jugular dance

encore vide.

30 November 2003

Finally posted to Lola after long conversations with my crumbling family and am actually happy with what I have written and so therefore will not expound upon it here. Something has dawned upon me and will not allow me to shake it free, and I am wholly glad of its presence.
I want everyone in the whole world to read The World's Religions by Huston Smith. Everyone! My copy cost $15 in the RCC bookstore. If you need help finding one, contact me at any time of the day or night. I will find the ISBN number for you. We will travel together on horseback to any of the bazaars of the world so that we might find a copy in your language. I will traverse the black market for you. We will hold a bake sale to raise the $15 if you cannot afford it. Just promise me not to die having not read it!

And now a selection from Smith's section on Islam, which, as a white American woman, I can now attest to being, easily, the most misunderstood, misinterpreted complex of faith and culture to ever have existed. My own father believes the Quran includes injunctions to kill infidels! Here's what the Quran actually says: 'Turn away evil with that which is better' (42:37). Sounds awfully suspiciously familiar, doesn't it, O White Protestant America?! Kinda like Jesus, only without the demand that we lay down and allow our 'cheeks' to be trampled on.
{rant machine disengaged}

So, yeah, the selection: It's actually a Sufi tale entitled 'The Tale of the Sands', easily one of the most beautiful allegories I have read. We all know I'm a sucker for mysticism, ne?


A stream, from its source in far-off mountains, passing through every kind and description of countryside, at last reached the sands of the desert. Just as it had crossed every other barrier, the stream tried to cross this one, but it found that as fast as it ran into the sand, its waters disappeared.

It was convinced, however, that its destiny was to cross this desert, and yet there was no way. Now a hidden voice, coming from the desert itself, whispered: 'The Wind crosses the desert, and so can the stream'.

The stream objected that it was dashing itself against the sand, and only getting absorbed: that the wind could fly, and this was why it could cross a desert.

'By hurtling in your own accustomed way you cannot get across. You will either disappear or become a marsh. You must allow the wind to carry you over, to your destination'.

But how could this happen? 'By allowing yourself to be absorbed in the wind'.

This idea was not acceptable to the stream. After all, it had never been absorbed before. It did not want to lose its individuality. And, once having lost it, how was one to know that it could ever be regained?

'The wind', said the sand, 'performs this function. It takes up water, carries it over the desert, and then lets it fall again. Falling as rain, the water again becomes a river'.

'How can I know that this is true?'

'It is so, and if you do not believe it, you cannot become more than a quagmire, and even that could take many, many years. And it certainly is not the same as a stream'.

'But can I not remain the same stream that I am today?'

'You cannot in either case remain so', the whisper said. 'Your essential part is carried away and forms a stream again. You are called what you are even today because you do not know which part of you is the essential one'.

When it heard this, certain echoes began to arise in the thoughts of the stream. Dimly it remembered a state in which it - or some part of it? - had been held in the arms of a wind. It also remembered - or did it? - that this was the real thing, not necessarily the obvious thing, to do.

And the stream raised its vapor into the welcoming arms of the wind, which gently and easily bore it upwards and along, letting it fall softly as soon as they reached the roof of a mountain, many, many miles away. And because it had its doubts, the stream was able to remember and record more strongly in its mind the details of the experience. It reflected, 'Yes, now I have learned my true identity'.

The stream was learning. But the sands whispered: 'We know, because we see it happen day after day: and because we, the sands, extend from the riverside all the way to the mountain'.

And that is why it is said that the way in which the stream of Life is to continue on its journey is written in the Sands.


We place so much importance on individualism, on identity. It seems that 'identity' is a tempting rationalization for acquisitiveness; what we have is to define the limits of what we are. It makes a lot of sense that Islam, and especially Sufism, exists in the relatively undeveloped parts of the world: materialism becomes unimportant when faced with the challenge of allowing identity to fall away.

29 November 2003

Haven't posted to Lola in a long while. Haven't felt deep in a long while. Was all jazzed to be able to indulge my deepest thoughts in the midst of the completely normal workday but alas it cannot be. My whole being is trying to cope with Josh saying to me: 'Even though we're not together anymore, I'll always care about you and your family'. That was last Sunday. Mind still reeling. No nightmares yet, but daydreams aren't so pleasant. It's over! I can't believe it's over. It's over, I can feel it, in the way that it was over with me and Eric when I was eighteen years old. I'll go around dreaming of him and asking his friends if they think there's any hope but there will be no hope, and I will have to move in that towards something else, or towards nothing for awhile. I hope it is not over that way. What am I supposed to do at Christmas time, when I see him, when I go to kiss him and then remember that I cannot anymore?

I keep thinking of his wedding, and my brother's funeral. These will be equivalent with regard to my mourning. A while back when I was dealing with all the 'mommy' stuff I wrote some pieces imagining my family members in various states of death or detainment. I think the phrase I used regarding Chris was - ok, hang on, going to look it up - here we go -

My brother, six years in jail, hovered in his shade around the edge of the party ... My brother sulks by, passes through the door. His wind is cold but I manage a hand through his and he responds, even as he does not look back.

Yeah. Six years in jail. How uplifting. I will bury my brother - I told him that, he sighed but said nothing - and watch as the love of my life is married off to someone else. It is a bloody miracle I am writing this much! What would Lola say about the end of the affair? Probably that it was meant to be. Josh, for all his graces, is undeniably a passer-by. Any union between us will be artificial, no matter how hard we try and how much we desperately love each other. He exists in his own nucleus and cannot reach out to me. And how ready I was - am? - to make that enormous sacrifice and marry him! That is what Lola would observe, and she would prod my weeping shoulders gently towards the future.

But as it is I have no energy to assert anything on Lola's part beyond ce que je viens de dire. My imagination for her is dry because I am in pain. I am longing for so much right now. I am longing for Josh, and I am longing for recognition from him, and I am longing for my family and for my financial matters to straighten out. I am ground to a halt in my life. I am 'living with the brakes on' as MP said.
Some quotes from my highly brilliant religions instructor, whose contexts I can only partially recall:

  • 'The Romans didn't put up with rebellious bullshit!' (11/3/03 - referring to the Romans dispersing the Jews of the Empire into diaspora)

  • 'Who the fuck are you to tell me what God said?' (11/3/03 - referring to the Protestant dislike of the Catholic tendency to allow priests to interpret everything)

  • 'Jesus did not come back on that day, and it was a bit of a letdown!' (11/24/03 - referring to Seventh-Day Adventists' hope for the Second Coming sometime in the mid-1800s)

  • 'I'm not making up sexy things and talking about them just to get your attention!' (9/29/03 - ??)

  • 'Higher power...HP...Harry Potter...whatever!' (9/15/03 - talking about the concept of a higher power!)

  • 'What's a hippogriff?' (11/24/03 - referring to the mystical hybrid in the HP series; a question to which he was actually expecting an answer!)

OK, was worried that the new format here was going to be as it was at around 12:30 pm today...it sucked and I generally disliked it. Am digging being back with the old format for editing. Joel, did you see that brief warp in the time-space continuum? Or am I mad?

It's 8:41 pm now (11:41 east coast where all my loved ones are)...I ditched Lalo this eve. Not feeling well, teeth hurting, so I tell myself. I really just did not want to see him. Yeah, yeah, I can hear the chastisement, but I was just not up for a night of drinking and meaningless flirting with some dude who doesn't really have much to talk about besides his own sadness. I really just don't dig the fact that he is such an alcoholic. It was fun hanging with him that one night but that was before he drank a bottle of tequila and announced to everyone that he loved me (and then puked all over my car). I feel uncomfortable at the thought of being with him right now. I would rather be alone reading Marge Piercy or the stinkin' Bible than traipsing Riverside wasted with some guy who wants to hold my hand. I am so not romantically/sexually interested in Lalo. Amazing how at first I was so damn jazzed that he paid attention to me; it makes me slightly green now. It is akin to a night of babysitting, the night I might have spent with him. I feel bad for standing him up but there's no way I could get a hold of him to cancel except to call Lupe's house, which would most likely involve talking to Lupe herself, which is quite high on my list of things to avoid doing. Ai, ai. In good news I had a good, good time with G and her kids on Wednesday night-Thursday day, so perhaps I can hang out with them from time to time. Apparently her kids dug me as they requested me for Christmas. That was nice, ne?

Yeah, and my teeth really are hurting, it's not just a diabolical Lalo-avoiding scheme...hopefully I do not have tonsillitis...never had surgery, don't at all dig the idea of being told to count backwards from 100. My brother told me when he had his wisdom teeth out that he didn't even make it to 97. I am scared of going under! Isn't there an episode of Seinfeld about being accosted while under general anesthesia? Hehe...actually, my fear is not of being accosted but of the frightening dreams I might have, and of the general sense of a chunk of my life missing. Well, best to get over it, because as soon as my insurance becomes available I am going to have to have the old third molars taken out. Damned third molars.

Spending the night at G's was hilarious. Got slightly drunk with G and her boyfriend. Her kids are wonderful and evil simultaneously. They're all brilliantly intelligent yet have the worst attitudes; at least they entertained me! One of the many bright points of the evening was me explaining (pre-slight-drunkenness) to G's 14-year-old daughter and her 14-year-old friend what circumcision is, since apparently no one had ever explained this phenomenon. Then I got slightly drunk and began to talk about lizards speaking in Morse code, from what I can remember. Amanda found this uproariously hilarious.

I have not read the entire series of Harry Potter since August and I think the time is rapidly approaching for me to do that again. I, in the coming of the holidays, find myself yearning to read those passages about Harry and Cho and the winter dance. How I love Harry Potter!
Right, so I just got cable internet installed in my room and so I am zooming down the highway of knowledge, quickly acquiring recordings of all the terrible music I love and posting my meaningless thoughts to my blog with the speed of the gods!

28 November 2003

Fell asleep reading Marge Piercy poems last night. I think that's why I dreamt of loving a Jewish boy. I wish more and more desperately that I was Jewish; so much love, so much respect, so much ritual. I could always convert; but I'm not ethnically Jewish, and I would feel left out. I would have to learn so much; but wouldn't it be worth it to feel as though I belonged?

Another memory that passed through my mind a few days ago...my mother's socks. I used to get so embarrassed that my mom would wear socks in all these wacky colours, red and magenta and orange and green. I used to ask her to change her socks; she would refuse. Her sisters Phyllis and Theresa used to tease her at holiday parties. I remembered this on Monday, when I was putting on a pair of black socks for class. Oh, the ways in which I would torture my mother...

Had an exceptionally wonderful thought last night as I was falling asleep with 'Circles on the Water' in my hands - but I didn't write it down as I should have and now I cannot remember it. It was four words, and it began 'poems like...', but I can't remember the metaphor that occurred to me. I need a voice recorder in a bad way.

I also have dreams involving showing up at St. Cyril's for school even though I know that I have already completed my time there; but these dreams nearly never involve my mom's house. The ones that involve my mom's house involve North Hills High School. Usually there's not a whole lot of apprehension in the dreams about St. Cyril's. Apparently the two places represent two very different types of memories for me.

I don't think I much dig the Destiny's Child hip-hop rendition of 'Jingle Bells'. That Muzak provides a forum for this kind of garbage is a woe of our modern society. That I know that it's Destiny's Child singing provides me with a secret shame.

I am lonely right now. I'm going to go out with Lalo tomorrow night, but I doubt it will be too great. He'll get monstrously drunk and smoke a lot, and I'll just sort of sit there, slightly bored. I don't want to get drunk with him anymore. He just kind of bugs me now. I feel dirty with him. I think he still has a crush on me, and I don't want to be with anyone like that. I want someone clean who can take care of me. I don't want to have those deep conversations with him anymore. I don't want to bare any more of my soul to him. He doesn't understand me; he thinks he's deep but he has no ambition to do anything but be a wastoid. I don't want to be with someone - even 'with' them as a friend - who doesn't want to work. The way his voice slimes over his words infuriates me. If he wasn't a drunken loser I would like to be friends with him, but he is. He just represents bad memories about that house to me; even talking to him makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong.

My teeth hurt and I can barely open my mouth. I feel like a chipmunk when I smile. I am going to have to have my wisdom teeth pulled, and it is going to cost five hundred thousand dollars.

Yesterday I called Josh and he was at his mother's house, so I talked to her for a moment. She told me she loves me. I wonder if she knows that her son no longer does?

I want a husband. I cannot seem to escape that feeling, that thought, lately. Partially I am jealous of my friends who are married and getting pregnant with babies already. Partially I want to enter into a mature, sophisticated, loving relationship with someone who loves me and who can tell me whether he expects to be able to keep loving me beyond next autumn.

On Monday or Tuesday, can't remember which day, C and I were driving around at lunchtime listening to the old-school-R&B station. A song came on that had played at Lindsay and Sean's wedding, and bittersweetness hit me strongly. 'Baby let's just get married/We ain't gettin' no younger/I'll meet you at the altar' and etc. Lindsay and Sean danced to it at their wedding, and she was singing it to him with her arms around his neck and a look of absolute bliss on her face. I sat there, watching, jealous, wishing I could have that kind of love. Joy and pain welled up in my heart, together. I want to get married too!

C is a wonderful woman. But when you do something wrong or make a mistake she does not spare your feelings.

There is a Smashing Pumpkins Christmas song on Muzak currently. I'm really disturbed by that. Billy Corgan singing 'Toys for everyone' is just not cool.

I want him to dig me. Is it possible? Ai! I got yelled at the other day for using the internet while at work, so I have quit, but only after I realised (or was made to realise) that complete monitoring is possible from his position. He has seen everything; has he read what I have written? My Lola dream, my musings, not to mention the link to the website with all my writing...well, in a brief spurt of conscientious paranoia I decided to not mention his name, so implication is possible but the power of denial is on my side if it should come to that! I don't even know the first thing about him. There is no good reason I should feel any way or another about him. Am I just lonely? Well, sure, that's always a factor. But it is more on my part. I feel drawn to him. Obviously he feels nothing, as he is in no position to feel anything! But I feel drawn in. I wish I were not invisible. Ha! That's not fair, either...when I am noticed I flip out and retreat into my weasel-hole. But I am not noticed by the people I want. Josh doesn't notice me. Jorge didn't notice me. He doesn't notice me. Is it that only Mexican guys stuffed into creaking, uninspected, 1950s Chevy trucks notice me?

Shall I go to the Christmas party? G told me that no one is allowed to bring dates, so I won't be the only one without a boyfriend/husband there. That is one point pro. A point con is that I am not appropriately social for affairs like this. I don't want to go and not talk to anybody. The president of the company will be there, and the board of directors. It's not like going out to Applebee's and getting drunk with the Parkvale people. Plus he will be there - do I really want to go through the hell of buying a new outfit and shoes and putting on makeup and getting all jazzed and going there and staring at him for three hours and watching him pay not the slightest bit of attention to me? It's inevitable that that is what I will do if I go, because that is just the ritual of my life. I bought a new shirt before I went to Las Vegas because Andrew was going to go - and he didn't pay the slightest bit of attention to me. I should have learned my lesson but alas did not. I know it's what I will do, so do I really want to go through it? Buy a new dress, try to find shoes to match it, make sure my pantyhose are perfect, pull my hair back nicely, then get there and feel like the dumpy white girl that I am, and watch him flirt with the tellers or something similar. But he gave me quite a lingering glance as he passed on Monday. His face looked as though the sun were dawning over it. Maybe I will get to talk to him. That's a point pro. Maybe I will have the courage to sit and have a conversation with him. That itself is two points pro! I know full well that I will grow old and lonely before anything happens for me if I do not allow myself to establish contact with others. Therefore I should just go and try to talk, and see what happens. At least he replied to my email, and at least he says hi to me when he walks in the door. He didn't reply last time, and he doesn't say hi to anyone else. Perhaps his eye has been caught, or perhaps I am a dreamer. How will I ever know if I don't try to approach him? So I guess I will go, even though it means I will have to go to the mall and brave all the Christmas-shopping idiots to buy some clothes.

I just keep remembering something Lindsay's mom told me a long time ago, when Josh and I were first preparing to move in together. She was talking about the first time she saw Thane, her now-husband. They were working at the same restaurant, and she saw him and said, 'That's the man I'm going to marry'. That struck me so hard - and lately, with my obsession with finding a husband, it's lingered in my mind. Of course I've already seen him numerous times, and the first time I saw him was not especially momentous - I thought he was cute, but wasn't mortally attracted to him - but now that I have seen him, could he be the one? I sure know I didn't see Josh and think 'This is the one I'm going to marry' - although to be fair, I did go home and fantasize about him, and had a week-long crush on him. I was fourteen then! Now I'm a little older and I have a better idea of the kind of man I want to marry.

26 November 2003

'I'm All Shook Up' is playing now, and I have just realised that I am a huge Elvis Presley fan. I need to get some of his records; he truly rocks. Why did I never realise this before?

Wrote him this morning...wanted to establish contact...said thank you for some trivial office favour he had done me...he replied. How joyous! One word: 'Enjoy!' Exclamation point in original. Made me think of the Bjork song. 'I'm only into this to enjoy!'

Dreamt two nights ago of being at my mother's house. Realised this morning that near-invariably when I dream of being at my mother's house, two elements occur in the dream. One, I have slept over there and it is the very early morning (or very late at night), and I am getting ready to go to school, even though I know I have already graduated. There is usually some amount of apprehension because I don't know what classes I'm in, or where my homeroom is. Often, even though it is before sunrise, I realise that I have missed homeroom altogether, which usually adds to the sense of apprehension. Second, there are no lightbulbs. This happens often enough that it is significant - I go into the room that used to be my room, or the hallway, or the bathroom, and I try to turn the light on, but there is no light because the lightbulbs are burnt out. I don't know what that could mean, but I have some theories, and none of them are very easy to think about.

25 November 2003

Went to the other branch and saw him today...since Josh told me he has little hope of us being one again, I am trying desperately to get a hold of what it might be like to love someone else, or be loved by someone else. Could he love me? He glanced at me gently...he was holding a coffee cup...I doubt it was anything but in passing. But my hope is strangling me. Josh told me he loved me twice today on the phone. But he has dropped me into the ocean and I cannot hear him with the salt water in my ears.

Just had an extreme case of déjà vu. I am entirely convinced that a sequence of events that just occurred involving T asking B whether he wanted to call Dan from Caliber Motors and then coming from behind the line and going into B's office was dreamed by me many years ago. Highly frightening.

24 November 2003

Where do you go when the door is closed?
On into what you are meant for.

It is not good when you have to say to yourself, 'No, that quote isn't from the Bible, it's from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy'.

19 November 2003


Want to see my god?

But that's just for today.

Dude, also look at the Reformed Twiggy Ramirez! Is that fake lens flare punk rock or what?

He still wears lipstick better than most women I've seen. Tan guapo!

Josh got to see A Perfect Circle last night in Pittsburgh. Jenny is seething with jealousy. Grrrr. Seeth.

Last summer Jenny got to see Porcupine Tree in Los Angeles without Josh. However Josh was not as seething with jealousy as Jenny is currently.

18 November 2003

and what's the deal with the ad on the top of the page offering a search for 'men in pantyhose'? I am highly disturbed by that offer...oops...accidentally clicked the li - oh! oh, my...oh-ho-ho! ohh.........oh.

ohh, I'm definitely going to hell now.
Right...feeling slightly more positive...yesterday something vague and brilliant passed through me and somehow I was able to partially articulate what I now realise is the prime desire of my life and of my heart and soul, the desire for that love beyond anything else. That love which would uplift me and validate me. And I would desire to share it with another person who never realised he could be loved in that way, who does not know what it feels like to be loved in that way. The feeling is past me now, lurking beyond my reach, and I don't think I am able to look it in the face right now...the feeling that I have realised it is triumphant, but the desire itself is utterly sad to me. Are people for me? Is God for me? What should the direction of my life be? Towards God, towards people, towards my own inner life? It is a realisation very similar to the two other ones I have had recently - about Josh and about my intellectual life - in that even though it is vague and painful there is no turning back from it; no denying its reality.

  • Josh's stupid friends trying to get him to join 'match.com'...I've only been away three months, ai! Yeah, yesterday some lady in the dollar store called Josh a dirtbag and Josh told her to go fuck herself, get an education, and get back to him, all in front of the fifteen patrons of the store. I'm sure he'll be a hit on the dating scene.

  • someone put gum on the lock of my driver's side car door today...C thinks perhaps I slept in his parking spot the other night and now am the object of revenge.

  • having a good face day today...skin looking clear, hair silky, lips holding my lipstick well. the girl at the restaurant had a face covered with pocks and would not even make eye contact with me. no fear, my girl; I know what it is to be passed by.

  • enjoying my religions class almost unreasonably. my instructor is brilliant and mad. last night our discussion of christianity was so over-the-top, original, and bright that I wish I could have stayed all night just continuing to listen to him answer questions. I think I have finally got a glimpse of how important the Bible is; so much of our society shall be revealed to me through the importance it places on the books of the Bible. I think perhaps I should become a Jew. Then I will be able to love God and serve [insert pronoun here] without having to accept Jesus as my saviour, the very thought of which turns me slightly green. To think, I knew Mendel Rosenblum for all that time and never once approached him about teaching me his faith! He was a brilliant rabbi, I'm sure...perhaps I should write him...

  • read the book of Revelation last night before bed...I've read it before but never with this perspective, and never paying the proper amount of attention...fascinating. Some of modern fundamentalists' views on the end time, which are pulled from this book and from some of the prophetic books of the Torah, are such obvious, willing misinterpretations. Of course, if I had a friend in Jesus, I'd distort all the literature I could find to convince myself he was coming back soon, too.

17 November 2003

He acted so strange. As though he didn't have a care in the world of what we thought of him, or how we were looking at him. He is purposely quirky, subversive in attitude, odd. He knows the common perception of him and adds charcaol to his lines to enhance it, enrich it, make it all he is. He admits when he does not know. He talks about liking candy. He does not care what others think of him! This is so strange to me because it is a foreign attitude to me, me who spends her life obsessing over what others think of her.
A customer - an old man - pokes his head in the door, asks me where the mail slot is. I haven't heard him properly. D pokes into the conversation, stretches her perfect little legs out, propels him with her feminine mystique out the door and into the mailroom. I see them through the security window - he touches the back of her sweater. I am left standing, pointing vaguely.

I want men to touch the back of my sweater. I want men to imagine the seam of my pantyhose. Language betrays me! I do not want a group of men for these purposes. I want the ethereal man, the archetypal man, to be equipped with these capabilities. I want boys to be born into the world loving women like me. I want parents to teach their sons to love women like me. There are more women like me than there are women like D, small sweet women who use their femininity like an accidental spear in the side of the aching man. Dolores should be my name, I who am in constant sorrow and contemplation, I who feel the force of lost love in the universe, I whose skin wrinkles with the sadness of the world.

And Nina Gitana de la Primavera was supposed to be without sadness! I see this world and I am not stupid. If there is no sadness, there is no weight at all.

But it is not just the sadness of the world. It is personal sadness, swelling sadness that fills against the contours of my inner life. I am filled with cloud and phantasy, make-believing that I do not care about how I am treated. But I am not so diluted in supernature that I do not realise my skin is not the beautiful kind; my hair is not the beautiful kind; my wince, my smile, my song is not the beautiful kind. I stand in the supermarket against a wall of the radiant skin of the women whose skin is the beautiful kind. There is no other kind but the beautiful kind. My pain is humiliating, not illuminating. My smile is overlarge and inappropriate. My song wafts between the shelves of the continents and is lost. How can a woman like me not know she is not beautiful?

I ache to be rescued from this, taken into flight, made weightless, skin smoothed with the nuclear energy of stars. That is the only wish I have in life, for that kind of love which would validate who I am. And if that kind of love can only be found in God then what is the point of living the human life? That kind of love is the only point of life for me. It is what drives my creation, what fills my dreams, what motivates my work, that someone might notice what I do and love me in that way. Perhaps I fear loving God because it would be so completely what I ache for that I would need nothing else, and would commit suicide.

Can God take me into flight, make me weightless, smooth my skin with the nuclear energy of stars? Can man? Can we love each other in this way? Do all humans yearn for this secret, spreading, all-fulfilling love?

I could exist apart from the world. I could gather my maps, embark past Bellegrave and Etiwanda to the ends of what I know, where fireflies are in summer and corpses rot in winter, and write the poem of what I do not know. I could drive against the turns of the roads and lose myself in wandering. I could shun humankind and advance into the world of symbol, contemplating the alphabets and the rise and fall of stars. Could I? Could I? Could I, could I? Could I truly leave this world behind, dress in paper even in the falling snow? Could I be like Morgaine, content to be thought so unlovely, dark and ugly like the fairy-folk? Could I grow my hair long and break my eyeglasses in two, wandering as a nomad, wearing the skirts of gypsies? Could I break with my life and the love in it, let my core fade as the world barters me away, flings me onto the pyre? Is there something in me worth preserving? Or are words all I have?

The Jews were ecstatic at the love of the Lord. The Christians were ecstatic at the different way Christ defined God's love for humanity. Each love prompted each people to do things beyond the contemplation of ordinary humans today. Has their love been distilled into myth? Has history pieced together a mosaic of their love from fragments of individual souls? And yet the love which binds me does not prompt action anything like it did in these. Their love brought them united, sent them across worlds to follow God's promise, so amazed were they at this love which dripped onto their foreheads and coloured their souls rich and brown like coffee. My love sets me apart, colours me purple, crusts me with a strange glitter, makes me difficult to look at. It makes me want to dream, to dance, to seek out those who love to read my work and write for them until I die of exhaustion, hearing their words, reading their accents on my letters and pages. My love does not compel me to cross the desert, eat the bread from the sand, do anything so long as the beloved stays with me. My love has no target; it wends like an electric field, pulsing back into the skin-burn from which it emanates. It sets my flesh on fire! It burns, it burns! and there is no way to stop it burning.

There is no beloved!

Spent the weekend in my new room, struggling with the historical existence of Jesus. God, the things that torment me on the weekends! Why can't I just spend Saturday and Sunday getting high and skateboarding like all the other kids do?

Yeah...so I read the entire chapter of Matthew in the new testament, plus Huston Smith's picture of Christianity, and came away with some seriously worrisome conflicts in my soul. What else is new, eh?! I read Matthew before I read Smith, and was impressed with the utter arrogance of Christ's position. I am entirely sure that most modern Christians don't understand just how subversive and revolutionary the person of Christ really was. Huston Smith describes him as 'deeply Jewish'; what else could he be? Is Christ the world's first Christian? Hardly. He doesn't even claim himself to be any more the son of God than anyone else is! His point seems to be that we are all bar-Elois and bat-Elois, to misuse the little Hebrew I have learned - all sons and daughters of God. (Hey - I wish I knew the Hebrew plural of 'bat' and 'bar' just as much as you wish I did!) It is the damned 'Church' of the first and second and third and fourth and fifth centuries and their Creeds that downplayed Christ's message and made his nature more important! Unbelievable that a council of humans would convene to decide whether another human was in fact divine! As though humans know anything about the discernment of divinity!

And he was just here...and so I walked around stuttering feeling my stomach shaking and shivering...spoke to Josh before on the phone and was completely over-the-top...he acted weird, said he loved candycanes...didn't pay a lick of attention to me...I am invisible to him. Not invisible in the 'erotic' sense in which God is 'visible-invisible' to the Jews, as though veiled with a thin silk that allows the holiness to be revealed but the mystery to be retained. Truly invisible, as in passed-by invisible. Truly invisible as though nothing I can ever do or say in front of him will make the slightest register on his face. He works like sand, clay, nothing making a permanent mark, nothing taking a true register, nothing causing true pain.

I know nothing about him. I know nothing about him. I know nothing about him.

And I can never hope to!

He said goodbye. He walked back in and I smiled and he said 'I'm back'. He said 'Have a good Thanksgiving' and no one responded. He did not look at me. He did not look at me. He did not look at me. How will I ever be anything other than passed-by? How will I ever catch the eye of the unobservant? I will have to descend into the lion's den of his lair and sit there for hours, legs crossed, in Christmas clothes, not knowing what to say. Why does no one come to me? Am I so unlovely?

Why can I not be happy with what I have? Why can I not try as best I can to forge a life out of it, make it work, fall in love again, feel what I felt? Become blind again? Do the blind dance? My ego suffocates. It is the only choice for me! No one drops a pomegranate seed for me! No one watches for me from the high wall. I retreat into my phantasy where these things happen, where these dreams live. But these dreams are dead in the air. No one seeks me out, no one seeks someone like me out. If the others are seeking as I am there is no show of it, and I wander in the darkness scented with chlorophyll as though there is no other but the other me. Old men see in me a phantom of their former lives. Men of this age pass by me as though I am the phantom, I am the undead. The leaves of my vine pulse, turn grey, die in the wasting loveless air.

Why does no one come to me? Am I so unlovely?

14 November 2003


Spent last night in mi carro. Everyone at work yelled at me. They had given me addresses and phone numbers but I just couldn't bring myself to knock on someone's door at 11:00 pm and say 'Hey, can I crash in your kid's bedroom?' So I sat up most of the night in my car in the bank parking lot with all my wordly possessions, starting at every vocalisation and headlight and odd sound. The bakery down the way gets into business preposterously early. One of the proprietors showed up round about 3:30 or so, and the other came at 5:00. I was yawning, mumbling to myself, 'Time to make the donuts', 'I already made the donuts!' Damn commercials. Drove around for awhile before coming to Corona and settling. How depressing. But I'm moving into the new place tonight so hopefully that will prove more positive! Called C at like 6:00 this morning and went over to her house and took a shower. She let me sleep for like three hours in her kids' bunk beds. M and J kept opening the door to my room saying 'Jenny? Where's Jenny? Jenny!' and she told them, 'Next time you go into that room I'm going to beat you!' But they did anyhow, and she grabbed M and gave him a whopping, and he kept yelling, 'It wasn't me, Mommy, it was J!' Hilarious. Little D was toddling around with his big head looking like a little old man. Another grand thing is that last night I went to Taco Bell at like midnight because I was starving...haven't been eating much lately...and asked for a Cheesy Gordita Crunch, and lord of lords they had them! It's a secret-menu thing, I think, apparently like the bunless, four-patty 'Protein Burger' at In-N-Out that is served between two leaves of lettuce. Damn Atkins diet making everyone crazy! So I ordered two CGC's and ate them both and enjoyed them monstrously, in the bank parking lot cause I'm a loser. Ai...out.

13 November 2003


So last Friday night I went home and managed to get kicked out of my home! No big deal, I'm just a hussy who was spending too much time 'seducing' one of my roommates by way of sitting at the kitchen table discussing 'Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone' with him! God, how brazen. Who needs 'The Odyssey' and its annals of peril and adventure when you're a whore? Crazy goddamned Californians.

In other grand news...had an email conversation with him first thing this morning and together we braved the difficult task of getting the branch's timeclocks to work...bloody hell...and then he called and branched off from the task at hand to ask 'Are you very busy this morning?' with a soft laughing voice while he fooled with my computer to get things going...and together we cursed the timeclock programme for being evil...then later he showed up in the branch. What shoulders! And C and I were sitting at my desk working on a CD when he left, and he looked straight at me when he said goodbye, where usually he averts his eyes...come to think of it he said hello to me coming in the door which he almost never does...perhaps I should sew him a Cloak of Mystery for it is obvious he desires to always come calling Unannounced...his eyes were flitting...we can build a robot together...

the terminal between my computer and yours my brain and yours is walled with veins of blue electricity

Out (dreamily).

07 November 2003

Oh yeah...hehehehee...stupid Jorge from my anthro class was staring at me again now that pretty Febricia is not there...that girl misses more classes than anything. She's not really that pretty either, wears too much makeup. He was talking to the cartoon-loving instructor and I saw him from the front instead of on profile...quel visage! Also heard his voice speaking English for more than a word...quelle voix...but I can't stand it. He's not the sort for me. He's too beautiful and plain. We all know who is the sort for me. I won't even sign off cause I keep finding stuff to rant about. What a lonely sad empty Friday night where I sit here at my very important new accounts desk wondering whether I should finish 'The Odyssey' tonight or go see a movie...by myself. I began reading 'The Odyssey' because my manager B was telling me that he read both it and 'The Iliad' when he was in fifth grade and I felt like a loser because I'm twenty-two years old and supposedly a literate human being, yet I had never read either. So I found a copy of 'The Odyssey' that I had bought for thirty cents at a book fair a few years ago, and began it. It's the Danielle Steel of the ancient Greek world; sure the stories are entertaining and Odysseus is a pretty cool guy, but I fail to find deeper meaning in any of them. It is quick reading, though, and I understand why he got through it in fifth grade.
Oh yeah, and I have a sore throat! Why?????? I've been keeping my windows closed, keeping the fan off, etc. etc. etc. Do I need to wear a stinkin' scarf? Out here in sunny California?? Bloody hell, I think it's coming to that. Out.

Oh, the bitching just keeps on coming...I got a C on my anthro exam...stupid instructor is brilliant yet never lectures. We sit in class MWF from 8-9 am doing busy work like fifth-graders. Worksheets with pretty pictures! Oh to be a modern college student! So I got a C, because I know next to nothing about stupid primates...I marked like 12 questions I thought I had gotten wrong, and it turns out I missed 13, but completely different ones than the ones I thought I had missed! I was considering a dual major in anthro, something in linguistic anthro, but apparently you have to care about monkeys and lemurs to be an anthro major. How can I love people so much yet be classically indifferent to the creatures people evolved from? Ai...perhaps it has something to do with the things I love about people. I love thinking, learning, use of language, creativity. I love art, music, conversation, camaraderie. Granted, monkeys, lemurs, and even australopithecus afarensis didn't/don't engage in the things I despise about humans - SUV driving, forest-logging, racism, Britney Spears - but they also didn't use language or creativity. They may be close but they're not humans...should I love them as pets then? Should I love Lucy and the Taung child in the way that I love cats? Is that insulting to my ancestry? The closing argument is that I don't care!

Well...I think UCR has a linguistics program...maybe I'll go for that. I deeply desire to study language...and that goes better with writing than flippin' primatology, ne? Hopefully next fall I will begin studying Japanese...perhaps I will take some French classes just for review...or maybe I would be better off studying Spanish so my roommates won't make fun of me anymore.
Right...I'm an impenetrable loser. It's so sad. Out here in the middle of nowhere and I routinely avoid people as though they are mere droplets of milk. You would think I have no need for human interaction when actually it is the one craving of my existence - to be talked to, held, touched! God, I embarrass myself...this will have to be filtered through the Lola side...out.

Oh yeah, plus I keep my stupid inbox open on the message he sent me about gaining access to some stupid new accounts folder...whatever...keep thinking I'm going to come back from eating in solitude to some message in bold with his name glowing saying 'wanna have dinner with me tonight? will you make love to me?' God how pathetic! Keep checking it like every ten minutes...waiting for the angel music to start or something...when real people talk to me I slough them off like dead skin! I can't believe it, two guys in the last week I had a chance to talk to, to have real conversation, and I just speed up my steps and run away. You have to tie me down to talk to me. Ai, ai...another sad lonely boring empty weekend ahead...no classes Monday, no work Tuesday...how embarrassing my inner life is. You can't see it but I'm blushing. Right, out. Don't you know I've got wallowing to do?

06 November 2003

Right...he knows it's me calling even though my stupid phone says 'Rosemary'...he noticed that I call myself Jenny and he said 'hi Jenny' when he answered...his voice is niiiice...sigh...does he think it's nice when I say 'bye-uh' instead of 'bye' which I copied from Lindsay since she's so cool?...esperando que si...and he's so smart, we could build a robot together...ahh, what a faithless hussy I am!...out, I guess.

04 November 2003


Josh is pulling into the Giant Eagle parking lot. He accidentally cuts another driver off. He is apologetic in gesture but the guy is unaccepting. He pulls in next to Josh, ranting and screaming about Josh's traffic gaffe. Josh notices a 'Jesus Saves' bumper sticker on the guy's truck. Josh spreads his hands, palms-up, out in front of him like the Good Lord might have, and says, with his most irksome smile, 'Forgive me'. He is in the cereal aisle before the fundamentalist gets the joke.

Today, Josh is reminded of this story by something that happens to him. Josh drives pizzas. He is sent to another store of the chain he works for to get dough. While he is there the workers are commenting on how beautiful it is outside - 80F, sunny - and then remark that it is meant to snow at the end of the week. Josh, choking on the blood from his bleeding heart, nevertheless manages himself and says, 'And you think that global warming has no basis in fact!' Each of the three workers stings him with this epithet: 'Liberal!' The last one even makes sure to append the adjective 'tree-hugging' to it. Josh takes the first round of dough out to his car and returns for the second. Before exiting the store, he lifts his sunglasses slightly, grins his most irksome grin, gives the gentleman a mocking thumbs-up, and announces, 'The breadth of your rebuttal has overwhelmed me! I need some time to mull this over.' Upon this, he swirls his cloak of doom about him and departs.

Way to go, Josh of the pen, using the word 'breadth' correctly in a sentence! Don't let the man with the sword get you down.

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