December 28th, 2013

My therapist takes notes, but they are not to detail what I have told her. Every statement I make, leads to a revelation about another patient. At the end of each session, there is a small stack of papers for me to take home. I fill them out immediately, giving little thought to the questions. I answer what I think is most appropriate. We go through the worksheets together, neither one of us really caring for the process. She is incompetent, and I am apathetic.

I am hosting another of the dictator’s relatives. He has heard much about me. I say it hardly applies anymore. I mention that the hellhound has passed away. He looks down, promising to be a gentle guest. He is a man of his word. The discomfort is bearable, but he has taken my voice. No harm done.

The only thing one can say to most people who are a part of their past is, you were not that great. Really, oh really, this should come as a shock to no one at all. We leave those we felt unworthy of, or those we felt were unworthy of us.

December 28th, 2013

September 12th, Year of the Vampires

Descartes is in France. Descartes is in Sweden. Descartes is dead. We mourn only those we knew well, and when we never knew them at all, it is our own future death we cry over. Now, Descartes is covered in semen, somewhere under a collegiate’s bed. When the semester is over, he will travel to Japan to spill his borrowed knowledge, much like he did his seed.

Every day, I pick a new father, even though I begin to accept my own. Today, it is Henry Darger. We have cold cereal in the mornings, and he tells me about what kind of trouble the Vivian Girls will get into by nightfall. All the noises and thunder bolts belong to them, so that they can transfer over to me. I notice how the colors he uses are as bright as his smile. But, I think I heard somewhere that he was a sexless man, so I am brought back to my own reality. No worries, the cold cereal is here, too.

For each goal I do not pursue, my will to live grows weaker. The darkness has returned, brought by a relative of the dictator, who has come to avenge the murder of one of his own. It’s ha-hee-achoo, down deep into the blue.

Happiness is found in what I do not know.

September 12th, Year of the Vampires

January 20th, Year of the Vampires

These walls are thin. I could hear Frankenstein’s creation peel back its skin, or a rat chew the carpet, or a flea sneeze times two. No such thing. I hear my sister lose her patience with the children. She screams often, but it is when her voice does not come through, that her hand meets little arms. The girls have bruises they nurse, and they hide.

The air is heavy with the scent of medicine and sour milk. Objects I lovingly collected, did not stand a chance against curious and careless fingers. White walls have grown brown with grime. Bits of marshmallow end up stuck to my gloves. Crayon markings appear everywhere, like primitive cave drawings.

I say I suffer, and that my space has been noisily invaded, but it is my faithful Ruey, my hellhound, that suffers most of all. He is constantly abused by Alyssa. She takes her anger out on his body, pinching and punching, pushing and kicking. I stop this when I see it. I tell her that she will not hurt what I value most. She looks at me with defiance. She knows there is nothing I can do.

I pass the time in meditation. I close myself off to the pandemonium, when I can. The dictator tells me to rest, and I no longer resist him. He is a teacher of some sort. His methods are unorthodox, to be sure, but his firm hand allows for no confusion. This must be done, and nothing more. Go straight, and do not get distracted. So, I do. I am ready to be heavy, like lead. Soft, like a billowy cloud. Open, like the wounds that have held me back.

January 20th, Year of the Vampires

January 9th, Year of the Vampires

One child screams, the other holds her tongue. This one pushes, the other squeezes, and they both break me. There I go, trying to restore order. It is better to leave things in a state of chaos. Let me not see things clearly. This responsibility, this curse. Outside of Juliet’s womb, the children are no less parasitical. Their fangs sink deep into me. The Dirty House made little horrors out of them.

This depression is too rough, too tight around the neck. I think of death, but want only life. Love electric, and the midnight sky that stretches to eternity. The mysteries of the moaning sorrows on the hem of the White Lady’s dress. A cracker and some apple juice, on the way to a midnight show. But I have children now. What I want, does not matter.

The dictator stands proud, still. He is behind my eyes, looking at the world with me. The mind does not wander, when one is sick. It stays firmly in place. The dictator must know that I do not give up, only say I do. I am quiet, before I am loud. I am still, before I pounce.

January 9th, Year of the Vampires

December 24th, Year of the Moon

For months, I have craved solitude. The dictator allowed for this. Now, the silence is almost too much to bear. I reach out for some company, and find it only in my books. Sister and the children have left to spend the holidays in Los Angeles. They are surrounded by what is left of my extended family. I feel their absence as an almost physical ache. It is for this reason that I met with Jared for coffee, late in the evening.

Though our history is one filled with violence, I cannot say that I experienced any fear, as he sat across from me. As is often the case with those that brought me harm, it has been replaced by pity. All false kings soon lose their crown in carelessness, or in defeat. Aquarius no longer has power over me.

Jared looked like such an old man, as he drank his tea. Caffeine gave him anxiety, he said. He was no longer the same, after his tour of duty in Iraq. Aquarius had joined the military, only months after we broke off our relationship.

Hunched over, as if his spine could not handle the weight of his head, he took one sip of chamomile, then another. I wondered if he was truly a man in his twenties, or if he had escaped a geriatric home. He looked impossibly fragile. Those blue eyes had lost their sharpness.

“I have always loved you. You are the only person I ever loved, and I think we can work things out,” he said.

Only weeks after Jared vowed to protect the United States from all enemies, even those imagined for the nation’s own gain, he got married. That farce would not last more than sixteen months. There were women before the wife, and after. Many would be flattered to know that a past lover holds them in the highest regard, with the grandest affection. But I have only ever been me, and I found this declaration of love to be ludicrous.

I told him that I could love everyone, or anyone, before I loved him. I spoke of things he did not know of, or did not care about, just so that he would remain silent. He grew more depressed, with each new statement. And, while it seemed that nothing mattered, nothing was truly being said, it was just the opposite. I stood before him, just to show him he never had the strength to take me down.

December 24th, Year of the Moon