Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Sunday, August 11, 2013
8.11
Whenever I think about how the Egyptians had 3 names that functioned on different levels of privacy, I think about my telephone number.
Especially now that our numbers are just saved away, hidden behind names, nicknames and emoji drunkenly typed to help you remember that Holly is the sexy dancer and Alice is the raccoon hunter, I feel like I am hosting some sort of secret life. Especially now that most of my private conversations are done through my phone, or can be accessed through my phone, and that phone number is connected to a giant, nameless corporation that can make enough excuses to look at those conversations and only possibly be breaking some sort of privacy law. Because, let's be honest, I have no clue what terms and conditions I have accepted.
Especially now that technology has matured to a point where I document my appearance daily and my diet fairly regularly, and can privately show them to my friend and probably some giant, nameless corporation in an instant, or let them sit on my phone until they go into my computer to sit until that computer dies, and I forget about them.
Especially now that I usually get someone's phone number as soon as I decide I would ever want to see them again, or I feel to awkward to say no. Because who says no? and that means I've agreed, on some level, to have interest, on some level, in the idea of sharing aspects of my life with them, or that I already have shared those aspects, and I liked it enough to want more. My telephone digits are almost like an approval stamp on our shared aspects as well as a welcome mat for more. But, somehow, it is as if we then threw our mats from our doorsteps and tossed them in a basement to live on a giant pile of floor mats, because I will literally never look at that mat until some one asks if they can copy it. We are literally working on resolving that issue entirely with tapping our phones together technology.
Especially now that I remember practicing, on those brown carpet stairs, introducing myself to police officers if I was ever lost. I'd say, "hi my name is booga booga, and I live at ladeedah doodle do. My telephone number is bipbipbipbipbipbipbip. Will you help me call my parents please?", and I let those things shape my identity as a 5 year old. I loved letter writing practice where I rehearsed drawing those beautiful 10 numbers. Their curves and angles were the road map to my communication.
Especially now that plugging my phone in at night, so that it may recharge while I sleep inches away, is seriously the last thing I do before I also attempt a recharge. Then, together, we tell my loved ones how much they mean to us and how much the bullshit they experienced must suck before we decide we are done for the day. Two minutes later my phone says "buzz buzz" which stands for "well maybe", and sometimes we squint into the bright abyss of notifications before it becomes too much.
Especially now that our numbers are just saved away, hidden behind names, nicknames and emoji drunkenly typed to help you remember that Holly is the sexy dancer and Alice is the raccoon hunter, I feel like I am hosting some sort of secret life. Especially now that most of my private conversations are done through my phone, or can be accessed through my phone, and that phone number is connected to a giant, nameless corporation that can make enough excuses to look at those conversations and only possibly be breaking some sort of privacy law. Because, let's be honest, I have no clue what terms and conditions I have accepted.
Especially now that technology has matured to a point where I document my appearance daily and my diet fairly regularly, and can privately show them to my friend and probably some giant, nameless corporation in an instant, or let them sit on my phone until they go into my computer to sit until that computer dies, and I forget about them.
Especially now that I usually get someone's phone number as soon as I decide I would ever want to see them again, or I feel to awkward to say no. Because who says no? and that means I've agreed, on some level, to have interest, on some level, in the idea of sharing aspects of my life with them, or that I already have shared those aspects, and I liked it enough to want more. My telephone digits are almost like an approval stamp on our shared aspects as well as a welcome mat for more. But, somehow, it is as if we then threw our mats from our doorsteps and tossed them in a basement to live on a giant pile of floor mats, because I will literally never look at that mat until some one asks if they can copy it. We are literally working on resolving that issue entirely with tapping our phones together technology.
Especially now that I remember practicing, on those brown carpet stairs, introducing myself to police officers if I was ever lost. I'd say, "hi my name is booga booga, and I live at ladeedah doodle do. My telephone number is bipbipbipbipbipbipbip. Will you help me call my parents please?", and I let those things shape my identity as a 5 year old. I loved letter writing practice where I rehearsed drawing those beautiful 10 numbers. Their curves and angles were the road map to my communication.
Especially now that plugging my phone in at night, so that it may recharge while I sleep inches away, is seriously the last thing I do before I also attempt a recharge. Then, together, we tell my loved ones how much they mean to us and how much the bullshit they experienced must suck before we decide we are done for the day. Two minutes later my phone says "buzz buzz" which stands for "well maybe", and sometimes we squint into the bright abyss of notifications before it becomes too much.
Monday, July 1, 2013
7.1
When I left for breakfast, I could tell this was a mistake.
I was too new. I had no idea how he could trust me with this. I could feel my eyes glued to the preceding brake lights. This was hell. I could feel the weight of the phone in my pocket against my heart with each beat. I wiped the corners of my eyes with my index fingers. I could do this. I knew how to do this. He'd walked me through it multiple times, but only within his apartment, leaving my fear of "public speaking" hanging to dry. When I had expressed this to him, he seemed disillusioned.
I laid down calmly and looked up at her face. She had the nostril hairs of a man. For a moment I was snow white with prince charming leaning down to save me, and she touched my shoulder. She brought her mask over her nose and I searched her eyes. She brought her hand above me and we looked at it. "This," she sings softly, "This will protect you."
and with her hand she ties my toes to my ears through my belly button. She slides her fingers beneath the strings. I can see her breathing suck the fabric in and out, leaving a faint wet spot from excitement. I want this as much as her.
When I wake up, I turn to the mirror and see her smiling behind me. My legs sit in the chair, and my torso is slumped against it. I am aware of pressure beneath my eyes. "How'd it go?" I inquire.
"Well" She replied cheerfully.
"You are beautiful"
I was too new. I had no idea how he could trust me with this. I could feel my eyes glued to the preceding brake lights. This was hell. I could feel the weight of the phone in my pocket against my heart with each beat. I wiped the corners of my eyes with my index fingers. I could do this. I knew how to do this. He'd walked me through it multiple times, but only within his apartment, leaving my fear of "public speaking" hanging to dry. When I had expressed this to him, he seemed disillusioned.
I laid down calmly and looked up at her face. She had the nostril hairs of a man. For a moment I was snow white with prince charming leaning down to save me, and she touched my shoulder. She brought her mask over her nose and I searched her eyes. She brought her hand above me and we looked at it. "This," she sings softly, "This will protect you."
and with her hand she ties my toes to my ears through my belly button. She slides her fingers beneath the strings. I can see her breathing suck the fabric in and out, leaving a faint wet spot from excitement. I want this as much as her.
When I wake up, I turn to the mirror and see her smiling behind me. My legs sit in the chair, and my torso is slumped against it. I am aware of pressure beneath my eyes. "How'd it go?" I inquire.
"Well" She replied cheerfully.
"You are beautiful"
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
6.11/2
He was still there when I woke up. I thought he had left sometime around 3, when the door was opened and closed. But now, in the clear light of 6:27am, I could see him laid out on my couch. He was turned facing the back, my mother's blanket covering him and a good portion of the floor. I tried to pull off my best fake sleeping (perfected in the days of not getting up for church), but I was pretty sure my breathing had already changed due to my surprise, dread. He was also much too quiet to be alseep, but was not making any noise.
I counted to 100, being very aware the sound my eyelashes made against my pillow, waiting for him to move, cough, anything. At this moment, I wanted more than anything, not to have a studio apartment. I breathed deeply through my nose and started to "wake up". I saw his back tense as I sat up. I checked my phone for about 30 seconds trying to see how this would play out, and once it became clear he was going to keep playing the sleep card, I swung my feet off onto my floor.
Nothing.
It crossed my mind that he was dead.
I checked for and found signs of breathing, but even with me staring at him for a good 8 counts, he didn't turn over or open his eyes.
Whatever.
I made my bed quietly and went in to the bathroom.
- he's still here
- ....
- what doido?
- is he next to you?
- no, couch
- well you can't take it back now
- hah thanks you cunt
- xo come rub mine
I took a shower, because what else do you do in the only other room of cramped, city apartments? As I scrubbed my scalp with citrus shampoo, I hoped that, with the loud white noise, he would take the opportunity to wake up, leave, whatever. When I stepped out of the shower, there was only the water running down the pipe and silence. I took pretty long showers and certainly didn't rush this one. Hopefully, he was gone.
But as I opened the door, it became clear that he was far from gone. It was darker, which was common during storms in our area, but it made my unlit living room very dim. All the boxes I had flattened and put in the trash corner of the hall were stacked together in the middle of my apartment. His head stuck out from the middle of the makeshift room, and I could tell he was bare chested. He looked surprised to see me and expressed concern while pushing a stack of boxes to open an inviting "door". I laughed and inspected the creases of my forehead with my fingers to avoid his wide-eyed gaze. I asked what he was up to, and he beckoned me in the boxes.
As I stepped in, he unwrapped my towel, and I noticed he was naked. His friend, Alex, was sitting at his feet, smiling at my body. He always pulled shit like this. He gently wiggled the box door back into the wall, and I sat down on my discarded towel. Alex finally met my eyes and smiled sweetly. I kissed Alex softly on the cheek. I explained that I needed to go to work in an hour, and that he needed to decide whether or not he would give me a ride. Alex replied first informing me that I had plenty of time. They were laughing at each other. Their inside jokes killed me. I realized that Alex was still wearing her shirt, and I looked at him for answers. They told me I was stuck in my head.
I felt a little bit of guilt as I stood up and broke down the box fort with my shoulder. Their shouts asking me what my deal was went unanswered. I picked up my phone from the bathroom counter.
- their hair is too spiky
- lol waht?
- alex's here, come here
- dude [?]
- lol shut up i need a ride plz?
I pulled some clothes out of the hamper and dressed. He was rebuilding the fort. Alex was watching me through door, I had forgotten to close, while she started to brew coffee. I looked like a mess. It was getting darker. When I asked how bad the storm was supposed to be, they both seemed surprised and raised their eyebrows in unison. I was becoming fed up. How could they not see out the damn window?
I counted to 100, being very aware the sound my eyelashes made against my pillow, waiting for him to move, cough, anything. At this moment, I wanted more than anything, not to have a studio apartment. I breathed deeply through my nose and started to "wake up". I saw his back tense as I sat up. I checked my phone for about 30 seconds trying to see how this would play out, and once it became clear he was going to keep playing the sleep card, I swung my feet off onto my floor.
Nothing.
It crossed my mind that he was dead.
I checked for and found signs of breathing, but even with me staring at him for a good 8 counts, he didn't turn over or open his eyes.
Whatever.
I made my bed quietly and went in to the bathroom.
- he's still here
- ....
- what doido?
- is he next to you?
- no, couch
- well you can't take it back now
- hah thanks you cunt
- xo come rub mine
I took a shower, because what else do you do in the only other room of cramped, city apartments? As I scrubbed my scalp with citrus shampoo, I hoped that, with the loud white noise, he would take the opportunity to wake up, leave, whatever. When I stepped out of the shower, there was only the water running down the pipe and silence. I took pretty long showers and certainly didn't rush this one. Hopefully, he was gone.
But as I opened the door, it became clear that he was far from gone. It was darker, which was common during storms in our area, but it made my unlit living room very dim. All the boxes I had flattened and put in the trash corner of the hall were stacked together in the middle of my apartment. His head stuck out from the middle of the makeshift room, and I could tell he was bare chested. He looked surprised to see me and expressed concern while pushing a stack of boxes to open an inviting "door". I laughed and inspected the creases of my forehead with my fingers to avoid his wide-eyed gaze. I asked what he was up to, and he beckoned me in the boxes.
As I stepped in, he unwrapped my towel, and I noticed he was naked. His friend, Alex, was sitting at his feet, smiling at my body. He always pulled shit like this. He gently wiggled the box door back into the wall, and I sat down on my discarded towel. Alex finally met my eyes and smiled sweetly. I kissed Alex softly on the cheek. I explained that I needed to go to work in an hour, and that he needed to decide whether or not he would give me a ride. Alex replied first informing me that I had plenty of time. They were laughing at each other. Their inside jokes killed me. I realized that Alex was still wearing her shirt, and I looked at him for answers. They told me I was stuck in my head.
I felt a little bit of guilt as I stood up and broke down the box fort with my shoulder. Their shouts asking me what my deal was went unanswered. I picked up my phone from the bathroom counter.
- their hair is too spiky
- lol waht?
- alex's here, come here
- dude [?]
- lol shut up i need a ride plz?
I pulled some clothes out of the hamper and dressed. He was rebuilding the fort. Alex was watching me through door, I had forgotten to close, while she started to brew coffee. I looked like a mess. It was getting darker. When I asked how bad the storm was supposed to be, they both seemed surprised and raised their eyebrows in unison. I was becoming fed up. How could they not see out the damn window?
6.11
more work on identity
for her, I will always load freshies
when she cries, I will curl around her and trace over her tummy with the tips of my fingers
I will smile when she looks good and stare at myself in the mirror, over her shoulder, when she's complaining about so and so doing such and such.
for her, I will sit down during conversations and take my time listening to every side of the matter
I will always make sure she is satisfied before I fall asleep
the last piece of chocolate will always be left for her
for her, I will always load freshies
when she cries, I will curl around her and trace over her tummy with the tips of my fingers
I will smile when she looks good and stare at myself in the mirror, over her shoulder, when she's complaining about so and so doing such and such.
for her, I will sit down during conversations and take my time listening to every side of the matter
I will always make sure she is satisfied before I fall asleep
the last piece of chocolate will always be left for her
Friday, June 7, 2013
6.7
She said that I needed to write about identity.
I realized identity is fake.
We are our actions. Our actions are life.
but then there is all this bullshit in our head.
My issue with identity?
I can't recognize myself.
In the morning, it is "to whom do these legs belong?"
Catching myself in windows feels more like "CREEPY STALKER, oh that's me"
I guess I wanted her to pull a Tyra and force me to look in the mirror and name 10 nice things about myself. However, this never happened. Instead she formed this habit of placing her palms under my ears and staring sweetly into my eyebrains. This really ground my gears. All I could think of during this caring moment of self acceptance was how much neck fat I had lost in order for her to be able to feel my jaw (along with "how much longer can I get away with seeing her?"). I felt bad, but really there is no way to be able to explain.
It is like phantom limb.
but phantom body.
I realized identity is fake.
We are our actions. Our actions are life.
but then there is all this bullshit in our head.
My issue with identity?
I can't recognize myself.
In the morning, it is "to whom do these legs belong?"
Catching myself in windows feels more like "CREEPY STALKER, oh that's me"
I guess I wanted her to pull a Tyra and force me to look in the mirror and name 10 nice things about myself. However, this never happened. Instead she formed this habit of placing her palms under my ears and staring sweetly into my eyebrains. This really ground my gears. All I could think of during this caring moment of self acceptance was how much neck fat I had lost in order for her to be able to feel my jaw (along with "how much longer can I get away with seeing her?"). I felt bad, but really there is no way to be able to explain.
It is like phantom limb.
but phantom body.
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