30
The quaint apartment with aged wooden furniture. Here, she played with materials and forms in the hours of her own aquaintence. She had no television and a mini fridge. Exploring fermentation, oil paintings, manipulating seashells, and preserving rose petal. A walk to the beach to smell the ocean and feel small. Surrounded by a mountain range the fog crept in cozily creating mist that was heavy on the nostrils on a deep breath. Her garden faced her private entry way. The sound of the fountain that her landlord had gifted his wife in 1985 distinctly bubbled constantly.
She knew she could sink into an eternal silence and isolation because it gave her rest. The rural separation from reality was compelling and was existentially threatened by financial incentives to survive and bodily desire to be attended to passionately. The sanctuary would not last.
The smell of the misty air sang angelically with the ceremony of making herself a fresh cup of coffee. But, she never found the rest she dseserved. Her own internal cadence was fragementd and further penetrated by the greater existential threat urgency.
She sought philosophy and spiritualism to escape the unescapable body, which is where she failed - joining tradition of reason and the faculty of mind.
Fragmented by relativism she stretched herself thin. Adamently curious she was never consistent. And, so the tenson in her neck and shoulders escalated because she was never satisfied with her own categorical efforts to give reason to her nature.
She fell in love with a mad yound man. She disassociated in the free alcohol and homecooked meals of the 91 year old landlord in the evening with 3 hour conversations.
The extensive exploratory walks were transcendent as much as they were cyclical frameworks to conceive recurring thoughts more deeply. She melted so deeply into loving what she found to be liberations, she only grew sadder with what it would never amount to be and to what she did not have.
23
I could always just run away and be a preschool teacher.
Being with a straight, masculine man makes me feel crazy.
I mean truly disoriented, doubting of my judgements, doubting of my reason
so infeior in my plights. why do I always feel wrong?
Why does my mom say first I need to compromise?
Like I have not done that enough for her and her husband.
My father.
Like as a woman I don’t compromise every fucking day.
I don’t want to be possessed or controlled.
I am loccked in my internal disposition
It is my first inclination to leave not stay.
To make me a wife and mother
To expect me and avant erotic being
Desire me to be intelligent
Condone me when I am too sharp
Why do I entertain relations with men
It is is never different and it is never the same
Why does it enrage me when I am the partner of someone who still desires the voyeuristic pleasure of watching others on their phone
Why does it make me mad when he expresses support of the beauty of another which I am not
What does he desire me for
23
“How many men have you slept with?”
“Did you know a man can finish from the smell of the cunt alone?”
“Did you know a mustache is a homage to the cunt?”
“You need a bit more meat on your body, you aren’t quite the physique I like yet.”
I found an account on his phone dedicated to following hypersexualized women with large breasts, lips and behinds. A secret stash for porn endeavors
Ssssseptember 15
i drove past a crow sitting in a compostable brown paper to go container like it was a resting place
when it is a man that sends me into madness
is it truly a phenomenon of projection into a new space?
Rather, am i required to consider myself differently
in a way that is uncomfortable because i am wrong
nothing reaffirms i am a woman more than a man
who witnesses me in is desire to be masculine
as it is both differentiated and balanced
by the feminine that will propel their legacy
by the bodily matter
the distinct form
which personifies
their breasts and their vagina
the hair on their nipples
the accuulation of flesh
around their hips
it is a man that teaches me what a woman is
when i reconcile he understands i am not
i am the absence of what he is
he will make up for what i lack
when I make up for what he does
by my uterus
but i am not a woman
i do not see myself as opposite
as the complimentary other
or the missing link
any sekf-proclaimed woman who does it just as fallible
09.16
I reflect on how my perceived passivity enouraged over sharing from my landlord and the parents of Erix. Deep family details and compuslive, self-indulgent oversharing at the expense of my time. My input not warranted, I felt like I was being spoken at not to. As long as i smiled and nodded, offered an occasional exclamatory remark it was enough to induce this irrational but catering to ego of an outburt.
Dinners with Raymond
Running into Erix’s mom in the morning
09/17
I remember when I almost fainted from a dizzy spell talking to his mom in the morning, She was relentlessly pushing the medical infromation she scoured the internet for every day into own mouth.
I started to see black spots and had to sit down. She had always insisted she was a mystic - merging people with reality / their greater purpose.
My jaw is so misaligned and it makes my face assyemmterical. It is obvious by iphone and laptop camera.
“Sara”
He gave me something different because he lived in his own abstraction. Clean cream walls and white sheets humming in the scent of redwood trees. I mongered a careefree disposition of sleeping in, being fed, and doted over in their house of high windows, natural light, and familial ritual.
His inclination for sex was always expressed gently through the light, intentional touch of his finger tips. He would compress parts of my flesh instrumentalizing his hand to squeeze and pressurise the soft areas of my thighs and arms,
The way he would hold me, cuddle me, was with an endearing force that put my to sleep.
I will tell this story through my experiences with Raymond and Erix. I will merge my encounters that relate to my own identity formation with how they have made me feel and therefore only what I can assume they know about me. This labryinth of gender known through the corporeal shell naively reconciled with the inner experience.
I remember when I saw at the table and his son-in-law said I was too comfortable
Or when people were asking my landlord what was wrong with me for aspiring to live alone? what was I running from and was I pregnant?
Erix refusing to kiss me but have sex with me
his madness trickling to mine
09/16
I can only assume what they know of me based on how they treat me
09/17
the sensations are the gateways for my readers to feel the attachment, desire, and hope. it is also the starting point for how it will feel when it is taken away, distorted, and tarnished