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May 30, 2006
If I were a mother
If I were a mother. What would that mean? Ample
lap. I can be Susie, who only loved. What did it feel like to
be loved by her? She was calm, soft, strong. Completely loveable,
just as she was. Can compassion be hot? Can maternalism be hot?
Why does my self-worth hinge on being sexually attractive? If
I keep the remote (interesting word) boyfriend and the husband
and the fat body, then if no one wants me, it isn't because of
who I am. I was never wanted by anyone except a dead person who
never knew me. Dead men are always very remote.
Really want to diss. Cry. Want to cry, but
I'm too much of a hardass. Never apply yourself because if you
don't, you'll never fail. Not afraid of success like Christian
says. I'm just afraid of failure. Okay, so now I'm old, and if
someone doeisn't like me, maybe now it's because I'm old. Maybe
I don't no longer need the unhealthy body as an excuse.
Remote boyfriend. Remote father. My father
only exists in my mind. I want to perform this. What about a
this process? What would it be like? I could work with Le. Le
adored his father who died several years ago, and my dad died
before I was born. We keep talking about doing a performance
about our fathers. I could write something beautiful. I'm moaning
low in my throat. My body is a performer writhing in desire when
I perform, like a silly whining dog. My body doesn't want to
whisper. It could include graphics… big photos of the dad I never
knew.
I just want to feel. That's why I hurt my fingers.
To FEEL SOMETHING. I hurt myself. The pain is in my heart, but
if I ever let myself feel anything, maybe even this will be okay.
What is the meaning of life? To ask what is the meaning of life.
I never give Bill the kind of compassion and
attention I give myself. He's neglected. He gets my attention,
but in a way that's directed toward controlling him. But the
attention isn't toward him, who and how he is. Why not direct
all this curiosity. CURIOSITY, Alex, you brag about your curiosity,
but the curiosity you direct toward him is about what he's doing
that might hurt you.
I've been more into us and me than I've been
into him. I ask him questions, but most of my questions are about
us. Scary questions that I know are gonna hurt me. WHy do I do
that?
When we were tripping on New Years day, I found
him fascinating. I'm smiling about it. Who is he, really? Be
fascinated. Who is he REALLY ? I should call and tell
him. My arms are tingling afraid. Why is calling him making me
afraid?
I want to do a performance. Talk to Gene! I'll
call Gene Hosey...
I called him, and Gene said, “Write about what you want to talk
about and keep them in separate sections, until you build a performance.
Don't preach! Science bears out that most people are stupid.
Call Ann at Open Stage and use my name."
What am I so worried about? The way out is
through the needle. The steeple. The thread through the beacon's
eye. The race is over. The end. The thoroughfare. I don't want
to write. Why not? My body is so tight.
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