honesty. i can't believe i'm being so candid and obsessive and brainless in an unlocked book.
little girl. ballerina. genius. alice. daughter. writer. that's what i want to be. (what i once was).
well, she's bulimic by nature. she lives for fine dining, but purges it so she can be thin. she is thin for lovers, but rejects them after sex. she has a passion for life but pulls a trigger on herself. extreme <----> another extreme
i have fights with my kittie over paper. dear god i'm glad it's not over words. i scramble for them as it is, wrestle them from great darkness.
losing my kittie yesterday took its heavy toll. i kept imagining the little white cobra powderpuff in my hands and realising i couldnt sleep at night without my little trashcan companion. (♥, sesame street. i had so many oscar the grouch birthday cakes as a child. green, hostile, merry.) kittie krang is so serpentine. his viperish yawns, his anguine arches. whisper hisses, swollen slatey eyes, winding cool-lipped cuddles. my cold-blooded cat. soon he will be the very pinnacle of plumosity with cherubim wings. hand me my glue. sometimes he just doesn't quite know how to maneuvre his felinity. he folds his little paws in there, like monty burns, like someone too overweight, like an uncoordinated child. like my sister jack. like a silly baby. it's so ingenuous; he's such a retard. to my coffin. she got some kind of cerulean sickness initially after my four day old uncle john died with a hole in his heart. she said they told mother that they couldn't bring any babies home from the hospital because they were all black babies. she said it was a good way to break it to her really, because amelia was always a mummy's girl. sensitive. i asked what she was like as a child, she reminisced sweetly over dressing her & eric up for the show, always a new frilled dress, patent leather shoes, bowtie. my mother was such a prettie child. my little double-sided (geminian) (tricky) aortic valves cry dainty orbit-tears and cartoon hearts and flowers in a tumbling jealousy. prettier than me, like i should care. but she never made the most of her beauty and is now just a forty year old, aged fairly well in the face i guess, until the stress of lately, with the chubslight consequence of years worth of no pride in appearance. which is o.k. enough, except that she wasn't much good for anything else either.
& i let myself go, sort of except that i have the giftbox of time & youth on my side. & hunger. to speedily find it back. and i think that journey is a treasure map. probably some kind of a music box dance. with teeth.
betty said amelia hasn't changed. i know betty still loves her for herself. any presumed cruelty, any snoopiness, is a result of grieving. {i can't help grieving for her}. her parents died when she was young. she was separated from her siblings raised ("reared") by the policeman neighbours. who knows what went down in her childhood in addition to loss. who can blame her for not wanting to keep her family under lock & key. poor poor betty. amelia of course went the opposite way. undercares. take me or leave me. betty fae grey = + amelia grey = - myself = ♥#%!?♠
plus and minus makes zero. but i am more invisible white. maybe i'm zero. not void, but zero. the physical (paradoxical) manifestation of 0. i show both extremes. i am also numb. two crazy ladies spawned a jumbly girl-child.
the feud, the sneakery, the gossip, the obsession, the court trials, the money, the fucking excess. why can't they just break it down? create 3 generations of pained daughters building it all back fondly with tea & gingham. diaries.