the aura of an octopus

my mother was planting flowers when i came to her, sunglasses on and bawling like a three year old that had fallen out of a tree, baring his skinned knee and bruising pride. i was making this horrible wracking noise with my breath like i did when my father used to yell at me and my sister. she dropped her trowel and it landed pointing south, towards the core of the earth. my mother grabbed me as if i was still a child and she smelled like the dirt and for the first time all year i felt like things might be alright.
yesterday i had packed away the drawer with my letters in it. i stared at all the pictures of me and my father and felt my heart beat irregular and uneven. there are things that have happened i refuse to grasp. it sounds so naive of me to say that i almost believe one day i’ll be walking down a boardwalk in paris and see him in the distance rowing a small white boat. that maybe he’ll call next christmas. that i never walked by him one suffocating day in august and place a yellow daisy in his coffin. my mother said “he loved you more than anyone else. in the end, you were the only thing he had left to make him feel”
when you have grown up without the option of failure, when you have grown up thinking you are only what people think of you, when you have grown up defending your name because everbody knew your family’s dirty little secrets, maybe you will get “a little too emotional” over somebody trying to fire you for your fucking honesty. my work ethic was the only thing i was supposed to have down pat.
there are moonflowers and morning glories sprouting up in little pots i set by the windowsill.
i am undersexed and “surprise! i have the sex drive of a twenty-year old female!” unfortunately, sex is something of a white rhinoceros around here, some endangered species, whatnot or whichlike. sometimes i feel like it’s some sort of token, like i’m a puppy and “oh good dog!, here’s your bone!”
i am teaching myself to read tarot cards and i would like to take erotic dance lessons. i want to paint and use my easel, fold origami by memory, write a novella, sing outloud, and wear a bikini.

you’re gorgious!

juxtaposedlines

May 13, 2005

painting is where it’s at…

You are brilliant. I’ve always loved your blog. I’m sorry you’re blue. Always Yours, Diane P.S. I linked to you on my site. http://ddixonsdiary.blogspot.com look under amelie(though i bet that’s probably not your name)

gutterflower.

May 14, 2005

oooh youd look hot in that bikini, babe 🙂 you look like your brother in that pic, or vice versa. i need to talk to you about the undersex thing (again), oh and what about almost being fired!? <3

BlueShadowSplash

May 15, 2005

i was choked up on one and two

i remember what i was going to tell you in the driveway, i bought a bright eyes cd. its the one you had.

having a small truck parked on my chest would be preferable to seeing you sad…miss seeing you! the crazed sculptor from mars who drinks too much coffee