careful.careless the second

careful careless as we know it is over.

retraining in the art of domestic goddess.

and we come to the main piece of news: peeping tom is gone.

by and large he is gone but he is still at large in the world, of course, somewhere.

may i introduce a new tom, a new romance, a beautiful creature by the name POPEYE.

i am olive oyl. i am deeply true. i am deeply tired. deeply careful, careless, caring.

deeply now.

who are you?

remembrance

when will i ever learn?

last night after watching a 'moment lost, love lost' film, i became fractious and sore, telling tom:

'tom, i never want to be without you'

'thank you darling' said he

'can't you say it back' said i, and he did.

'i'm looking forward to sitting sidebyside with you on rocking chairs, on our verandah, on our farm.' tom then said.

'how old are we?' i retorted

'seventy?' he replied.

'do you mean that?' (me, running nose)

'of course i do' (tom)

my biggest problem is that i never remember. it's as though each new day needs its own declaration, its own reassurance.

pray that i should soon desist from forgetting, and disallow films from wreaking havoc with the conviction of my own life.

FGM

if i can get this right, 135million women worldwide are living today with the consequences of female genital mutilation, not to mention the millions of little women enduring procedures in this very moment. a sapling hedonist, i cannot imagine life without a clitoris. cannot imagine having my rosebud sawn off with a razor blade in a dusty paddock, while my mother/sisters/aunties/grandmothers sit on me. can you?

the perpetrators consider that it can be a kind of chastity belt, insofar as to say that the girls are neutered and restitched such that the vaginal opening is taut to the size of a five cent piece (at most) ensuring that any premarital promiscuities are documented in the inevitable tearing of such a tiny orifice. stories abound that the new vagina is barely large enough to piddle through whereby the contents of the bladder sieve through the opening as though an ocean through a nostril.

a french OBGYN and sexual trauma councellor is now building a hospital in west africa to !reverse! the circumcision and resensitise the 'prosthetic' clitoris. the service is free (thank god as the fee would be equivilent to two years wage for some women). incredibly, if you want to help, you can by ADOPTING A CLITORIS!

visit www.clitoraid.org for more information.

tiffs

having been sufficiently disemboweled by grotesque gutbug am now lying in bed compiling a list of the works in great erotic literary canon; listening to tom screw the linen cupboard (brand new screws); looking forward to celebrating the engagement of florence&walter, let us call them.

according to someone, i am having an emotional affair, but i am absolutely not. insofar as to say that i am not in the least bit interested in this person beyond their capacity to regale the intricacies of a romance-gone-wrong and provide something of an esteem boost at the same time. do not word flirt, do not provide overly intimate details of body, do not even sign off. beside the fact that i am deeply in it with tom, have definitely surpassed the allure of him by now, surely, and certainly don't intend to screw up what little chance i have of breaking fast with tiffy.

oops

oops. so coming off the contraceptive pill for mental health reasons has turned out to be the best idea yet, the volition has gone, the anxiety has gone; (or perhaps that's lexapro talking). i no longer need to hurl a fan/mug/pot/phone/fist at tom, which believe you me, is darned relief, like an angel swooped down and wee'd over me. and then an evening of passion, an evening of lovely besheer-frock'd groping between tom and i, all the good kisses; and then tom goes and comes all over the womb. fuck.

'i know i shouldn't have, i'm sorry' he said moments after.

'its okay tom' said i 'but i'm going to have to have that pill in the morning, unless you want a child.'

'okay, maybe you should take it' said he 'i'll give you half the cost'

'no you won't' said i, 'you'll give me all of it, you idiot.'

ah tom, any day now.

swingers

the peeper and i will go to a swingers club on saturday. we are interested in watching a couple make love. different to porn. unlike being the voyeur to one's auto-eroticising partner. unlike being the voyeur to one's self auto eroticising. watching. no touching. no talking. no breathing.

we are going to a place for couples. a full blown sex club. i very much doubt it will be of the calibre glimpsed in say anais's Clichy, however, the novelty of being a sex club virgin will surely make up for the venue's lack of class!

i think it is the beginning of something. the beginning of a beautiful friendship. believe you me, it is not the first time i have thought it. tom is vague, fey about it. i suspect he is either thrilled or disgusted, neither of which particularly bother me. but all i hope is that i'm not disgusted. tis the last thing i expect to be, and i expect to be many things.

until next time, i remain yours faithfully,

careless.x

a new project is underway. please visit ilovejillaroo@blogspot.com to have a look. it will be fairly scant for sometimes, but with the right amount of patience, we are hopeful for a treat of gargantuan proportions.

yours truly,

careful x

?lady chatterley's loverstory of okama sutramy secret life?

blogspot goes crazy in the style of late night sunday by the power to troppo di vino and troppo di return button. what ensues however is a something quite housebound, humourful, and potently fortified. thank you blogspot.

lolita

lady chatterley's lover

story of o

kama sutra

my secret life

delta of venus

tropic of capricorn

tropic of cancer

fanny hill

story of the eye

120 days of sodom

torture garden

bride stripped bare

diary of a chambermaid

searching for the important canonical works, what i'm really finding is that, amazingly, they were a modest cohort, modestly immodest.

the gols rosey complexion suggests immortality, and behaves thus. the gols ghost rose up as aforetomentioned, and peeper was repentant. gol forgave as gol always does, peeper renegged as peeper always does. Gol is now assuming habitat inside the lumpy stained nest of mrs m. hubbard, during the reprieve. What gol really wonders is what all the reasons were. the outline is vague, the colouring vaguer still. All that tends to happen is that gol more and more frequently falls from nest to nest. Gol misses peeper badly. It is the nature of gol's ghost, to mourne her reeper. It is nature.

After the gol's souls exploded unto the dirt, her ghost rose up with a rosey complexion. Her ghost was such that the peeper thought her recovered. He put his hand out to her and said smuggly, i'm sorry gol, you can come back and make the nest again. Firstly, the gol had already dropped all of the good twigs, somewhere betwixt the perch and the fall, they had flang everywhich way. Secondly, doesn't a peeper know, that once you kick a gol off of the perch and explode all of her souls on the dirt that you can't put her back together again?

one time there was a girl and one time there was a peeper. they met they wooed they loved they lilted. they leaned to and fro together as though they were two insects, to and fro. one day the gorl and the peeper decided to build a nest together. The girl went off to find the twigs, she found many many good twigs. It took her a lot of time and strength, she was only one girl, and she was very happy about the nest. the girl carried the twigs back to the peeper and was ready to make the nest. When she got there the peeper said sorry and kicked her off the perch and onto the ground where she exploded all her souls all over the dirt. Poor girl.

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.