Monday, October 17, 2011

Letter #2


Dear Friend-

I've been standing outside your house again.
I think I saw the curtains move this time, but it might have been my imagination.
Sometimes it looks like you're really in there!!

I wish you'd come out.

I'm still not sure what you really meant
when you said that stuff, like "go away"
and "i don't want to see you anymore"

It's like, what does that even mean?                                

You didn't used to talk like that, so
what's changed?  I just don't understand.

One day we were as happy as clams, the next
you pretended as if you didn't know who I was.

Didn't we have fun? Remember all of those
meaningful talks we had?

Like that time in the bathroom of the coffee shop?

So now I just have to be satisfied with a view
of your curtains, moving or not, and imagining you
in there, or not.  It's not enough!!

I know you called the police that one day, I was
watching from behind that pink flowering bush.
Did you see me out here?  Is that why you called?
     Are you scared?                                                                                                                

I just wish you'd come out, just once!!
 I saw you when you were talking to the cops,
 but it was too far away.  To see you up close!!
 I might not even recognize you.

I'm slipping this note under the door, I hope you will find it and change your mind, so we can become friends again.

I'll be waiting.

Your FRIEND forever!!!!!!!!!!!


Friday, October 14, 2011


Forgive me Sir, but I must write you one further note, do not misconstrue my purpose for I know that our association cannot be continued:

You  Sir, are an Evil Onion.  You know by your past actions that I am not at fault by naming you thus.

There are more layers to you than even you may know, sir, that will only produce tears when exposed to the light.

Did you think I alone would be immune? Did your heart not hurt or beat at all as I wept?

Yes, I buried the child far out the back next to the mossy fence as you instructed.  I used a shovel that Ned had left leaning against the garden shed.  I was able to end his life as you suggested.  And I know you were right, that we couldn't possibly but I can't help feeling as if a wedge of glass were balancing itself in my head, ready to pierce through the skin.  So I move very slowly these days.

Thank you for the generous cheque, I am certain to need the funds in the future.

your devoted servant,
with love for ever and ever,

Thursday, October 13, 2011

The Blogs are Out of Control

I can feel them closing in on me, like a giant mommypinkribboncutekid hammer of Thor!!!

I guess "closing in" is the wrong phase, maybe it should be "slamming down".

Yes, they're slamming down on my psyche trying to pummel me into caring about someone's life who is not me!

But I don't want to go to their birthday parties and read about their adorable mini-Schnauzer.
Or swim in their virtual pool, or look at their hot husbands.

And why should I?  

Maybe I'm the 23%.

One of those ones who is just biding time at the mini-mart waiting for it all to end.

Waiting in a line; 

waiting for the robots to come take our places,

waiting for the cancer from my cigarettes to overtake me,
for my lotto number to make me rich!,

waiting and waiting--

And as I'm standing here, oh so patiently but not really in this line that goes I know not where, 
the blogs begin again,

the blogs, they come slamming down
with all the force of their trite-smuglyhip and darling sameness,

squashing me flat with their billions of universes, all unrelated, all--

wait.  What's that?


Now that's really really cute!
I mean if I had a kid like that!
Oh, that's cute!

(so how do i subscribe to this thing?)


photo of Hetalia Cosplay by Clary McCory

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Still There

So I'm staring at the corner of the room, and I just can't believe that they have left that sitting there!
I mean, doesn't anyone else need to use it? The easel I mean.
Don't they need the space it takes up, maybe, for something else?  It's huge.  Takes up the whole corner.
(Crouching back there.)
No, I guess not.

The easel stands in the corner, crouches, I like that word better, still set up as if it enjoys holding an invisible painting.

As I'm staring at it's emptiness, I think about the terrible beauty that used to rest there.
The painting:
Before they ever put it on the easel, I used to stare at it.  I had no choice, it was in my line of sight.
(The pregnant belly, the lovely light on her skin, the men shaving her head.  The explosives.)
 It rested on the floor then, leaned on the wall.
Sometimes someone would have turned it  toward the wall.
Sometimes it would stare me down from the heights of my platform in the middle of the room.
 I fell in love with her knees!  I did!

Now the picture is gone, you've stashed it somewhere.
 Or do you look at it?
Does it stare you down?

From across the room, from the height of your platform.


Monday, October 3, 2011


In the beginning they never even suspected....

And once they knew the truth... seemed to be a very short trip.

 Then the real trouble, I think that's when it-

(And over here ladies and gentlemen-)

And really, she just needed a way out...

And then, triumph!

The end.