I'm being attacked again. By who you may ask? Well her, of course. And him. And maybe a couple of thems thrown in here and there. What mistakes have I made? Should I defend myself against their attacks? Throw up a shield? I'm a thief, they say. I steal people's happiness. I ruin their plans. I don't fit in with the mold that they have made for the society they surround themselves with, and they accept me into their folds thinking I will bestow upon them continuous amusements. But I am not some circus freak, set to 'perform' on command. I am a human being with thoughts and feelings, with needs and wants. I am curious. Oh god, so curious. If I press this button, which ones will react in reflex? If I push this domino just a little, will the whole of the world fall like they have set it up to?
No, I think not, and so I push and prod, dissect and dance around how they think the world should run. And they hate me for it. They claim I do it on purpose, that I have no respect for the sacred sanctity of others. Wrong, wrong, wrong. I have dignity, by God. I come from the South, not the region, not the racism, but from the pride. I have known dignity and respect and pride beyond any that their feeble minds could even comprehend. I know of shameful shortcomings and family secrets swept under the rug. Caged inside of this pathetic exterior is the soul of a lady, who can set tables and throw parties, who can divine matches and help the poor and without. I have the power to be what they cannot, and yet, I have fallen into their traps and made it to where they cannot see this beyond my paltry actions.
I am a lady, not black, not gray, but Wendy the White. She can't understand this because she is trash, but I am not and will not fall to her useless tricks.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
Maybe I'm Updating
God, what has happened? My mind has turned to mush. Maybe it has always been that way. I'm not sure. I see such problems with the way I am living now. I watch too much tv, eat too many preservatives, spend way way too much time on this idiot box I am typing on now. I need to clear my thoughts, need to get away. I'm going to the cabin this weekend. I've decided. I am going to take pictures. I am going to read Edgar Sawtelle and 1984. I am going to write and relax by God, maybe work on curing this harsh and removed tone that my words have taken. How funny that in a harsh and removed place I believe I will find the answer to the coldness of my mind. Nature is warm and inviting, the mother and womb of my thoughts. I need that loneliness, need it like the air I breathe. I have to rewrite my life, reset my goals.
Why are they so concerned with setting me up with a lifetime goal? With a location and an idea? I have spent so much time worrying over not fitting through these hoops that they want me to go through, and maybe all of my protestation against these shackles is exactly what they expect from me. Maybe they want me to believe that I am different to keep me the same. Think that my uniqueness is satisfactory so that I won't cause too much trouble, so that my contempt can be swept under the rug.
This is just a stream, a waterfall of words with no meaning. I've lost that meaning that I could once bestow on words with such accuracy. Where has it flown in its desperation? What have I sacrificed when I applied this haze around my mind so that I could not hear the whole of nature screaming in agony? So that I could no longer see the actions that I must perform in order to see myself as human? I am such a monster. I have become the monstrosity of which I spoke. The monstrosity of humanity. And I can't stop it. I am sitting in the cave unable to turn my head. Unable to look around and see where the hell I am, locate myself on a map. But even if I could, I have no idea what map to use because I can't trust them. I can't see what their intentions are, what their biasis would make them do to me. Harm me. Maybe they wouldn't. There is no way for me to tell, and where once I would have trusted them, now I am beginning to fear them.
There was a crazy man at the gas station today, looking for a ride. And I had no idea what he was doing. I thought he just wanted to talk to me, and then he goes and asks this woman who is alone if she is single, and I suddenly start looking at him. If I had been alone and driving, I would have given him a ride. What does that mean?
Why are they so concerned with setting me up with a lifetime goal? With a location and an idea? I have spent so much time worrying over not fitting through these hoops that they want me to go through, and maybe all of my protestation against these shackles is exactly what they expect from me. Maybe they want me to believe that I am different to keep me the same. Think that my uniqueness is satisfactory so that I won't cause too much trouble, so that my contempt can be swept under the rug.
This is just a stream, a waterfall of words with no meaning. I've lost that meaning that I could once bestow on words with such accuracy. Where has it flown in its desperation? What have I sacrificed when I applied this haze around my mind so that I could not hear the whole of nature screaming in agony? So that I could no longer see the actions that I must perform in order to see myself as human? I am such a monster. I have become the monstrosity of which I spoke. The monstrosity of humanity. And I can't stop it. I am sitting in the cave unable to turn my head. Unable to look around and see where the hell I am, locate myself on a map. But even if I could, I have no idea what map to use because I can't trust them. I can't see what their intentions are, what their biasis would make them do to me. Harm me. Maybe they wouldn't. There is no way for me to tell, and where once I would have trusted them, now I am beginning to fear them.
There was a crazy man at the gas station today, looking for a ride. And I had no idea what he was doing. I thought he just wanted to talk to me, and then he goes and asks this woman who is alone if she is single, and I suddenly start looking at him. If I had been alone and driving, I would have given him a ride. What does that mean?
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