don't write for the public, just write.
don't write for the public, just write.
don't write for the public, just write.
don't write for the public, just write.
don't write for the public, just write.
don't write for the public, just write.
don't write for the public, just write.
don't write for the public, just write.
don't write for the public, just write.
don't write for the public, just write.
write as if no one is watching.
especially your mother's family.
this is what i tell myself tonight as my fingers reach for the keys. i tell myself: please do not try for eloquence or an even keel. do not reach toward that horrible expectation to be fucking fair and unbiased and full of benevolence. i am not a god and don't want the responsibility of one. though as far as i can tell, gods are really just dead-beats who somehow managed to turn the abuse of neglect in to "mystery". maybe being a god is the freest thing an entity can be? still, i prefer the heat of my flesh to the cold skin of aloof perfection. i turn back through the pages of my ravaged and bent diary and find so many insights to cling to. and not simply of my own either. i've recorded the things friends have said to me. beautiful, intelligent, talented, cultured women who i am stunned by and proud to know. i thankfully had the good sense to write down the advice they gave me and the assessments they made. whether it be a day ago or a year ago, their words are a balm and a warm hug. just like everyone else i possess a tremendous talent for convincing myself that i'm Right. :) luckily, i am a diarist and can prove to myself otherwise. my wet and trembling eyes skate hungrily across the thin blue lines that carry my handwriting. i read page after page. the ink functions as a mirror. at times my script becomes wild and loopy as my emotions build and gather steam. other times, i am controlled. my script is measured and small, sure of the curve of an N and the beautiful slant of a T. in the diary i write in cursive so that i can write as fast as possible.
i will never be able to write fast enough.
what i wanted to talk about tonight is that marriage seems largely like a bunch of bullshit but doesn't that make me sound bitter? does it make me sound envious? i assure you i am not envious of married people and if any married person wants to know why that might be, i suggest you take a moment and look at how YOU speak about marriage. y'all don't exactly seem to be a fount of five star reviews. just sayin. y'all speak ATROCIOUSLY about what marriage entails. you use the worst language imaginable to speak about your spouse. it's sickening. it really is. not to mention totally offensive. WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU STILL MARRIED IF THAT'S HOW YOU REALLY FEEL? seriously??? why are you married? and please don't give me that "for the kids" crap. we are all so beyond that degraded, abusive, deformed logic. the desire to have children itself is, in our time and place, a pretty thin reason in and of itself to wed. i myself do not intend to procreate. i have absolutely no desire to be a mother. i do not want to bear children. in fact, i am doing my best to ensure that my particular bloodline has the least chance of survival possible (and if you met some of my family members, you'd understand why). aside from that glaring bit of judgement, i simply do not find babies to be at all compelling. i never have. i have more to offer this planet and humanity than my biological capabilities. i do not think that raising children would be a worthwhile way to spend my time. not at all. and why does everyone seem to throw logic out the fucking window when it comes to this topic??? as if EVERYONE needs to have a baby??? for all you know, i might end up being the WORST MOTHER IN THE WORLD! but i suppose it's the same dumbass glitch that makes us all believe that, upon someone's death, even the monsters among us go to heaven. because i'm not talking about the waiters, artists, and chefs i frequently hang out with, i'm talking about regular people in the suburbs. all the so-called Christians who esteem the institution of marriage. y'all should hear how your respective mate speaks about you when you aren't in the room. better yet, maybe you should go to your room and think about how you speak about your mate. use it as a mirror. look at how ugly you've become. look at what an ugly proposition you've presented marriage to be. think about all the things you deny your counterpart. think about all the rules you've wrapped around them and your association with one another. all the little signals you expect to see as PROOF that he or she really loves you. i am becoming convinced that it isn't love that most people want, it's protection of their fabulously tiny egos. as i move forward i realize more and more that i am simply uninterested in a conventional life. i am not interested in being involved in what others have termed a "real" relationship. if the utter shit y'all are describing is a "real" relationship, i prefer to play house, thank you.
i know 3 couples, maybe, who seem to truly love and respect each other. their love is an encouragement to me that maybe something different from what i've known exists. i don't want to be embittered or smug. of course i want to believe that i belong somewhere and that at some point in my life i will be appreciated. why do i need it to be "forever"? nothing is forever. we all march toward our demise. death is not a fiction. we age every day. we will all find another white hair in the mirror tomorrow. while i'm here and while i am able, i want to create as much joy and passion as possible. i don't need someone to promise the rest of their life to me in order to appreciate the absolutely stunning beauty of their humanity. the rest of a person's life is a huge thing. who am i to dictate the terms of it or feel entitled to make rules regarding it? love is not subject to scarcity. there is not a limit to how much love a person can feel. there is not a limit to how much beauty a person can behold and appreciate. and pain will come regardless so let's just get over our egos and let people be who they are. if anything, that's what i want. i want to be myself. i want you to be yourself. i don't want to be a parent. i don't want to suppress another human being. i want a man that i might love to come back to me freely at night. i don't want a man to lay next to me out of a sense of obligation or pathetic fear. i've had that and it is torture. it is torture to lay next to the sleeping body of someone and know, for a fact, that they are only there because it has become expected, because it has become comfortable. i would rather risk my heart being broken over and over than ever suffer that shit again. why should anyone think my heart too fragile to withstand the risk? i'm an orphan, guys. we're tough. and like most tough motherfuckers, we are capable of tremendous love. we are capable of ushering forth tremendous compassion, beauty, understanding, patience, and appreciation for the hardships and horrors inherent to humanity. what i am no longer capable of (and i hope my siblings aren't either) is allowing another person or social expectation to limit the amount of pleasure, beauty, and love that exists in my life. if someone loves me for a day or a year or 10 years, it is a gift so long as we are both being ourselves. i don't need an ordination to know it or a tradition to approve it. my mother would high-five me and kiss my forehead and hug me so tight and say, "little girl, you better suck every bit of joy you can out of this experience". i know because she said it to me often enough when she was alive. she knew my heart. she knew how soft it is, how eager to please and comfort. she worried that it would be taken advantage of. it has been, in horrible ways, but i am not afraid of testing other waters. i know how to be myself. i know my own death will find me. i am afraid of it finding me too soon. i am afraid of it finding me in the midst of some unreasonable fear or expectation that prevents me from knowing the world in all it's sorrowful glory. i am afraid of it finding me before i kiss the weary eyes of another human being who has also been subject to the wrath of this world's winds and retributions.
fin.
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