but I think that is all it ever was 

   in hindsight; 20/20 I see that;still, there is something to be said for —well it is better I stop myself 

i only mostly miss is cock 

so why does my ex husband have to send me text messages at midnight.and shit on my brain 

my mom always gave me flowers on my birthday.i miss my mom 

That feeling, to be pushed away; shoved more like. It is such a burnt feeling. Always completely unexpected, as if too good requires some random and mad destroying. For years I felt so awful trying so hard all the time. And then getting no where. I remember when I finally gave up on ever winning my father’s love. You just give up. You get sick of the rejection. You get tired of hoping. Only to be severely let down. I was the age I was when I met Mr.Page; my seventh grade teacher. The one who died of AIDS just two years later but nobody told me. I turned to Mr. Page at that age; eleven going on twelve. And he saw it. He saw that I’d just never was going to get my dad’s love— I guess he was gay. He looked like Freddie Mercury, I’ve said; but he saved me then…. he was like a dad to me but he knew how to reach me. He tried. Nobody else ever did and he only adopted his favorites so, Steve was his other favorite, my English big love who threw me down on the ice the first time we met. But you get sick of the rejection. You give up. You get sick of feeling bad. You just don’t want to feel bad anymore 

After that it became that broken yellow brick road I wandered off 

 

 https://youtu.be/1h5dPptYucQ?si=XV3NQ_iAnPjxj3_d

cheers.the panic has hit.rock on

Retro reeper 

https://youtu.be/uUEj5EP9V8I?si=5kZc7ry7ifP8zB9C

will I make it through tomorrow is the question.because I really do not know

badass bitch.yo 

 

https://youtu.be/f6XmfR6TVpQ?si=Q7uTm7ifBrpQbBX8

My favorite version of Jane Eyre to film is with Charlotte Gainsbourg (and has Geraldine Chaplin in it). Zeffireli directed it; I think it is the best one and I cannot watch any other even as I tried. It is so understated and she is so real as Jane Eyre; so desolate that I believe her. It was how I imagined it and my connection as a reader was drawn to this deep and dreary depletion 

why should I mention this now 

   I do wonder 

I am thinking about life different now. the sum of our meaning if…. there is any 

I find I often think of the Brontës and all my most important favorite artists more lately than ever and I know I am a true dharma seeker —even Kerouac I find I wonder over how much he evolved as a human experience as the sum of his meaning  We may argue his influence was substantial to warrrnt his soul’s meaning s valid star but no I mean something deeper and more important as in —to the evolution of the soul

my path has only been so solitary because I don’t see anyone asking these questions and I’m more freakish to the majority to ask

Down a sidewalk path 

who do you want next to you when your world falls apart? 

But who

will actually be there for you?

    I guess now I know who really cares about me 

And who will be there for me 

1001 shades of Violet;the greg&diandra story/thescenecontinues; after the coffee place, the drive

You can get used to running

and not know it is time to calm down and grow some roses and tend your garden

You can get so used to running…. that you may find yourself not knowing how to  

       

                   stop

*****

“You should check your emails.”

She was aware of motion. Like a moving vehicle. The accent was confusing her.

It was a weird dream. Why was he telling her to check her emails? And why was she so uncomfortable sleeping this way?— up against a very cold ….glass?

Like a car window?

She sat bolt upright! ….Greg

And inconspicuously wiped her chin—she’d passed out against the inside of his car door. Hopefully he hadn’t become aware of this. 

But then….

No warning— she opened the passenger door when he made a stop at a traffic light. And hurled onto the cement ground —splat— and ….

the most remarkable thing about this is she did this before the light changed and shut the door without even flinching. And neatly, again wiped her face. 

“For the record, Wilson, this is your fault—why did you ply me with enough tia maria to have me barfing up Starbucks flavored vomit through my nose and ruin that for me for life?—please pull over here—“ and again she didn’t wait.

“We are actually closer to Imogene’s than we are to your hotel,” Greg told her when she had retracted herself back into his passenger seat and shut the door 

“Huh….wha….?” she hardly comprehended his words still trying to will away the urge to heave 

He reached over her and buckled her back into her seat 

as she flopped back against the seat 

and shut her eyes, 

her hair flopped too and heavy across her face in mad spirals of complete disorder giving her that roll in the hey-stack kind of look

After a moment she forgot. It was almost as if none of that had ever happened because —she wasn’t going to remember this part of the evening later. Or ever again. Completely wiped and burnt out; fried out of her brain’s data base

Did he know when he said to her,

“I’ll bring you to Imogene’s and just get your bag at the hotel in the morning,” he was saying 

more for himself as—he could not imagine she’d care either way by the state of her which it was a good thing she wouldn’t remember what she said because yes, it was his fault. He couldn’t suppress that still boyish wicked smile as he glanced at her buckled in the passenger seat held up only by the seat belt. her hair flopped over her face. Yet. Still …. (after how many years?) —she could still drive him crazy to distraction just by being near her

—he’d almost missed the turn 

to explain in defense of why I say I think I “need” to. for basic practical reasons. realizing most of my problems the last several years were about being stalked or invaded or harassed, pragmatically speaking dearests ….had I a man, these would not have been problems

I’d have gotten more done. I need a bodyguard. Even if only in name. It would free up so much of my time to just paint or write or whatever 

and for me, I know now, this really should not be difficult to find if I make it an exercise; approach it with exactly what I want the outcome to be

 

to my surprise lately I think about getting married again

…. I know it seems insane but I think I need to actually. I never thought I would but I do feel over my last one. I want to—this time be smarter how I find who I want to be with. About a year or so ago I started looking up ideas narrowing down what kind of man I want —not American. And I found there's an agency; they do tours in Europe and England for International people interested in meeting people and what the fuck, why not 

1001 Shades of Violet/Greg&Diandra;After the reception;the Coffee Place revisited

 

It is later, long after the bride and groom were off on their exciting holiday 

Greg and Diandra were back at the “coffee” place drinking what was starting to feel like their usual, only tonight switched to Tia Maria (with a spot of coffee)

with Diandra sunk low in the seat— tonight Greg found them a table further back against the corner wall, in a burgundy upholstered booth that insulated them from the noise going on. The noise was mostly at the bar and over an argument concerning bets on a game and every once in a lapse of arguing several at once called out angrily,

“Morty!!!” 

and after twenty minutes of this, Diandra started to wonder about Morty herself 

“Another?” someone seemed to say from the corner reaches of Diandra’s visage 

and in volley, reply in the opposite reaches came,

“she’ll have another—make it two doubles this time. Save a trip,” she heard Greg say but what he meant was fuzzy. Except she liked knowing there was something much too sweet possibly coming soon that kept her forgetting to care about all her troubles 

What were they again?

Uhhh…. 

where she should live —but where was she again —now?

So in her Tia Maria state (with spots of coffee) her thoughts went like this:

when ???? was she indeed…. what year exactly?….it was because —it felt—he was —he felt ….soooo familiar. And it was so easy to not care. And be lulled into the sense that yes…. she was safe ….here with him

who—?Greg…. Greg ? Greg Wilson ….which made no sense because she had lived in so many places since then. How could she be…. here —as if she never left?

 And then ….she did realize she knew this place. From ….years ago

She looked up at Greg now feeling like a loser for only just making the connection ….this was where it first happened—that night….they were here and somebody vomited on her—

That was why she had to borrow his sister’s uniform. The coffee place was just around the corner from —his old house 

Diandra’s heart started to pound. In her inebriated state it seemed to recall those deep hidden memories in the crevices of her thoughts

 ….she remembered the night sharply and now she stared up at Greg. He was watching her. And he saw her face as she realized this. He watched her look at the places in the room where ….each thing occurred ….how she arrived with Imogene and they both were with dates but Diandra was upset with the one she was with when Greg stepped into the pub and saw them. Was it coincidence he happened to go in there? She never asked. 

But in the end, after Imogene left with her date, Diandra’s date began to cause a scene when she said she was calling a cab to go home. That was when—to Diandra, Greg appeared from thin air. Not knowing he had been following them most of the night. And she still never knew. And somehow there were some punches and some blood and then the vomit all over Diandra’s black and white houndstooth dress; soaking it through and ruining it with—what was determined instantly: permanent stains; the garment reeked and was sufficiently considered then rendered a piece of trash.

That was why the proximity of his sister’s uniform proved valuable. Why the uniform? It was the only article of clothes at his house that would fit her that wouldn’t be immediately missed as his sister at the time had chicken pox and would not be back at school for awhile. 

And the disguise 

  allowed for a few anonymous clandestine meetings until his sister was fully recovered 

The Tia Maria arrived just as this memory mushroomed in her thoughts. 

Greg watched her expression. 

And as she started to fill in more and more of that evening …. that night ….it was really what he had said that made what happen 

happen 

He had said,

“he doesn’t have the right to touch you like that,” and when he said it he was holding back a kind of rage.

 But then soon after laughed saying, “at least he’s not like —what was that other one’s name who went to your university —he was that economics tosser who came to see you—I knew you hardly cared for that one. Too nice, too proper, would be too malleable for you, you’d be bored in a month.”

 She was unaware he even paid attention that closely until that night. 

 But then what he said next was what got through.

She suddenly remembered it clearly now. It had started to rain on the way back and outside his house they found a spot she could remove the clothes covered in vomit within the shelter of his jacket. And it was after when he put the clothes in the bin and was leading her inside as the rain was coming down

She had asked him what he meant and Diandra remembered ….

She remembered what he said as if it were yesterday. 

His reply stunned her with his accurate perception,

“a man like that would call you ‘dear’ and say ‘I love you my little squirrel—will you be my Mrs Squirrel?’ or some other stupid whatever name and simper all over you and you know what you’d do?—what you did do, and you know why?”

She had just looked up and waited before he said,

“because you can’t handle it, it just makes you run.”

He said it with such clarity. It held her in that moment to stare at him in the strange daze she had found herself in.

 

Once all the drama had ended with the bad date. He had that time too draped his jacket around her and walked her back to his house. They sneaked in unnoticed through the kitchen door. 

But it was something else he had said….

They were outside a little room where Greg was searching through the cleaned laundry when he found his sister’s uniform. 

He pointed down the hall to the bathroom.

Stood outside the frame of the bathroom doorway he put his right hand above her within the door frame. Even at his age, he was much taller than Diandra; she was always mistaken for a student because of her size. He then put his left hand on the other side of the door and trapped her 

“you don’t want the man to ask, you want him to just take —and not ask permission….” 

he didn’t do anything. He just stood there looking down at her 

They both knew she could have slipped past him. 

But it was his words that imprisoned her. His words. His ability to see what all the others never could even still ….and those words were only just the tip of the iceberg

but she knew he knew. and he knew she knew he knew. but she also knew why he knew. which was what made her want him so much even before this moment ….she always knew 

Because she didn’t run 

he did

****

She sat there now in the coffe place remembering ….as he saw her expression change ….to that first night 

there is nothing more terrifying than seeing a bolt of lightening when you are nowhere near shelter. which has happened before. And again yesterday. you count the seconds and run. and run. and run. I was not even hiking this time.is that my fate? not sure if open ground is worse than within several electrical wires over a bridge with running water and metal railings.(wo)man verses nature

fuck all

(Setting the Stage)More questions than answers/Thousand and one shades of Violet Greg&Diandra story

 

Imogene stood for a fleeting moment outside in her wedding dress. She was looking for Diandra hoping to ask her for a last minute favor, as now that the ceremony was over, she was thinking about so many last minute stupid details she’d forgotten to take care of. Things that couldn’t wait till she and Rodney returned from Capri…. where was she? Someone said they saw her wandering outside with ….? who….?

Imogene quickly spotted her by the glow of the rose-gold bride’s maid gown (which she had personally selected) just as Diandra was slipping inside the dark midnight navy groom’s suit jacket (which she had also personally selected) (she had a moment to admire how perfectly well the color combination exactly matched their new master suite interior before she shook herself back to her task)

“Diandra!! Diandra-darling!!” and shaking out the length of her wedding train, she freed her feet well enough to do a half run towards the parked cars where Diandra was talking— or was it arguing?—with…. Greg Wilson….? 

….Imogene bit her lip as she slowed down her pace approaching  them, she glanced quickly at Greg then back at Diandra 

“D— is….?” Imogene raised her brows in question as at that moment a guest called out to her from across the lawn 

….and as Imogene turned  to reply—that was the moment when  Diandra jerked on Greg’s sleeve and held a finger to her lips to indicate silence as she implored him with her sultry eyes

But not before Imogene caught that very last second of the departing look just as Diandra dropped a facade. Only to realize her friend recognized the intent. 

There are those moments when we find ourselves red handed and caught in the act without actually being in any act or action at all; but you’re caught anyhow because it is written all over your face ….but still

There was never anything ever confirmed or admitted to Imogene years ago. And it had never seriously been talked about between them. Diandra would just laugh very hard every time Imogene suggested ….’is there something going on with that boy and you, Miss Pim?’ 

Until now she had forgotten how Imogene liked to tease her about him. Trying to get her to come out and meet the friends over on the other side but Diandra always said she’d rather stay home and read or write. She didn’t want to meet men who were like her father. Which were the type Imogene had meant. 

The two now older friends exchanged silent messages with their eyes that perhaps they themselves didn’t know the words for. But it was a wedding day. An emotional day. A day when she had with her a friend from long ago where her own little love story began long ago with the man she finally got to marry. Coach Rod, who was on staff at the school, all those years ago —then married….

Her choice to be wise and bite her tongue would have surprised her younger self…. 

but then ….

Greg and Diandra all those years ago— she knew it…. she’d always suspected ….they all had, really but —nobody said anything at the school. Not at school. After. Everyone talked. 

Diandra felt the blood drain from her head from the realization the secret was out there —maybe not actually said but, definitely acknowledged and as Greg caught Diandra by the arms from behind as she stumbled from a wave of dizziness, his move spoke more in volumes 

“Uhrm—“ Imogene hesitated looking now at Greg and remembering the youth he once was. So angry all the time. He was worse after Diandra left. It was Rod who somehow got through to him. Coach Rod started a boxing club for boys soon after and Rod took Greg under his wing. Greg never forgot and always remained close to him after he left school.

“I just wanted to ask you D—if you wouldn’t mind looking after my flat?” Imogene pressed on as time was forcing the issue. “We’re moving into the house right after we get back and I know you were saying you’re at a lose end with your job—until I can get out of my lease I actually need someone living there— would you consider that?”

Diandra wasn’t sure what the question was,

“my return flight is for next Saturday, I was thinking of doing some shopping originally before what happened with work—so, sure, yeah, I can stay there till Saturday instead.”

But the odd pause that followed seemed to say she missed the question 

“So just the week?” Imogene sighed, “well, that’s fine—I can figure it out when I get back—“

Greg interrupted, looking at Diandra,

“are you in such a hurry to return to New York? It’s not like your job is demanding it.”

They were both now looking at her. Imogene felt, at that moment, suddenly grateful for whatever may be between them 

“Yeah but I have my own life to get back to there—“ 

“Oh! I’m sorry, of course, don’t worry about it, I’m sure I’ll think of something! Was just taking the chance you could. I forgot! You have cats, right? You were always a cat person, I should have thought!” Imogene said now 

“No—no….I don’t. I don’t have cats….. but I also have a lease and —stuff ….back there—that I should be doing,” she ended the last sentence flat.

It was getting rather nippy in the air but somehow the conversation seemed to hold everyone

“Have you heard anything from your job since what you told me happened?” Greg asked

The question now seemed like a wild notion to Diandra.

She looked up at Greg. 

“What?”

“Have you heard from your work since they fired you?”

There was an odd look on her face as she looked up and answered him,

“I haven’t checked my emails since I got here.”

fuck all

we create our own realities; who says we are stuck with theirs? 

https://youtu.be/pldftoUbM80?si=VWIzFgOoSsdwIEES

 

poet’s corner

alone in the waiting labyrinth 

follow the rose pedals to the door

he 

     catches

                  me 

& lights away all & every darkness 

& alas delivers me

these are the hardest days for me ever

I belong to me 

‘A Thousand and One Shades of Soft Violet’;note

Greg&DiandraStory ~

now under working title:

‘A Thousand and One Shades of Soft Violet’ /literary character exploring psychological theories through her study called ‘goodnight stories’ as she struggles with her own demons