Friday, July 8, 2011

Are you there God? It's me, Mo Mo.

Lately I have been spitting these things out with reckless abandon. Reckless, seriously a few pedestrians got hurt. Some entries are just sitting waiting to be published cause they...are so reckless. (F you grammmar!) But it's a weird feeling to vomit words onto a page, and view counter goes up, but there's no dialogue. So talk to me. I like to talk. Let's do it, 'I mean I think it's that time in our relationship, you know where we really talk. Where do you see this going? Because I like you I really like you'.

Monday, July 4, 2011

dear internet

I fear I secretly hate you. Before you, the things I shouldn't know I didn't. You have made me care about things i don't, and made me want to see people i don't care about, doing things and going places I never knew I wanted to see. You have made me instantly connected yet sitting on my hands; saying too much, too little. You have made me want to be heard, heard, heard, seen, seen, seen, here, here, here, but not be. You have helped me build narratives around past loves and likes, and future maybes and their future and past maybes. You have made me google instead of question, answer instead of sit in the not knowing. You have led me to type this. To self indulgently type this, to feel like I'm speaking, to feel like there is someone, something on the other end, proof. that I am heard, heard, heard, seen, seen. seen, here, here, here but alone. You have shortened my attention span, and given me friends I never speak to, invites to places I never go to, and letters i can't hold in my hand. You have given the anonymity to be callous, use poor grammar, to love, disregard capitalization, and feel so hard all over someone's inbox or wall. You have made me tweet, ping, and chirp and make noises no one listens to, without regard to music or song. You have assisted me in ultimatums, orations, appointments, and disappointments, apologies, and offers. You have made me brave, and weak, and sensitive, and overloaded.
You have in confidence given me a blank space, a true canvas, and this, this is how I fill it, not always because I have something to say, but because I can.

Sunday, July 3, 2011

New Zealand

My daddy used to climb through windows, I just used to assume that's how all daddies got into the house. Their shadows fought and I assumed that's how adults talked. We weren't allowed remotes, barbies or cable, and we went to qauker summer camps where they made us watch 'the red balloon'in french every friday, so these were things that were assumed would not happen. Things like this did not happen when your parents had masters and used the pool at Cornell. He threatened to move to New Zealand and I assumed that's where daddies went. A land full of divorced dads eating kiwi and citrus on an island. He went away, then came back again, then went away. And this seemed a natural dance. She cried, then seemed happy, then cried again, then cried more when i caught her crying. That's what mommies did, pretended to be happy.

He didn't move to New Zealand, he stopped climbing through windows, and got a place with his very own door in Rodchester. Which might have as well been New Zealand. He got a job there as an adjunct, teaching future engineers poetry. Slowly mom let us use the remote, and listen to Whitney Houston. She slept more, and snuck cigarettes in the basement. Daddy picked us up on weekends, in a taurus with leather seats. Seats that would burn you in Summertime. And he was forbidden to climb through windows, or set foot on sidewalks, and look her in the eye, so he stopped doing so. And it didn't matter that they had masters degrees and Phd's cause they couldn't talk.
And Daddy got a girlfriend named Carol, who was a social worker and wanted to talk to us about our feelings, once a month, at the Ground Round, and I just wanted to eat popcorn. And Jenny wondered how much Carol would have to pay if they weighed her for a meal. Carol gave us a barbie, which we took the head off, and buried in the basement under the stairs, next to the cigarettes. We named her Zelda, and visited her grave often. and Daddy got tired, tired of us, tired of fighting for us and with us. And Wednesdays and weekends turned to every other weekends, turned to once a month, turned to birthdays. And slowly Rodchester got farther and farther, and the taurus with the leather seats came less,and less and I developed an allergy to kiwis.

The One

Monogamy is a myth. It's a nice concept, it's a comforting concept.A protective construct. And maybe it works for people, or they think it works, pretend it works. But if you're a certain person your innately denying part of yourself. No one is completely monogamous, no one gets everything from one person. You can't expect to get everything from one person, you can't expect one person to be everything. If you do you're just setting yourself up to get fucked, and not in a fun way. And you. you're a romantic, and maybe yeah, maybe there's some judgment or filter in your head that makes you sexually monogamous. That makes you feel dirty or impure or less than for having impulses and attractions to more than one person. Because the truth is people are attractive and we each act on that attraction in different ways. You, you act with words and emotions. So you sexually commit to one person, cause that's comfortable for you. And I get that, you know cause you aren't necessarily a physical person. But don't fucking lie to me and tell me that you're emotionally monogamous, that you're intellectually monogamous. That you're incapable of loving more than one person, of sharing with more than one person. So how's that different than sex? How is that less or more intimate than sex? How is that any worse or better of a connection than sex? How is it any less or more hurtful? IT's not, it's what you attach to it. In that moment there is one person. And in that moment there's only you with that person. And as for sustaining that, I don't know that it's possible. Maybe it works for you, but don't tell me after you commit to someone you turn off your heart, you turn off your mind. It's just a different form of connection.