary.

Re: 50's personal life: I don't want to know about that. What do I want to know about bullets for. I'd have to have bullet proof ever thing. Bullet proof contacts. Bullet proof bracelets. Bullet proof deodorant. No thank you. I meet 50 at the office.

Jaded, naked, and sober.

If it will make your pussy eating experience easier then I will shave it.

Oooh, be easy Amy. Be easy.

Unless you want to buy that pretty little nose again, cause I'm going to bust your shit. Then stop provoking. You not the only one that know how this game is played. You think I don't know when the cops come you just gone sit there, all doe eyed like "officer I don't know what happened. She just got angry."

Shit I didn't want to do. People made me do things I didn't want to do. A number of things. It's not just one thing. That shit wasn't easy today.

You can ask my therapist if you can find her. And if you can get her to break our confidentiality aggreement.

I'm in therapy for that shit.

You put a little sugar on shit you can pretend it's a canole.

I did read up on it, but without studying it, I'll tell you what my impression is...

We can move on to the next item on your list...no I love this phone call.

I don't want sex to cloud my judgment. When we make each other feel good, we can't see certain things. There might not be much to see, but in case there is, we need to know how to deal with it.

It's hard to be easy.

When I'm with you I try very hard to be easy. And to make it easy for you. I think alot of it has to do with you. You're mellow. You don't react to things so quickly that you don't think about what you're saying or the reprecussions of what you're saying or doing. If that made any sense.

You cannot come into my bedroom, no matter how gently you knock.

The dream, the full dream has not been actualized yet.

I had a husband like that. I learned when the shit hit the fan, I didn't always have to duck. I could put up an umbrella.

The booty jump off? It's disgusting and fascinating at the same time.

Look at your hands. They look like exaggerated cartoon hands. You look like Jaugernaut.

You think you could throw me around and you can't. Not without getting a frying pan to the back of your head.

We'd kill each other. Like War of the Roses? We'd fall down from the chandelier then you'd put that big as Jauggernaut hand on my shoulder and I'd fling it off and then we'd both die.

No, I don't think I should stop. You make people vomit. You telling me you can dish it out but you can't take it?

You like ridiculing people. Yes you do. The whole room is laughing at the black woman after you tell a lame, lame-ass chicken joke. That's funny to you. You like it. You're a bigot. With a small mind.

The acting is really bad. So I suggest you go have a couple shots or go do a line of coke because thats the only thing that's going to get you through this.

I am not aroused when I see a man in uniform. I don't think sex, I think post traumatic stress disorder. The number of police officers that go home and beat their wives is alarming. And soldiers? Forget about it.

I can't believe I'm doing this. No, what daddy wants...

I got good aim mutha fucka.

After seeing a friend drunk I said, "Impaired."

Uh, newsflash...

I didn't murder your mother. I forgot something.

You're not going to take a nap on the roof in a hurricane are you? Like "Let's see what happens?"

Monday, July 13, 2009

His intentions are obvious

And I am wise enough to know when I'll be a notch to someone.

Friday, July 10, 2009

She asked me if I still loved him

I thought about that. I hear couples say after they've broken up that they still love the person. But I think about the word love

Linda said...

It is implicit. Within reason.

Something else. I'm not a default wife.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

My nipples are very important to me. They are the source of my arousal. Can I call them my ignition, might as well. I'm the car you're the driver.

Mockingly

Pretty profound.
Is everyone bringing their STD free card?

Undisputably beautiful.

Perpetual brilliance.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Words to remembers

Inescapable feeling.
Precisely calibrated.

Monday, July 6, 2009

Madly, deeply in love with them. All. They are all gentlemen. They are true friends. I feel safe. I feel protected. They're consistent. They share. A number of reasons. They were annoying at first. Cause they used to wrassle. You know, the testosterone would take over and then I would just sit in the corner and be a girl. And then it'd be over and we'd have some beer and talk. They listen to me. And then suddenly they became very dear to me. You don't get to bond like that with all your co-stars. I mean I wish I could because then I would have like hundreds of people in my life like these three. But even if I never met another person in my life, I'm set, because I have them. But I think its that our personalities meshed and you know now we're a crew.

I talk to them all every day. If not on the phone then on our secret group on facebook. No. I hate Twitter. I just hate the name. It's stupid.

It's just respect and immense love. I love you all.

Good. I'm glad it's mutual.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

And Lauren said...

"That's a different endeavor altogether" I knew I would rob her of the words.
A teenaged girl in child protective custody. Starts a fire and a riot. Jumps on her bed screaming fuck this shit, fuck this shit.
A white boy accused of murdering a black girl. While they were getting to know each other, the boy finds out she likes Metallica. He asks her why. She responds, "It's good music. Why wouldn't I like it."
Two twin sisters, one black, one white, sent by the elders of their planet to save a race of people and a villian to stop them. They have special powers that balance each other and will save the people.

Lines:
They're looking for something. Sometimes, if they want it they can get it. Not today.
To a computer screen: Oh how I hate you. So much.
A man asks a woman "How old are you."
The woman replies "Mind your fucking business. That's how old I am."
The man begins to walk away. The woman says "Don't forget."
A couple realizes they are surrounded by their enemies. The man says "We are in the lions den."
"You can tear your soul in half, you know."

A man and a woman look out of an office building window.
The man says, "You shouldn't be mean to people."
The woman replies, "He wants something I'm not willing to give. He needs to understand that."


Get to know your bouncer. He is the king of the bar.

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Thoughts

I remove the dead man from my back pack. His name was Malcolm. He is no longer real, but a face under plastic lamination.
How to introduce an abortion.
Things I will never say, but probably should.
This is why it is important to write them down as they come to you. Dummy.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Does race matter?

Yes.  Race matters.  Period.  That how you assess me.  My capabilities, my speech, my intellect, my strength, my reactions.  One look is all it takes.  And in most cases, with most looks, you see me as woefully deficient.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

Laugh

This is my LOL.

Haaaaa, HAAAAAAAAAA, laughing so hard at the funnyness and the silly that is this.


Had a thought. Garlic vitamin.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Therapy Notes

She said, "Let me think about this. I wish I could give you a quick and dirty answer."
"You've got this gadfly in your ear, saying you're this you're that."
"He wants to take it to the mat. Every time."

Nneka said, "What, you brand new?" "Like what, I'm from the Bronx, what."
"Don't let me find out."

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Things to remember.

I met a man last night.

Diane said, "Let's see if we're still on fire." re: the rush payment to the DOD for 75 Third ave filing fees.

Beverly called the bus matron a bottle blond latina.

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

And suddenly, all the little things have blackened my heart against him.

The n word. The symptoms of being a batterer. The passive aggressiveness. And suddenly everything he's done reminds me of Jomo.

Perhaps I'll never speak to him again.

I saw a woman whose hair looked like an oscillating fan.

Collapse the all spark. Problem solved.

That shit felt like a shake down.

It's good to make sound effects while talking. That way people will laugh at you and say you are funny. Their eyes will light up and you will see them have the thought that they like you.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Good morning God.

Thank you very much. In Jesus name, Amen

Friday, March 13, 2009

Why, so you can go to the bathroom and cry?

"You mean vomit? That's what I do after I have sex with you."

And that was it. I killed him. I opened his gut. I saw it. And that was the last thing I ever said to him.

Why are you so cruel to me?

Shut the fuck up. Get your dick hard, because I'm not doing it.

obscure

An obscure reference.
The obscure back room.

recidivism

I feel like demoralizing someone right now.

I married you right? I suck your dick every night right? I make you dinner right? What the fuck you think that is? I don't have to say I love you.

When he says I love you, I say uh-huh.

Congratulations. Do you want a metro card?

Here. Go take the bus somewhere.

Fuck love.

I wont say it to anyone else again. What is love anyway. Just some fucking emotion your heart tricks you into having. I don't want anyone to know I have it. That way I don't have to take it back when it's all over.

Your heart is decietful, so you don't really mean what you say when you feel it. It is all bullshit. Bullshit. All of it.

He said, "Next time ask, don't demand anything."

He could tell the difference between a question and a command anyway. I remember very clearly asking him if he could help Nneka with the groceries. "Can you help Nneka with the groceries?" He said I could have asked. What the fuck. I do believe that was a question.

Hears what he wants. Says what he wants. I shake my head and threaten him, "You reap what you sow.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

re: the time change, my sister said

...don't do the mental switch until tomorrow.

It is now Tuesday and I'm sleepy.

Friday, March 6, 2009

I believe my therapist said it best...

...when she described my husband in our marriage as treacherous, violent, and coercive.
I don't want to bee a stupid person with a masters degree.
You can rape a pantry but the pantry wont cry.
We are not in lock step with each other.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

and he, letting her sleep through her nightmares...

She slept in shorter intervals now. The panic tree had grown from her abdomen, seizing parts, freeze drying her fingers, nightmaring her.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

I should add a photo a week.

Thats a good idea. That way you can see what my brain looks like.

Open my medicine cabinet and tell me my fears

Things to remember while talking:
quote others "not a compelling argument," "within minutes of each other,"

Friday, February 27, 2009

he's alive

I sent an email under an alias. He responded. What do I do? He's alive. I think he's fucking with me. I don't know what the fuck to think. He knows there is no training. Why would he inquire? He's curious. He likes the name. The name is seductive. I knew he'd like it. He's alive. What do I do now? He's fucking with me. He wants to play.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Seth...it's time.

We've been friends for 2 years now. We've had those sudden moments where we would like to kiss, but have refrained. I say I love you and mean it. We have lain in bed together in underwear, talking, laughing, sleeping. I have drooled on your chest. You have walked into my fart cloud.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

But you were always you.

Steady. Unchanging. Calm. Me, I was all over the place. I was the flag you were the staff. I was the one that wanted us in the wind. You would have never agreed to it. I am at least glad you told me your name.

love and sanity

while reading The Body by Boully those words came to me. I am also thinking how i will miss my script on the page.

Paul...?

I'm leaving soon. My flight leaves tomorrow. I considered the way in which I could leave NY. I considered writing you, inviting you for drinks, and conversation. But I only knew that I would reach out to you by email, only once more. I tried looking for you on Craigslist. I tried luring you back into conversation with me. I even tried insulting you, I think. I tried to find another you, a replacement you. At the mere mention of my nipples the trolls came running. Someone warned me, replied to me, be careful of the attention you seek. And they were right. They are not you. And you are who I am looking for.

Gillete (memory)

Holding it to my wrist in the bathroom, thinking to myself "you're a coward you wont do it." wondering how many had that thought right before they split their skin. A friend told me cut downwards not across. A friend? She was joking. I don't think she realized I was not. The light was on, the walls had long since warped from ivory to yellow. The bathroom would be my first casket.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

"and not only when it works in our favor"

on how to be an honest politician.

What happens to your emails after you die.

Is there a clean-up committee? Or do they leave it to your poor grieving family?

Sunday, February 22, 2009

pushing pushing pushing

and suddenly gushing gushing gushing

The obvious must be stated so that the obvious is stated.

I see a picture of him, his thick black moustache and wish I could spread my legs and feel it tickling me. And so the fantasies about Serj begin...

He walked thru a door back stage at Jimmy Kimmel and I said, "Oh what's up Serj." He nodded, kept his eyes on me. I spoke again, I met his friend Peter at a reading at NYU. He spoke immediately about Peter and our dialogue began. I was surprised at how easy it was to speak to him. I don't know if we had a connection, and frankly I wasn't looking for one. I liked his music, I even found him attractive. But I wasn't looking to suck his dick.

A year later, however, I lived to contradict myself. At his house, we'd been talking quietly about his Wu Tang collaboration. I told him I never liked the song. He kissed me on my forehead and gathered the take-out containers. It sent a pulse through me. By the time he returned my nipples were hard as granite. I tried to hide them, standing up, turning away, crossing my arms. He didn't know what was going on at first. He gave me one of those arm-neck hugs and asked how my screenplay was coming along. His breath was on my neck and it was warm. Our bodies were touching. When I spoke I stuttered. He looked at me and turned me to face him, and my nipples betrayed me. He saw them and let me go. I was embarrassed. An eternity of silence passed. And then I saw his erection. We stood there looking at each other's secret that had finally been revealed. And I could no longer hide how badly I wanted his cock in my mouth.

I was sucking his dick before my knees hit the floor. It was rock hard and beautiful and it tasted good. His hands fondled my breasts and flicked my nipples as I sucked. It made me want to suck him more. I swallowed what ever was coming out of him. I looked up and he was looking at me, watching, thrusting ever so slightly, my lips and tongue were bringing him to climax. And then I tasted him, his entire load, it flowed into my mouth and down my throat. I kept sucking, sucking all of it out of his throbbing dick, I sucked and sucked until he screamed. He screamed at the top of his lungs, but he kept thrusting, kept looking at me, he moaned and groaned and screamed some more. And then he fell to the floor, his body quaking, dick glistening from my saliva, eyes open and in a trance. I thought I sent him into a coma but then he grabbed me, tore off my panties, lifted me by my hips and slid himself into me. It was an easy slide, it made a gushy sound when he entered. He thrust upward and I downward. I new I would come soon. I took his hands and put them on my breasts, forcing him to squeeze as I drove my pussy down on him. He squeezed them, he pulled my shirt down and lifted his face to my nipples. We thrust together, he sucked, I moaned in pleasure. My orgasm was in route. I looked down and saw my cream leaking all over his flesh. I pushed my hips down and the walls of my box squeezed down on his hot, hard meat. He let my nipples fall out of his mouth and he threw his head back and came inside of me. I came too, bouncing up and down on him until it felt so good it hurt. I collapsed down on him and we fell asleep, our sizzling bodies on cold linoleum.

Friday, February 20, 2009

Goodness gray shoes!

Everybody think everybody else has another thing coming. The chosen are the lucky ones. The chosen are the lucky ones? There is flesh for sex in the after life. And the messiah is still in route? No the messiah lives in Brooklyn.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Randomness

Dick or cock?
Will I ever find a white man that loves my big brown areolas?
Will I ever fall in love again?
Can I be abstinant for the rest of my life?

The only thing I can answer with certainty is that I prefer to say dick.

I am lonely

Therapy today. Just because I cried last week does not mean I am in love with him. I arrived at that conclusion myself. I am looking for (P). My therapist told me I could have someone real. And that he abandoned me when the situation became real, once my husband found out about him. And it's all true. But there is no one like him. It was such a thrill and I am wishing I could have that back. It was all so fucking thrilling.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

After the stress subsided...

...I was please to see her hair came back on it's own reconnaissance.

Listening to System of a Down

Funny how one song opens the door to another song. First Aerials, then Tentative, then BYOB, and then Question and then EVERYTHING!!!

Monday, February 16, 2009

Behind the fridge and back again

I've achieved a new level of warrior. I've seen a mouse in my house 3 times in the last 24 hours. I'm not sure if it's the same mouse or three different mice. Either way, I don't like it. And every night I can hear the mouse/mice digging into the cereal box, and actually munching away. It's loud and frightening and even obnoxious. Well, last night I pulled the fridge out and removed the box of cereal and threw it in the garbage chute. The mouse had eaten a perfect hole in the box. I was expecting to see a few cereal flakes on the floor but it looked like half the bag had been emptied out. And much of that was halfway under the 40 year old linoleum. I was appauled. And I was still scared out of my mind because I thought the mouse/mice might be under the fridge and come scurrying out when I started sweeping. I had to take a moment to prepare. I considered leaving that shit where it lay but knew this was where the problem lay. I couldn't take another night of burrowing, crunching mice in my apartment. I took some big deep breaths and I went in. I swept the garbage into a pile then tore the linoleum up and dumped that down the chute. Now I was free to sweep up the 20 pounds of cereal. I did it. And I ended up cleaning up everything that fell behind the fridge since I've been living here. I found some blank dvds and a jar of hand cream. I'm pretty stoked about that. And the best part. No more crunching mice at night. I know they'll still come looking for cereal but they'll be nothing there. Now all I have to do is get over my fear of mouse traps and I'll be good to go. I know that's weird but I don't want to get my fingers clamped in the trap.

Breakfast was great

I did a funny/weird thing. I got up this morning and curled my hair and put on make up before I met up with my friend. I wasn't sure how he would respond to seeing me sort of dolled up, but I kind of did because he has done/said some things in the past. Today, he looked a little surprised and then he said he liked my hair. But I didn't get any googoo eyes or dazed looks so I guess my plan didn't work. What am I saying? What am I doing? I don't know. I think I want him to be attracted to me. But we are friends. It's probably best that way. I remember last year when it started to warm up for summer and I came to work looking kinda cute. He was visibly stunned. I ignored it. I don't know why. It was like he didn't know what to do seeing me as attractive, I think.

Anyway, we had a great time at breakfast today. It took a few minutes for my son to warm up to him but not long. We went to a matinee afterwards, the movie was okay. Then we listened to music in his car and he gave us a ride back to the train station. It's great because I like him, I think, and he doesn't know, I think, and we are great friends. I've never had a guy friend like him. He's just the coolest. Not to say he's perfect because he's not. But I had such a good, chill, laid back time with him today and he totally knew how to get my son to warm up to him and they sat next to each other in the theater, for a while. I think I'm a little high off our session today. Hope I see him tomorrow at work.

I feel like a school girl. I don't know if that's right or good. I feel like it's sort of foolish to like him too. I wish you could answer me back, dear blog. I will undoubtedly talk about him in therapy. It's funny the emotions that I go through behind the scenes, and he doesn't even know. I actually hope I can convince myself to not like him. I don't want to be that chick, the one that likes and pretends not to know her nipples are hard or her g-string is showing in order to get attention.

Frightening

And the hits just keep on coming. More guys responding to my post. I can tell they want some e-sex. It's disturbing. Only a handful of guys will I reply to.

I'm on my way to have breakfast with my friend. I want to ask him why he flirts. I want to put him on the spot because that way I'll get the real answer. The truth. Perhaps I will stop telling him I love him. But I do. But I cant. We are born to contradict ourselves.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Good morning blog

I woke up and had 33 new emails in my inbox. I put one little plain simple post on Craigslist. And now there are a lot of men that want to IM me, apparently. I don't know but after reading them I got scared. I don't want a relationship with them and I don't want to make sexy talk with them, definitely not. I know what it is. I'm looking for (P). (P) is a man I met on Craigslist. Ironically, we were sort of erotic pen pals. But we never met, we certainly never had sex. (P) was/is(?) a writer like me. He blew my mind every time I got an email from him. It's funny because I have his email address. And I know he peruses the Missed Connections every night, so I know I can contact him if I really want to. And I really want to. And I really don't. It's so complicated.

Writing for my Internet audience who does not know who I am. I am married, separated for a year, headed for divorce. My marriage has long since been in the toilet. I stopped wanting to be intimate with my husband a long time ago, although I continued to do it, even after we were separated. I haven't been physically intimate with anyone besides my husband since I've been married to him. I did, however, find someone online, (P), who became my erotic pen pal, as I mentioned before. I wrote a short story about my sexual frustration and posted it on CL. Of all the men that responded (P) was the most literate, respectful, intelligent, easy going, and the one that I wanted to continue corresponding with. And yet what brought us together was the tension we felt in our lower parts, so we sort of slowly built up this sexual tension until it boiled over and we were writing our full on, hard core fantasies to each other, with each other. It was the most exciting thing I've done in a long time. We'd write fantasies with each other in them, we'd write fantasies, handing them off to each other. It was like Tag Team Fantasy. It was incredible. And then my husband found something I'd written to (P) and accused me of sleeping with him, which wasn't true, because I never saw or spoke to (P). If he was standing next to me on the corner I wouldn't know it. But it sucks because now I have this fucking scarlet letter on my head, let my husband tell it, and it's just not true. It's not true.

So my husband found (P)'s email address and emailed him accusing him of sleeping with me. (P) told my husband that we will never have a communication again.

I don't know why I'm on CL again. It's like I'm looking for (P) even though I know exactly where he is. It's like I want the same excitement over again and I know exactly where I can find it. But I don't know if he will respond. I'm hoping he will, knowing my circumstances have changed. He told me he would always be there for me, he would be my pages whenever I want to write. Of course this was before we were found out but a large part of me wants that to be true. He will probably read what I have to say but not respond. He loved my writing. He loved my stories. He might not be able to resist after a while. I don't know. Maybe I can break him. He was so thrilling. I miss him immensely.

You will find that I write about men from my past, men that I hope will be in my future, men that I do not know, that do not know me, that know me and don't know I like/love them, actors, musician, ITS technicians.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Niceties

What more can I say.

Writing for my audience of one...

...and it's not me, it the mouse behind my refrigerator burrowing into the box Honey Nut Cherrios that's been back there for 3 months. Finally.

Oh how crushing it is to...

...find out someone you might be interested in is married. And yet you feel dignified because you would never adulterate with them and you are glad they are in love. And you are still lonely on Saturday nights and most other evenings.

And we empty our brains onto the internet...

...only to be saved and forgotten. That way the FBI can find us if they need to.

I am listening to OneRepublic...

and leaving a trail of bread crumbs to my identity.

We'll never overhear this

"The Leaning Tower of Pisa is not leaning anymore."

Rock is a woman

She'll rattle your brain around and leave you on your knees begging for more. She'll rock your body, rock your body, lock your body, shock your body, knock your body.

Am I ready to say that I'm in love with him...

I started to cry in therapy the other day, but then I stopped myself. I was talking about him, which I've been doing a lot lately. He keeps saying he loves me. It jump starts my heart every time and I try to make it mean something else, something other than what I want it to mean. He is an amazing person. He is funny and generous and adorable. He's 10 years younger than me. He probably doesn't know how much he means to me. I don't know. I think about him in ways that inappropriate, but they arouse me, and make me uncomfortable. I just don't know what to do with him except be friends with him. I want to know him for life. I want to live with him and love him. I don't know if there is anything else in between. We should be friends for life. No matter.