pardon the hostile transgressions, i'm feeling a lot better. hormones.
i can't even do this right now. think i'm more in a reading mood. if i keep letting myself type, i'll go into how i feel flayed-open and burning like a salted fish, thick and preserved and flaking, ocean congealed in my eyes. oceans parlayed and denied, oh aching tide and salty sear. tight in my throat and the gashes sprout tears and screams to shatter their heavy veneers.
going to call nicole now.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Thursday, August 24, 2006
dear sweet wrath.
i am so sick of being rejected because i am "Too Nice," and i am further sickened by the fact that i go out of my way to make people feel supported (even if it IS by only squat, shitty little ME) and they have absolutely NO hesitation in throwing it back in my face. or simply ignoring me. this takes less energy, i presume.
do i look like a punching bag? am i one? or am i a walking orifice? would you rather, "Jamie's Lifelike Simulacrum?" do all your hostile words bounce right off of me? am i rubber and you are glue? or am i simply polymer? a bunch of bouncy, doughy fibers. the pillsbury doughwoman. eat my fucking confections, go ahead. go ahead!!!
yes, perhaps this stems from having a father who cared more about automobiles than children, which is FINE. yeah yeah yeah, i'm not stopping until i am done. and i could care LESS what anybody has to say. and it wasn't my fault that he was in vietnam. it's no excuse.
ok, so i'm too nice. what the hell? why do i let people sit on my face and FART repeatedly? continuously? i am so sick of taking heaped spoonfuls of shit from everyone, every day. and no, it's probably no because i'm here on the east coast (although the shit is slightly more subtle out west). i'm sick of abuse, i'm sick of being labelled, i'm sick of listening to people's petty problems that have actual solutions, i'm sick of having had health problems at such an early age and not having grown up normally. i'm sick of being categorized and i'm tired of being a statistic, and hey, did you know i was homeless? did you know that you can therefore treat me like a total whore and insult me up and down and ALL around, and get AWAY WITH IT???? huh???? you will be karmically re-compensated, in fact! rewarded, even!!
i have a target on my forehead which beseeches: "no backbone." please, go ahead! i have no older brothers who can break your legs; i have no boyfriend who could do the same, no do i have a father who thinks i am his little princess and will rearrange the face of anyone who doesn't treat me like a lady. yes, a lady.
i take after my mother, who has adapted complete misery and meaninglessness to her entire world. romantic, maybe...but not very practical, especially for longevity in someone who is notoriously moody, such as myself.
me me me me me memememmmmemeeeeee. me.
throw your feces at me. throw your paycheck at me. throw it all, i invite you. i want to rub my face in your success while i go down, down, down, while i swallow everything you have, your big load of fucking egotism, america. here i was thinking humility was the way to go...boy oh boy.
tell me how "weak" i am, like doreen did. tell me how i am not emotionally stable enough. tell me how i am not pretty enough, how i am not smart enough, how i am weird or jewish or buddhist or whatever you want to knock off. just knock it, because i am so SICK to DEATH of it. every bit.
i am never going to make it to work tomorrow. i dare somebody to offer me a fucking shoulder to cry on. i dare you to disagree with any of this. i dare you to tell me to go back to california. tell me. just get me the hell out of here. no where near this mountain of capitalist holier-than-though money-voodoo bullshit. count me OUT.
i didn't write this for sympathy. i'm not sure what my purpose was here, other than to get it the fuck out.
do i look like a punching bag? am i one? or am i a walking orifice? would you rather, "Jamie's Lifelike Simulacrum?" do all your hostile words bounce right off of me? am i rubber and you are glue? or am i simply polymer? a bunch of bouncy, doughy fibers. the pillsbury doughwoman. eat my fucking confections, go ahead. go ahead!!!
yes, perhaps this stems from having a father who cared more about automobiles than children, which is FINE. yeah yeah yeah, i'm not stopping until i am done. and i could care LESS what anybody has to say. and it wasn't my fault that he was in vietnam. it's no excuse.
ok, so i'm too nice. what the hell? why do i let people sit on my face and FART repeatedly? continuously? i am so sick of taking heaped spoonfuls of shit from everyone, every day. and no, it's probably no because i'm here on the east coast (although the shit is slightly more subtle out west). i'm sick of abuse, i'm sick of being labelled, i'm sick of listening to people's petty problems that have actual solutions, i'm sick of having had health problems at such an early age and not having grown up normally. i'm sick of being categorized and i'm tired of being a statistic, and hey, did you know i was homeless? did you know that you can therefore treat me like a total whore and insult me up and down and ALL around, and get AWAY WITH IT???? huh???? you will be karmically re-compensated, in fact! rewarded, even!!
i have a target on my forehead which beseeches: "no backbone." please, go ahead! i have no older brothers who can break your legs; i have no boyfriend who could do the same, no do i have a father who thinks i am his little princess and will rearrange the face of anyone who doesn't treat me like a lady. yes, a lady.
i take after my mother, who has adapted complete misery and meaninglessness to her entire world. romantic, maybe...but not very practical, especially for longevity in someone who is notoriously moody, such as myself.
me me me me me memememmmmemeeeeee. me.
throw your feces at me. throw your paycheck at me. throw it all, i invite you. i want to rub my face in your success while i go down, down, down, while i swallow everything you have, your big load of fucking egotism, america. here i was thinking humility was the way to go...boy oh boy.
tell me how "weak" i am, like doreen did. tell me how i am not emotionally stable enough. tell me how i am not pretty enough, how i am not smart enough, how i am weird or jewish or buddhist or whatever you want to knock off. just knock it, because i am so SICK to DEATH of it. every bit.
i am never going to make it to work tomorrow. i dare somebody to offer me a fucking shoulder to cry on. i dare you to disagree with any of this. i dare you to tell me to go back to california. tell me. just get me the hell out of here. no where near this mountain of capitalist holier-than-though money-voodoo bullshit. count me OUT.
i didn't write this for sympathy. i'm not sure what my purpose was here, other than to get it the fuck out.
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