Saturday, 2 May 2015

Notebook, June 19, 1990


Forgiveness will infect me
slowly.
Poison for me to swallow.
Oh, but how much better
I will feel.
How much better I will
feel.

Hate is nothing precious,
nothing scarce.
And my love for you,
so out of touch.
This love I have lost for you,
I never hope to find again.

Yet, let forgiveness color
my memories.
Let it color my
reality.
Because it surely will.

For now I will remember,
because one day I will
forget.
And when I am surprised
once again,
never worry—
you never need to worry.

Forgiveness will come.

Diary entry, February 3, 1983


Mom is back home today FOR GOOD!


Friday, 1 May 2015

Email, May 18, 2005

Thanks for the email, I’m fine.

I’m surprised that you would think anything is wrong.

Nothing is wrong, just like you did these past several months I’ve been taking time for myself to work on things.  But I appreciate your concern.  Everything is fine.   I hope you had a nice birthday.  Your boyfriend sounds nice.  Unfortunately we aren’t having visitors right now, but thanks for the offer.

I hope your job’s going well.


Love, me

Thursday, 30 April 2015

Diary entry, 1994


Erica calls me a couple of days after Thanksgiving.  We talk for a while about work and debts and boyfriends.  I thought I knew everything but now I realize I know almost as close to nothing as you can get without having fallen here on accident from another planet.

Searching

Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster... for when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.


― Friedrich Nietzsche

Wednesday, 29 April 2015

Diary entry, April 21, 2014


She has a memory.  One beautiful memory.  Carefully held in the palm of her hands, so that no one else might find it and steal it.  She must leave it nowhere.  It must always remain with her.  The memory of that one summer morning, while they still slept.  The pavement of the driveway cool on her bare feet as she stepped into the shadow cast by the huge Mountain Ash in the front yard, the sun burning golden at the edges.  No one must have this moment.  This moment must never be touched.

Because she must hold it so close and so carefully, she cannot hold onto any others.  She lets the pictures framed in broken glass fall through her fingers.  There must only be one world.  One world, underneath the tree, where no one else exists.  Let the others sleep.  Let them all sleep.  She is a girl standing in the shadow of a golden halo.  She must never step out.  She must live here forever.


if you must hear a story here is one for you if you must hear a story i know one or two if i tell you a story i will only laugh if i tell you a story it will surely be quite daft once upon a time in a room without a view there was a little girl or maybe one or two he was strange he was weird he was a big buffoon he had dandruff in his hair he liked to play the spoons there was a connection you see between the first group and the last there was a line between the trees when he was at last invited back bring the little girl see if this time she will learn bring the little brat after all it is her turn but the little girl was bad and ugly through and through at last they all gave up and tossed her in this room you cannot come back they whispered into her ear you belong to us but we don’t want you here so now she skips off into a night without a gentle end she looks behind for the plagues that they might send i am one of them whether i am here or there i am one of them my life you cannot spare la la la la you cannot break the wall la la la la it’s a hundred feet tall guarded all around by a thousand beastly men their axes and their spikes pointed square at her neck la la la la here it is I smile la la la la we knew this all the while humdumdedum together we will go humdumpudum ours is not to know