phoney gonna get er

730 bouquiniste, 830 smart lady, 930 sweat. my smart lady has figured it all out, and i can't say i'm pleased. apparently i'm a phoney. i already knew. playing tricks on the ones who love me, making gifts for the ones who don't. apparently tom is one who don't. but i'm praying for us to evolve or for my smart lady to be wrong.

i have reduced to the level of jarred minced garlic. i can't stand the smell of secondhand garlic under fingernails next day,

two angels are at war, it aint very good.

sophia's gonna put her diamond on.

i'm gonna take a gift for tom's mother.

then i'm goinna put on this terribly over the top nighty.

snowballing

hello world, alot has happened mind you. i have become a firefly in a jar, shooting off this gentle glare. tom has become cross with me because i use sex as a way to feel close with him. this confuses me and what i'm really wondering is, is that just? i know i use it, but the thing is, it's use it or lose it. there is no other way in times like these.

my friend saint charles says my friend sophia would make a cute skeleton, and i can see her point. we were nude together yesterday, rubbing vanilla and orange blossom oil onto eachothers backs and butts. 'butt time' we called it. we love eachother, and it is true.

a lady that i admire/think is beautiful has written a book. it is more enigmatic than i could ever imagine. i can't believe it. i want to ask her for dinner, but i'm nervous. she is the kind of lady who you love from across the street/room. but it is flexible.

on the weekend i snowballed tom. he came in my mouth and then i french kissed him and we shared the jus. he didn't like it. he looked stricken, so i let him give it back to me after a while and then i drank it. he didn't like it. somehow i thought it would be terribly intimate, but all it was was wrong.

i have to wonder sometimes whether the whole thing isn't wrong.

martian enough

it is hard to know what to say in these times. i am, dare i say it, lonely; terribly lonely. today after making love quite tenderly indeed, i said 'hey...i love you' to tom. 'i love you too' he said. and i said thank you afterward, which i regret. but i was grateful. 

i've realized that i can't possibly believe any declaration of love unless it is unceasing, tireless. i've realized that it is like rote learning. repeating lines over and over until they cannot be forgot. 

my martian is cross with me. i am cross with my martian. i love her. and yet she doesn't permit me to behave thus. when i punched tom, i was desperate for someone to love me enough, to say 'that was naughty' and so i thought, i should love my martian enough, to say, what you're doing is naughty'. she didnt think so.

i don't know what is enough really, it never is enough, and then it is too much.

tired/true of heart

thank goodness, for a moment all was lost. i am feeling new things with tom. obviously fear, neglect, lust, fear. since i punched him i have been petrified. of my self. it is all new now, it is all new from here. it is all new post rebirth. since i haven't the faintest what i could do, i haven' t the faintest what i am like.

we are still going to the island. i am petrified of that also. i was mopey today, i said take me to bed tom. i was crying. i said i want to feel close to you tom. he said it was the wrong reason, but i didnt think so. i took off all my clothes, and then he yelled at me. i started; mortified. quickly i scooped up my clothes and ran to the bathroom. he knocked, can you let me in. go away i said. he wouldnt let me leave. he's strange how he does that, snaps, and then quite literally fills with remorse. i suppose it means he has a temper too. at least we are both wild fires. it helps i suppose, wild fires, and tired, true of heart as dave eggers might say.

broke my camel's back

so i did it. i snapped. tom was too foreign, and i couldn't bare it, i hit him quite roughly, slapped him across the face quite hard, fell to the floor, kicking his legs. afterwards i couldn't believe it, had begged his forgiveness, i'm so terribly sorry, oh your face, your beautiful face, what happened i lost my mind... that sort of thing.

now he has gone, presumably to get dinner, but it has been a long time. perhaps he's doing a runner. but i'm in his home, so it seems unlikely. 

if i could only get better. if i could only try to trust myself, i'm desperately afraid of my memory. 

i finally did it, broke my camel's back. and i have never been so ashamed. 

love in love

he's taking me to an island. i feel fictional, a poof of a girl, a whisp of a thing. incidentally, i couldn't stand it if someone did me a character assassination. yet i assassinate all the while. tom. i assassinated him last night. i was lurid/hyper with grief. he doesn't want me around. it's heartbreaking, but i just had to know it, i asked him, don't you love me at all? i mean don't you ever look at me and think 'oo, i love her'? yes, he said. i said: tom, its possible i'm not in love with you either, but i do love you very much. i think if you love me at all you should tell me. the telling is imperative.

i love you. he whispered. i really do.

again; a poof of a girl, literally a whisp, literally a ghost. a moment of pure just heaven.
thank you so much i whispered. thank you so much. i kept saying it. thank you so much. and obviously, i love you too.

frenzy/slut folder

what's interesting is that i am either all things or none. ecstatic or murderous. i'm not too worried. tom bought me seven tiny coloured presents, tiny tiny knickers. what i'm really wondering is how he can't see how actually horrid they look on me. i mean they aren't proportional at all. but he was very swollen, so i just let him have it.

the other night after dinner i wanted a naughty dessert pour le corps (my corps), he said no i have things to do and i said okay, eventually. it was fine. i'm not crazy like i was. but i found a folder accidentally on his computer called 'sluts'. images of women with truly hideous jewel boxes, and truly hideous faces. all the images filed on the night of the dinner. i mean everyone looks at porn, i mean i do it all the time. but he cuts me. i've got things to do, i've got to go compile a file of whore pictures.

he cuts me. but i'm not crazy like i was. i'm on the pills. the anti crazy. the neutralizers. the nothing makers.