“Nighty night, little bunny rabbit.”
And we all go to sleep, dream, drip. My heart is racing. I am going to forget about men altogether right now and just create create create. I am miserable and a fiend, a total hyperactive freak. And the Goddess is not coming out. The Goddess is shrinking under me. Bashful. Boring. Silly. Giddy.
Not a bad sandwich. I can’t come here anymore. I always rip paper off of beer bottles. Psychic energy drizzles in the cracks. Poisoned by gutters and blow-dryers, my hair crackles off. Don’t have anything to say—on the verge of saying something. This is why my heart is going to explode, not because I have a crush, but because I haven’t reached what I want to say clearly.
Was going to go to F’s wedding, but I can’t.
Feel that if I just cried, could write about what it is about the situation I would be better. Cannot send my graces to their love. Love. He ripped, stripped, salted my young heart. I was a baby. A baby! Baby, don’t do me that way. Feel young but that my youth is slipping and if I give my heart, my blessing, I will seal my youth in her wedding bouquet. Entering the new strong-single-woman phase. I feel pissed but it’s the only way I can be, I cannot be a weak woman. Still, I feel like hiding a lot. Been going out too much. Been going out too much. I already said that.
Next time I meet Anavie I’d like to have a set focus on what I’m going to write about. Like a book of erotic stories, the story of my life, a description of every one I’ve ever had sex with before the age of 20. That’s what dating is like right now. Bad sex, bad karma, weird environments
© September 20, 2000