Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in psychoticfallen's LiveJournal:

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Wednesday, March 22nd, 2006
1:11 am	Black Lab Black Lab by David Young 1. Churchill called his bad visits from depression a big black dog. We have reversed that, Winston. We've named him Nemo, no one, a black hole where light is gulped — invisible by night: by day, when light licks everything to shine, a black silk coat ablaze with inky shade. He's our black lab, wherein mad scientists concoct excessive energy. It snows, and he bounds out, inebriate of cold. The white flakes settle on his back and neck and nose and make a little universe. 2. It's best to take God backward; even sideways He is too much to contemplate, "a deep but dazzling darkness," as Vaughan says. And so I let my Nemo-omen lead me onward and on toward that deep dark I'm meant to enter, entertain, when my time comes . . . The day wheels past, a creaky cart. I study the rippling anthracite that steadies me, the tar, the glossy licorice, the sable; and in this snowfall that I should detest, late March and early April, I'm still rapt to see his coat so constellated, starred, re-starred, making a comic cosmos I can love. (28 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, March 19th, 2006
7:09 pm	A Blanket's Influence on my Dreams I've been having trouble with sleep, which isn't new for me, and I think the thickness of the blanket I use has been influencing my dreams. The other night I had a dream about hugging someone outside, before I got in a cab. He was a composite character, who physically felt like one person but had the words of another. And as dreams are prone to turning lucid sometimes I asked, "So, who is really hugging me, because I know it can't be you." And then I thought I woke up to find someone strange in my bed strangling me, but that was still a dream, thank goodness. I realized that in my dream life I had surmised the embrace was real, but the circumstances weren't, because I was holding the blanket so tight around me. Then another night I dreamt something about Daddy in a hospital setting, and him getting very mad at me and walking away from me, then standing up against a wall. I reached out and put my arms around him, and he put his arms around me. It felt just as I remember it, but then I became aware that my eyes were slightly open, and I remember thinking, "This may be a dream, but as long as I don't open my eyes any wider it will still be real. At that moment, of course, I opened my eyes, and realized again that the strength and warmth of the embrace, again had to do with the blanket. These dreams don't seem to comfort me much, but I'm grateful for them anyway. I'm glad I still remember what hugs feel like. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Friday, March 17th, 2006
5:21 pm	Crash I saw it again recently since they brought it to the Coolidge on account of it winning best picture. Sometimes I think they should rename that "Alexandra's Greatest Hits of Last Summer." I don't particularly mean in terms of actual events, save mouthing off to the cops. I'm talking about the dual sense of unity, connection to people who may not be even remotely like me, and the acompanied mistrust. As you can probably gather, at times I'm comforted by this, and at other times I feel trapped by it. I found it hard not to see some hope in the movie when the the racist cop and the woman he molested have to acknowledge their mutual humanity, and at the same time, I felt a sense of dread when I saw that her husband, not knowing the cause of the car-bonfire saw it as some sort of peaceful reconnection to his roots. But I suppose when there is so little comfort to be taken from anything, we learn to find solace in potentially harmful things. The heat and wildness of the fire still provides light and perhaps warmth, the night sky is black and appears to smother everything, yet all are held in its difficult embrace. I'm in the process of trying to regret some of my more reckless behavior, but the moments were so powerful it seems almost dishonest. The guy at the beginning of the movie may be right that literal and figurative crashes occur when people seek connection or any type of real feeling and can't seem to get past certain barriers. I felt so alive, even in the horrific moments that I find them hard to regret. Ah, welcome, ambivalence, my old friend. (Comment on this)
Monday, March 13th, 2006
12:49 am	And While You're At it, Make me a Sandwhich Prepare by Hayden Carruth for Joe-Anne McLaughlin Carruth "Why don't you write me a poem that will prepare me for your death?" you said. It was a rare day here in our climate, bright and sunny. I didn't feel like dying that day. I didn't even want to think about it -- my lovely knees and bold shoulders broken open, Crawling with maggots. Good Christ! I stood at the window and I saw a strange dog Running in the field with its nose down, sniffing the snow, zigging and zagging, And whose dog is that? I asked myself. As if I didn't know. The limbs of the apple trees Were lined with snow, making a bright calligraphy against the world, messages to me From an enigmatic source in an obscure language. Tell me, how shall I decipher them? And a jay slanted down to the feeder and looked at me behind my glass and squawked. Prepare, prepare. Fuck you, I said, come back tomorrow. And here he is in this new gray and gloomy morning. We're back to our normal weather. Death in the air, the idea of death settling around us like mist, And I am thinking again in despair, in desperation, how will it happen? Will you wake up Some morning and find me lying stiff and cold beside you in our bed? How atrocious! Or will I fall asleep in the car, as I nearly did a couple of weeks ago, and drive off the road Into a tree? The possibilities are endless and not at all fascinating, except that I can't stop Thinking about them, can't stop envisioning that moment of hideous violence. Hideous and indescribable as well, because it won't happen until it's over. But not for you For you it will go on and on, thirty years or more, since that's the distance between us In our ages. The loss will be a great chasm with no bridge across it (for we both know Our life together, so unexpected, is entirely loving and rare). Living on your own -- Where will you go? what will you do? And the continuing sense of displacement From what we've had in this little house, our refuge on our green or snowbound Hill. Life is not easy and you will be alive. Experience reduces itself to platitudes always, Including the one which says that I'll be with you forever in your memories and dreams. I will. And also in hundreds of keepsakes, such as this scrap of a poem you are reading now. (Comment on this)
Friday, March 10th, 2006
3:33 pm	For Those At All Troubled By My Recent Silence. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. I knew some of you might be worried, but this time around I expected less worry and more speculation and gossip, perhaps even relief that I wasn't making so much noise figuratively speaking. And it looks like that's what I got for the most part. I didn't quite expect the particular lie that prompted the content of the last entry, and yet I can't say I'm surprised. The funny thing is, if not for the fact that I've been forthcoming about being locked up every single time that it has happened, people would probably be more likely to believe that than that I could quit the internet for over a month almost completely voluntarily,though I did sneak back for about an hour late in February to send someone a birthday e-mail. I didn't do anything else. Didn't read LJ or even sort though the couple of hundred messages that had piled up in my absence. It was surprisingly easy,and I don't know whether to be pleased by that or not. There might be something wrong if I can so easily withdraw and not even feel the urge to look in as I did when I was silent in the summer and fall of 2004, aching over how I couldn't speak. And I suppose there are other things I should apologize for. I deeply regret that my intensity has made people feel they should stay away from me, and if they couldn't, that they need to appear invisibly as anonymous ghosts. I don't believe most of them are former friends as they say,but nonetheless regret anyone feeling they have to hide from me. But I don't know what an apology like that is worth. I don't feel I could have done any other than what I did. I felt trapped, frightened, angry, misunderstood, underestimated, and any number of other things, even just one of which would make a person want to break ties with all forces perceived to be causing these feelings. And I was also so happy. I still am when I'm not having a flare-up of anxiety induced nausea. Because the use of words like "worry " and "concern" had so often lead to me being locked up,which, I don't care what anyone says, is a measure of pure authoritarian control and has never been for my own good or safety, I couldn't accept that the expression of these things from my friends was pure of intent. And even though I want to, I can't let go of my suspicion. After the recent hiatus I find I'm not as passionately convinced of anything I've said in the last few months or even before that, but nothing else makes sense. I may always be perceived as an unapologetic loser no matter what I do, and perhaps I am. I enjoy my intensity, even when I'm intensely sad. Anyone with experiences like this knows that a so-called depressed state takes as much energy as a so-called manic state, but in a depressed state no one knows what you're using it for. Worry, of course. That's why you're always tired and yet you can't sleep at night. Efforts to keep people away that might lead to you not bathing or changing your clothes or staying in bed with the covers over your head even though you aren't sleeping because it's just one more layer that will protect people from you. As C.S. Lewis bitterly speculated about his friends' reactions to the grief over his wife's death "perhaps the bereaved should be sent to a colony for lepers." Speaking of events and people in my past, revisiting them for different perspectives is no different from speaking of the dead, though they may be walking around somewhere. Hell, my father may be walking around somewhere for all I know, but that doesn't stop me from occasionally calling him a hotheaded bastard who fixed all my relationships with men to be adversarial. Yet because of him and my mother I am mostly unafraid of intensity and find all sorts of things a measure of love even if I can't abide them. I have similar feelings about all my relationships: That even the things perceived as harmful in some way were mostly edifying. I often don't realize that not everyone grew up around nearly constant raw emotion, or if they did, would ever run away from it rather than right out to meet it. So, I guess I regret that the fact that I've chosen to apply high intensity to all aspects of my life, even when it seems like I'm drowning myself or running through fire just to know what it feels like,that this makes people uncomfortable enough that they won't jump in with me or atleast want a thorough account of what it does feel like. I'm as rotten as anyone else, I just enjoy my rot because it's mine. Often I'm ugly, but it has ben a long time since I disliked anything I saw in the mirror, again, because it's mine. I wish you were no different than this. I wish you could love yourselves as much as I have loved you and myself,even though we're all rotten. If we're all rotten, rot can't be anything that bad. But either way I'm sorry. For all the things I can't change, for all the things I wouldn't and won't change, for the fact that without the promise of change apologies generally appear worthless, for the fact that I don't know for what I apologize. I am as I am. Alexandra (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, March 9th, 2006
6:40 pm	Rumors of my Hospitalization Have Been Greatly Exaggerated. I didn't intend to stay away so long. One night I just felt like going home and going to bed early, then I got lost in a book the next day and the cafe was closed by the time I emerged. That little bit of time away from the internet felt cleansing and restful, so I took a few more days. I read a book for almost every day I was away, and when I thought of coming back, I was experiencing cash flow problems, and since I wasn't jonesing for the internet at all, and had renewed an old pattern from childhood where I was reading day and night, eating and sleeping only enough to maintain focus, it was easy to stay away. For my return I had originally hoped to post an image I took of my hair flipped upside down, and then rotate it so it looked like what happens when cartoons stick their fingers in light sockets and title it "portrait of a crazy lady," but I can't find the USB port on this thing, nor can I find a place I want to host the image, but I may figure that out later. I'm disappointed that I can't do it now, but after reading a fraudulent report that I'd been locked up again, I thought I should say something. called Alexandra's mother yesterday. Alex is currently a guest of Austen Riggs and will be there for another 10 weeks or so. She had an "episode" which involved her being arrested and I guess it was really awful. Alex claims she has no memory of what happened, either, but there is a police report and witnesses. I'll save her the pain of reposting details here, but suffice it to say she flipped the fuck out. The only people who have access to Mama's phone number are Carl and Veronica, both would sign their names if they happened to post anonymously by accident. The rest is also untrue. I haven't had any trouble in the past few weeks, simply because I haven't been out much and when I have been, I haven't spoken to anyone. The only one I've been speaking to is my mother. (And Kitty, if I happened to run ointo her in the neighborhood.) She is being heavily medicated and they are "very interested" in ECT therapy. I warned her mom that it didn't sound good, but she says she is interested in all options. My mother has her own horrific experience with hospitals. Every time I've been hospitalized she has been distraught about it, and utterly filled with empathy. She doesn't regard them as safe places and she's particularly averse to the idea of shock therapy. Even when I was trying very hard to give medication a chance she was frightened of the drugs, and she would never support my being heavily medicated. People in my family don't even like to take tylenol for a headache. Alex is just totally broken, and it's sad. People don't generally break, they just get sick. I got a bit sick of the internet without realizing it. It's like being in a smoke-filled room, and aclimated to the relative lack of oxygen and then realizing how much you missed breathing deeply once you get outside. And by that I don't mean to say anything derogatory about the internet or smoke-filled rooms. I'm fond of both either for what they are or what they represent, but one occasionally needs to step outside. The worst I can report is that my anxiety levels are up due to the change of seasons, and a few weeks of neglecting my food intake has resulted in a loss of appetite, which a return to lifting and my new swimming lessons ought to fix eventually on both counts. Alexandra (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, February 4th, 2006
7:08 pm	Fitting For People Who Think They're Kinky But Don't Know Why Kink Exists Yeah, in other words, for possible posers or over-confident newbies. Although I've never been fat, and never will be because of how I'm genetically (daughter of athletes) and hormonally (too much testosterone) balanced, I know how it happens to other people physically, and what kind of psychology can keep a person that way. Let's say a girl is rather young, 12-13. Girls this age don't have any fat they don't need. But maybe she's "over-developed" and is perceived to be about ten pounds overweight. Someone is an idiot and tells her how pretty she would be if she lost ten pounds. This of course implies she isn't pretty now. She freaks out, starves herself for a couple of months, loses the weight, is happy, and begins to eat normally again. I don't have to explain to you how it takes one's body a while to switch from fast to feast time. She gains back the ten and yet another ten before her metabolism adjusts to normal again. Someone makes the same idiot comment about how much prettier she would be if the scale said something different. She looses more weight, only to gain even more back. Then someone puts her on anti-depressants because her appearence and how people treat her because of it. Anti-depressants make people like me gain weight. I was 101 pounds at 5'7" AFTER puberty. So, a woman whose body isn't inclined to be waiflike reacts even worse. Only when she no longer cares, starts eating everything she wants without guilt, and then starts moving because she no longer bears the burden of shame in being overweight will she start to look and be thin. Psychologically it goes like this: Some idiot, usually a boy in school tells her she's fat and ugly. She doesn't necessarily believe him, but sees that he stays clear of her while showering thinner girls with all sorts of disgusting attention that borders on abuse and harrassment. So, perhaps not entirely consciously, she begins to grow fatter and one hopes uglier to people like the boy who told her that. Unfortunately there are many of these. But you need not feel sorry for her. Some time down the road someone appears who sees the beauty of a woman inside her, loves her as she is. She has a lot of sex, so food doesn't seem as important. She starts moving around a lot because the adrenoline doesn't wear off the minute she stops making love. She grows thin. She gets married, starts her own business or finds a job where she's appreciated. People at her highschool reunion don't recognize her I've always seen overweight women as pleasure seekers. There is a rare breed of men who can see if she appreciates pleasure in one form, loves the world so much she tries to hold it all inside her, that she'll be the same way about sex, and he laughs at his peers for the horrible dry sex they have with "attractive" women while being stupid enough to feel sorry for HIM because of how his girl might fill a room. I'm not saying I necessarily disapprove of "no fat chicks" policies, should you have them. You have a right to play in your own league. But that's just it: Sexually, your league may not be the top, and that people sometimes behave as if a woman who exercises her right to be an expressive sexual being is disgusting or wrong is what makes me fear, at least in this one way, that many otherwise sensitive and intelligent people may be extremely short-sighted. I didn't need fat to protect me from sexual predators, I had a brain, a way of being silent, and cerebral palsy, but it's the same principle. Nobody's perfect, but there are some who come very close, who are nonetheless either overlooked or maligned for ridiculous reasons. Everyone I know is ugly, even you. BDSM was created for people who know they're ugly. If you want it to be more than an academic interest to you, you would do well to remember this, if nothing else. Alexandra (49 Comments |Comment on this)
6:46 pm	A Ridiculous Test of Loyalty I wrote this to a friend on finding out that there are people stupid enough to demand that other people not be friends with me if they want to associate with them. I'm fairly sure this friend knows me and his own mind well enough to make the right decison. This is sixth grade behavior at best, but more like nursery school. I'm pretty sure you would never listen to anyone else's opinion of me and let it influence your own, but I just read someone's stupid comment about me and I'm worrying a bit that you might. It's all so sixth grade. I've never asked anyone I talk to not to talk to someone I didn't get along with. Why would anyone else make a similar request? Some people don't get along. Some people, like me, go through periods where they don't get along with a lot of people. If I made it a condition that I wouldn't be friends with someone just because they wanted to associate with someone with whom I didn't get along, I don't think I'd deserve to have even imaginary friends. It's up to you. If I'm to go through the motions of losing you now, I'll be surprised, but it's getting to be routine these days, and, I'm almost ashamed to admit, every loss is a rush. Alexandra Yes, again, if I demanded that someone give up a friend they already had in order to associate with me, I would not even deserve to have friends I made up in my head. Whether anyone would do such a thing for me or not is irrelevant. I don't even think I'd want to be friends with someone who would do that for me. I'd feel he or she must be dangerously passionate about me. I mean, what if I asked someone to kill for me as a test of their loyalty? The test of turning former friends to enemies for a new friendship is comparable to me. It's as if the new friendship would be forged in the blood of the older friend. No one who does this even deserves a pet worm for companionship, and yet they pass for decent members of society. All the more reason to let society burn. Alexandra Enrika Caroline Davis Oh, and imaginary friends? Please feel free to go talk to any of those imaginary assholes haunting this journal, if you enjoy their company. ;-) (2 Comments |Comment on this)
5:42 pm	The Best of Gods and Monsters I'm thinking about a particularly brutal post I made recently. It reminded me of January 14th 2002 when I went off on a member of the borg about how she got off on hurting people. And it ended like so: "Take my advice and buy a vibrator. The pocket rocket works well. It will make you forget all about how your husband spits on you afterwards." The bitch kept away from me for weeks after that. The night it happened, Les stopped thinking I was Ned Flanders' twin sister, Dominick said something like, "HOLY FUCK!!! THAT'S PURE FUCKIN' ART!!!" and then. "Man, you rule." Later keinhaar put it on a board he made to archive eloquent flames. Colleen said a couple of things about how shocked and impressed she was that it came from me. "Alexandra's emerging!" So, brutality from me is nothing new. I lash out at forces I perceive as harmful, as everyone ought to do more often. The thing is, saying something like that took a lot out of me, and that's half the reason I was proud of it at the time. That, when pushed, I could crush someone like that. The fact that everyone else I cared for at the time was also proud of me was secondary. But now it doesn't take anything out of me to say something like that. In the end, I don't end up experiencing even perfunctory regret that I was driven to such lengths. I'm being pushed harder of course, most of the time, and more often. But I think I've lost some sweetness and it's just a lot easier for me to go there now. In the recent post I said things that were worse than the spitting line, but I don't even think to regret it beyond what prompts the reflection on how I used to. I'm proud that I can go to the quick and draw blood, leaving total silence in my wake. I'm a bit whistful about this, but in general I see it as a good thing. As if I've gone from being a sleeping giant, to one that's awake all the time, or from being someone who swears impotently to that guy in "Get Shorty" who says, "You're mine, asshole." quite matter of factly, as if he could care for or dispose of his property on any random whim. Maybe this one belongs in the killer journal. A twisting motion, as they imply, is required both for turning doorknobs and snapping necks. Nothing more. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Friday, February 3rd, 2006
7:19 pm	Perhaps Another Mr. All Right. Someone fairly promising got in touch with me on Adult Friend Finder. He has a screen name that has nothing to do with his dick. In his response demonstrated he had read my profile, and he actually bothered to fill his out with more than two sentences. He has several degrees and is on his way to a Phd. He used to be in the military, and then turned social revolutionary. He likes indie film and has seen Brokeback Mountain twice. He likes that I've been involved in BDSM, but he's a newbie which means he isn't a fake Dom who will do anything in bed even if he doesn't either enjoy or appreciate its meaning just to get laid by a girl who actually admits her sexual desire, but really has no clue what he's doing. I think this may be a relationship. The kind I could have for years without having to be in it all the time. We might stumble upon love without having to call it out at all. Bla. I don't want to get involved, I never do. But I'm always involved, even, maybe especially when I'm trying to avoid it. Well, how can I get hurt anyway? All I ever feel when someone thinks he or she is dumping me is relief. (Comment on this)
3:38 pm	Why I Don't Need Friends Like This internetjello is throwing a tantrum a few entries back about how immoral polyamory is, while at the same time lauding polygamy, which he is too dumb to see is a FORM of polyamory. What he's saying is, he thinks men should be allowed to sleep with as many women as they want, while women should just be slaved to one man. Fuck that. I intend to be with many men and women other than whatever primary partner or partners I take on. If I feel the need to act as if I am in a marriage with my primaries, I won't do it the standard way, I'll probably draw it up as an LLC contract. That way I can have as many so-called husbands and wives as I need. He also asked me to marry him, and showed up at my door a few nights ago, ostensibly to pay me money back for when I hosted him, but it was still creepy. Then last night I was so bored, that I picked up the phone for someone other than my mother because she hadn't called all day. It was him. I hung up on him after he started talking about how extrapolation was blasphemy. I was trying to explain that I wasn't really concerned about anything because my psychicry gave me a provisional understanding of pretty much everything, so I knew there was nothing to be concerned about. If I needed deeper knowledge I could just extrapolate from what I knew already, but would often find I didn't even need to do that, because my exploration would put me back where I started. All roads lead home. He wouldn't listen, so I said fuck you and bye, then hung up. All the men who have asked me to marry them have been needy, controlling cunts. I think I should use this as a litmus test. I guess I'll always know that if a guy asks me to Marry him, all he wants to do is control me and can't possibly care for me. As if Id marry him anyway. He's younger and more stupid than my little bother. (52 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, February 2nd, 2006
12:36 am	I'm So Glad I didn't Sell Her a Star Last night I was at Starbucks again after Dan left. This lady sat next to me in Dan's place. She admired my rings, and I dug into my purse for some things I had for sale. She was interested in a huge silver Jewish star I got as a gift. I would have sold it, but she wouldn't give me any idea of what she wanted to pay for it, because she was afraid of cheating me. I only needed a reference point. If I didn't think the price was fair, I would have countered. My dad was an antique dealer, and I know how to do these things, but if you can't even imagine what something is worth to you, then perhaps you didn't have any real interest in it in the first place. But, this isn't what irritated me, it was just a red flag I recognize in hindsight. I was explaining that perhaps I couldn't think of a price for it because I didn't want to sell any of my jewlery, but since they had cut it all off me when I was last hospitalized because the chains were tangled, I figured I'd just sell everything, since I didn't need a large weight to keep me rooted to the earth anymore. I had already explained that I was psychic, and she accepted this quite willingly. I talked about my distress over it, since it seemed to interfere with the raging atheism and American skepticism with which I was so happy and comfortable. She said she didn't think it did, that being psychic was on a different level apart from religion. I was impressed she recognized that. As I keep trying to say, intuition and belief are different things. so-called magical answers are the only answers that fit with my experience, but I neither claim they make sense, nor that I believe any of these things I've observed. So, I'm relaxed, off my guard. She spoke to me first and seemed to accept what I was telling her. I had no reason to think she would say the same stupid-ass thigns as the fake ghosts say to me. She asked why I was hospitalized, and I shared briefly the six different stories associated with each one. She had also been hospitalized, so far so good. I thought I had met yet another stranger who understood perfectly why I might be upset, and the reactions I had had to it. But, she wasn't a stranger. She asked if I went to the Brookline Center. I told her I had for two years but that after my shrink sent the cops to drag me out of the shower and haul me into the hospital just because I had made some sexual decisions, I had quit, and they wouldn't take me back. I further went on to explain that I felt they had made things up to be wrong with me because they didn't want to be out of a job, or rather, that they didn't want to stop working with me. "May I say something?" "Go ahead." "I think you're a little delusional." "I guess you would. Everyone seems to think I'm grandiose." "I didn't say grandiose. I said delusional. My experience with the Brookline Center tells me that if you really want to get well, they'll help you, so if they're shunning you, there must really be something wrong. There must be a problem." "Oh, I know there's a problem, I just don't think it's mine alone." She said the fact that I was having trouble everywhere I went meant it must be my problem. I told her she was using the fallacy of numbers, as many do with me now. I then asked if I should believe in God just because a lot of other people did. She said no. "Then why should I believe I'm a horrible delusional person just because a lot of people seem to think that." She didn't answer, but said she hadn't said I was horrible. Dodge. I excused myself to go to the bathroom. When I got back she was talking with the man next to her who had beeen listening intently to our conversation. He was asking her about therapy. I didn't know he was asking for a friend, then again, everyone says they're asking for a friend. "I wouldn't go to therapy if I were you, it's only going to fuck you up. Maybe that's what you need, but otherwise it isn't going to help. I mean, look, you heard her, she called me delusional too my face. Most people would find that pretty derogatory, but I can't get mad at her because I know she's just using the language of the racket known as psychology." The lady left soon after that. She said she wished me luck. When I told her, as I had earlier, that I didn't need it, because things would fall into place or they wouldn't and either way, I'd be okay. "Well, I hope you get what you need. How's that?" I have to admit, it was better. Also, the one thing she did right even when she was saying a bunch of presumptuous bullshit was this. When I was disagreeing with her, she asked me if I was happy living the way I did. I told her I was, and she backed off. What does she know that you don't? I really want to know. I tell you all I'm so happy, happier than I've ever been, yet you assume because I'm in turmoil that I couldn't be. Why? Just because you wouldn't be? That hardly fits now, does it? After she left, I said to the man, "I'm sorry. It's just an opinion, a strong opinion because I've been through so much, but still just an opinion." "Don't worry about it, you have a right to speak." "I've just never received any insight from a therapist that I couldn't get from a book." He laughed. "Also, I find it discouraging that people these days are no longer comfortable talking about grief and death, and issues of aging, such as your friend is experiencing, and we now feel we have to pay someone to listen to us about such things." "You're right. We certainly don't have our tribes anymore." Think about it though: Age and death come to all of us, even young people feel this, yet we think we're unqualified to deal with someone who feels sad about these things? I have more faith in us than that. When I started therapy so many seemed to express that they didn't think I needed all that much help, that I was just moody. I think even the folks who dumped me felt that way, which is why my efforts with therapy and the medication made no difference to them. Now all I hear is how I need help, but only one kind. Okay then, I guess I don't need much help. The other thing I hear is that I'm beyond help. Okay then, I guess if I'm beyond it, I don't need help at all. The whole must be there before anything can fill it. if nothing can, it must not be a hole at all. There is nothing wrong with me that isn't wrong with you. If you have such faith in therapy and medication, go to it all yourself. I gave it a fair shake, but that store has nothing I need. Alexandra (7 Comments |Comment on this)
12:11 am	How to Approach Alexandra if You Really Want Her To Listen To You 1. Always frame your grievances from yourself, using examples of your own personal experience or scenarios of what might happen to you if you had to face what I do. So, DON'T say things to me like, "You're fucking up. All your friends have abandoned you. This is a bad sign. You're going to crash soon and a bunch of people will laugh at you." DO, say things like: If I had had so many friends part ways with me, I would feel I was fucking up. Do you think you might be? I've never seen you like this, you seem different from how you were before. I worry that you might fall into depression again, and that you'll be embarrassed by the things you did when you were like this. 2. If I tell you that you need not be as concerned as you are, do not assume I am dismissing you. I simply want you to realize that no matter how close to me you may feel, my life is not yours, and if I want to throw parts of my life in the trash and get new shit to replace them of which you don't approve, you can't say much of anything, because it still isn't your life. You may walk close behind or beside me, but no two people walk the same path. Let it be. There are times I've taken every bit of advice be it direct or indirect to heart, but still with a grain of salt. All this grain is meant to mean is that personal taste is varyable, and no matter how well we get along, we are still individuals. 3. If I act more irritated with what you have said than you think you deserve, even if you feel you've framed it correctly, it's because I've heard it before. But if you feel you're saying it in a new way, please feel free to explain how, and I will always listen, though I probably will still not agree. If I don't agree, again, let it be. I've never much agreed with anyone on the planet anyway. Simple enough? (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, February 1st, 2006
3:04 am	I'll Just Mark This Down as Another Reason to Hate Doctors and Nothing More I was going through hotmail for the first time in I'm not sure how many weeks or months, and saw that Marilou had replied to that first post in violetshotsilk about keinhaar and the other lame-asses giving me shit about having money I didn't whore for. She has since deleted it. PRobably just forgot she was logged in or something. And I guess I need not say I told you so. She replied to a fake ghost (anonymous) who said some bullshit. Oh come on. You know you love the lie translations. Let's go! and how about the way you hang around other people's journals? Yeah, what about it? The fact is, I rarely even read my own friends list these days, but even if I was reading everyone else's instead of focusing on my own writing like the self-centered bitch I am, I never said I wouldn't read journals that I wasn't signed up to read. I sually glance at anyone's journal who happens to have an interesting or familiar screen name if they reply to my personal or community posts, or coment in a friend's journal. This is normal for any livejournalist. The problem I have with these former friends putting on their little strip-tease enemy show reading my journals, is that they keep swearing up and down they want nothing to do with me or my life. And yet, here they are reading all about my life. These journals are probably some of the best things about my life, and they can't stop stealing the gems here. It's all okay with me, I just wish they would admit they can't stay away and stop making such asses of themselves. But, even when these were my people, I always thought they were making asses of themselves anyway, so again, nothing ever changes. they know you read theirs. its pretty obvious, since you seem to know so much about the current lives of your obsessions. I'd say the only thing that's obvious is that I can predict that their lives are going according to their own lousy plans. Marilou planned to go back to school in New Mexico (where she'll have a nervous breakdown before she even finishes undergrad) last time we were talking, Colleen planned to get married and go to law school, Steve disclosed when commenting in mine and others' journals that he was now a police officer, and I always knew he planned to marry April. So what is it that I know that they don't share with mutual friends and acquaintances we still share. Absolutely nothing. And besides, who the fuck doesn't end up shilling for the system, and signing up for the voluntary slavery of marriage? I assume it won't be long until Marilou gets hitched to another train track and heaps even more abuse on herself. I won't save her this time. I might come to the funeral though. why don't you quit obsessing over colleen and marilou? Why don't you and they quit obsessing over me? I'll tell you: Because it's perfectly reasonable to think about the past and who may or may not have been part of it. they dont care about you. I doubt they ever did. I was a mentor, someone to talk to in the middle of the night, and a project for Colleen to prove what a great manipulative reformer she was. But she botched the whole thing when I stayed my own person and didn't become hers, then she ran away. Oh well, Marilou can be Frankenstein's next monster if she wants to be. they want to to forget they ever met you. they have both made something of their lives which is more than anyone can say of your lazy ass. Right. I've done nothing with my life. . .but live it. I have a degree from a respected college, I live in a great town, I've had more loves in two years of partnered sexual activity than most have their entire lives. I make friends everywhere I go, I have a family who loved me enough not to hit me for it, and my own business. I've done all that without doing a damned thing, you're right. So, how is this bad? Success without heart attack inducing effort? Oh yeah, I won't die at 45 like the two of them will. Too bad. get a life that doesnt involve stalking and obsessing. What? The way you and they have by skulking around a virtual stranger's journal? Okay, sure. To stalk is to move, don't mean I'm following anything, especially not their sorry asses. To obsess means to think in an intense manner, which is all I ver do, and what I end up being praised for. No thanks, I'm not an airhead like the rest of you, and it ain't my thing. Marilou replied as doctor_athena, "You can't even respond to this comment! Obvious loon." Yeah, I guess she'd know what's so obvious about being a loon from all that staring up her crooked nose in the mirror. I didn't see that comment because whomever posted it was late to the party and I'd already posted several more entries. I usually pick up the comments from violetshotsilk whenever I'm about to update it. Besides, that comment is like every comment the anons leave. It basically asks why I exibit such nerve in continuing to breathe. Well, I can't help it, I'm just ballsy like that. My mother didn't hold my head under water long enough for me to stop, nor knock the wind out of me often enough for it never to return. I'm so sick of these whiney abused children following me around. You deserved it. You still do. You got off easy. I wish your parents had been more like the Steinbergs. yourkiddingme and I once had a talk about Marilou. He told me she was pretty much like his sister, a bratty little girl in a woman's body. He said I had the same role as the social worker who, although I had rescued that dumb little cunt from her abusive situation, got blamed because I let her get beaten that one last time. I should have let him kill her. It would have saved me $180 which is far more than she is worth. (Comment on this)
1:18 am	Why I Hate Married Men Don't get me wrong, I've been screwing around with both legally and functionally married men for years. Mostly it has been incidental or unknowing, but once you've crossed the line between platonic and erotic, you can't undo it, so why pretend anything is helped by the misery of deprivation. For fuck's sake, even when you claimed to be platonists together, you never stopped thinking about what would happen if things turned erotic. Still, when men assume because I'm polyamorous, that I'll screw around with them "discretely" even though they are married, I get really pissed off. Um, dickheads? I became polyamorous to avoid ever being cheated on again. It gives me the freedom to love as many as I want or who need me to, and it also puts my primary partner through the pain of having to tell me he wants to be with someone else when he goddamned well knows he's being stupid and can't do better than me, and that I know this too. In other words, polyamory can sometimes help people physically maintain outwardly monogamous relationships instead of being cheating bastards. So, when married men respond to my profile looking for "discrete" relationships, I say this sort of thing: If I can talk to your wife and make sure she's okay with you chatting and seeing other women, then that's fine. Otherwise, grow some balls and either divorce her, or stop screwing around. You have no right to reap the benefits without putting in the time. I don't understand why anyone gets married anyway. It's nothing but legalized slavery. That poor woman. I mean every word of it. What a selfish prick to take a wife just to look normal, then live as if you were unattached. Loser. (82 Comments |Comment on this)
12:43 am	The Myth of Mirthless Laughter Don't lie; I never do. Just because you don't agree with my conclusion doesn't mean I haven't traveled far enough to reach it. you've always victimized yourself, no matter the situation Acknowledging I think I've been done wrong and experienced needless pain because of it, is not claiming to be a victim, it's claiming I got injured by bullies on the playground. But you all remember me from the Borg wars and before that, being stalked by Leo, DiabolicalGod, SeanHith, Frobenius and Exodus2021 simultaneously. Since when have I been afraid or suffered permanent damage from bullies or what they tried to do? When you started pissing people off with your behavior in groups, you blamed their "lack of understanding." And you have a better explanation? I pissed Joe off because he didn't like the way I moved and how didn't say much. I pissed off Colleen and company by saying too much of what was stupid when I was drunk. Neither of these things warranted the tantrums they threw about them. They either didn't accept my explanations or ignored them completely, and I'm supposed to think they are filled with wisdom and understanding? No, if you act like intolerant cunts about my foibles when I've taken far worse from you in the past, I call you out as being how you act. Even if the reason for my behavior was that I was an asshole, and I certainly don't say it wasn't, they refused to understand why I might act like an asshole, when they themselves never stopped acting like assholes. When you started spilling things that had been told to you in confidence, and people rightly got upset and stopped talking to you, you blamed their "intolerance for public forum." The last time I got any flack when people made the mistake of thinking that my story was their own, it was back when I wasn't even using names in the stories I transcribed. Nobody ever knew for sure who I was talking about. Vain and concerned people assumed it was them. Dumbasses. And I'm sure what I said was that they had no respect for the fact that my personal journal was not a public forum. It's a private forum I choose to share with those who might read it. That's it. Deal with it. Too bad no one made an ass out of you for having a smelly apartment, sidewalk salt all over your floor, and an unkempt appearance. How could they? I was perfectly honest about living in an old victorian house, (old things are musty) a city on the east coast where it snows and I hate it, about the fact that I suck at keeping house, have fro-hair and leftover teenage acne. It's hard to embarrass someone about things she has no shame about. That's why I'll always win and you'll always whine. No one is jealous of you. We just sit back and laugh at how you've fixated on Colleen, Dominick, and company. I think you're jealous of how I can continue to expose myself without embarrassment or consequences that cause me to suffer. If you're laughing, it's because you're thinking of how embarrassed you would be if you let yourself be honest as I do. Your little-girl blushing isn't my concern. But you aren't laughing, you're just experiencing tearless convulsions of jealousy and sorrow. I ache for you, but you brought it all on yourselves. Alexandra (Comment on this)
12:27 am	Bubble Gun Cassie and The Myth of Duality The current lie is that some alter-ego has taken over Alexandra Davis and she need only be rescued. The only one who can rescue Alexandra Davis, is Alexandra Davis. So, either I'm safe or I'm fucked, or I'm fucking safely. Well, of course I am. HAve you seen how many condoms I have? Hundreds! I need to wear them all to deal with Cassandra the Clap over here. They're not coming back. I think you're right about that, but that's only because they haven't really left. They may however get embarrassed to be acting like an angry mob of witch burners and call themselves an angry mob of friends again. Whether they do or not, I haven't lost them, They fear that the Alexandra they once knew is gone. And yet are curious about the one they could continue to know if they had any guts. Their curiosity might get the better of them. You said something to that effect once yourself--I believe you said you felt that you died last summer. Was it at Pembroke? During that molestation on the T in June? "Dead" doesn't mean "gone," it means moving less. The Alexandra they once thought they knew moved a lot less. Maybe she was always dead and they're just a bunch of necropheliacs. *laughs* Well, what I do have all sorts of awesome freaks for friends. ;-) I don't remember everything, but I tell the truth. You remember selectively so that your lies suit you and you can have a hope of hurting me. Far be it from me to crush your hopes, but I won't be crying or bleeding just to please you, there has to be something in it for me. I believe the Alexandra you say is dead is still alive. She's asleep in a dark corner of your being. I talk of this change as a spiritual awakening, there is no part of me still asleep. But if there is, she was always asleep even when you claimed to know her, and she did not know you, nor wish to know you. Hide your ugliness and let her remain asleep. I write to wake her. You write to jerk off about how great you think you are. Nothing wrong with that of course, but until I get to fuck you up the ass, I don't want you to do it in front of me. However, if you will, I guess I'll just tell you that your masturbation is disgusting and extravagant and toss you a towel. No censorship here. She will waken and put you back in the cage where you belong. *laughs* What makes you think I'm not in a cage right now, and she won't let me out when she wakes up? Look out, creature-thing, it may get worse for you. You have no business running her life in such an irresponsible manner. There isn't any difference in my life except I like it better. I still sleep late, I still get up and eat what I want, I still mostly stay out of peoples' way unless I feel like talking, I still go to counseling even though it may not help, I still enjoy intellectual and cultural pursuits, I still talk to Mama and think of Daddy and all my friends current and former every single day. And speaking of having no right, you have no right to tell me how to run my life, nor who should have the keys to the car. Shame on you. You're nothing but an offshoot of her personality that has taken charge. Id or ego, it's all still me, but I don't buy into that psychology crap. I'm a whole being that you're trying to divide and conquor. Pathetic. This is why you can honestly say that you have always been the way you are now. But that is not the way Alexandra was before last summer. Yes it was. For years, my whole life in fact, I was angry, I was horny, I didn't need any of you nor particularly want you around. I longed for something better and went about finding it. When I did, I saw I had had it all along. Now you're jealous. You needn't be. You could have it too, but you aren't ready to look for it. Give it time. Alexandra Enrika Caroline Davis -------------------------- I am who I am. In the future I will be, in the now that will be then. Back then, I was who I was then, in the now that was. Any arguments? What's your real problem? Don't lie like Crossdressing Dick over here. (Comment on this)
Monday, January 30th, 2006
11:55 pm	Either Sadism or Stupidity On Wednesday I was asleep into the afternoon as has often been my habit in the past. I fell back into it again recetly because the bad cold I had required me to sleep longer and I just got used to it. My landlord started banging on the door and bitching at me for this or that. I told him that the situation hadn't changed. He then told me that the police had been around again looking for me to take me to the hospital. I've intentionally gone places where I don't do a lot of talking so that I don't disturb people. That's why I go to the movies once or twice a day these days. I just knew it wasn't tre, so I told him he was lying, and he went away. I then left him a note that although he did have legitimate grievences with me, it was inappropriate to try to scare me with threats of the cops and the hospital. Then I left. When I got home at close to 4AM, there was an officer's card stuck in my doorframe. I freaked out, called my mother, then called the precinct. The officer wasn't on duty and they could find no report on anything having happened where I live recently. This didn't ease my anxiety, so without so much as a nap, I jumped in a cab, headed to the diner, left a bit after five when they closed, passed the time until eight, called the precinct back and found out the reason that card was there. There was ploughing across the street. The officer had dropped off the card with someone who spends a lot of time at the house because of it. What the police have to do with ploughing snow, I don't know, but that's what the officer said he dropped the card off for, not for me at all. So, either my landlord placed the card there as a red herring to "prove" they had been around for me and is screwing with my head, or he assumed they were there for me because they've been around before, and he and Vicky are just that stupid as to be able to listen to an explanation that has nothing to do with me, but still think it does. Either way, that fucking house is getting crazier than I am, and I need to move. I had an inkling he might be pounding on the door today because of what might or might not have come in the mail yet, so I left before he could, again without any sleep. Since I was up, I went to see Dan at McDonalds, after he was done there, he surprised me by taking me to luch at an indian restaurant. I felt especially honored because the food money he budgets for HIMSELF is three dollars a day, but he went way over that to treat us both. The rest of the day I spent at Starbucks, alternately reading and dosing in one of their comfy chairs. I was still there when Dan came to get his evening coffee there, but I only had about 15 minutes with him because they were showing It Happened One Night at the Coolidge for free tonight. What's the point of all this? I've never spent much time at home since I moved to Boston, but now I feel like I can't go home until everyone's asleep or I'll catch hell. One's home is supposed to be the place where one can hide, not the place from which one hides. I think, if I can move to a decent place I'll feel a lot more grounded. I'm still ecstatic about living life in general, but it would be nice to feel some comfort as well. Maybe that wil be the kind of happy you all can accept. (16 Comments |Comment on this)
1:07 am	Freedom in Punishment I got banned from convert_me and I was exected to "complain" as if it isn't a mercy that I did. I posted about four times over the last few months, and was still accused of spamming and other such nonsense that is only a matter of interpretations over which I have no control. apologetics used to hate me too, but once they realized I was just trying to have a conversation and didn't understand nor give much thought to why people might be screaming at me, they stopped screaming. I cross-posted my most recent post in convert_me there, and it was much more respectful. In fact there was hardly even any disagreement. convert_me is just inbred is all. They don't like new blood or folks being different. I should have left long ago, but I'm too stubborn to leave places before I see if there is anything meritous about them. A few of the people made it faintly so, so I stayed. But as I said, being let go is a mercy, like being released from latrine duty or something. I'm supposed to be sorry about this? If you care what else I had to say to them about this, check out convert_me_hell (9 Comments |Comment on this)
12:11 am	Friends Without Speaking No, I'm not talking about you. Saturday night I went to the Starbucks on Harvard Street near where I live to see Dan, who is always there in the evenings unless it's raining. I've been sleeping too late since getting that bad cold to go see him in the morning at McDonalds. My body still thinks it's fighting something. I started seeing him around years ago, he always said hi, and claimed I never said hi back, but I thought I had, at least with my eyes. The truth is, I know nearly everyone gets to a point where they keep seeing me around and want to say hi, almost desperately, but I never know why, and it makes me a little nervous. But, some time in summer or fall, I ran into him on his way to McDonalds, he said hi, and I said hi back, he heard me this time, and we kept on talking, though normally I wouldn't be caught dead in a McDonalds. He's a senior citizen, at least on paper, and he goes to McDonalds for the cheap coffee, just the way Gerry, the funny little man married to Mama's cousin Nancy does. I felt right at home after he told me that. Once he took me to the senior center for lunch because it's only a buck fifty. I was starving back then, and too pissed off to care who knew it, so they sent me upstairs to a social worker to see if I could get a good referal. They also told me to come back just to shoot the shit, because I was hilarious. (Well, yeah. I mean, when your cell phone rings and you growl "damn, who's calling me!. . .Oh, my mother." old people think it's pretty funny) Dan always introduces me to interesting characters wherever we are. The other day I got serenaded by a 77 year old man from Toscana who used to sing with some famous opera over there. Maybe the one where I went to see Carment when I was over there. I requested something from Rigoletto since it was Italian, and of course he chose La Dona e Mobile. I hate that song for what it means, and which character sings it, but you can't beat the music. There is one guy who must worship him as an older brother, since they grew up together, but Dan's an atheist, and this guy has a bunch of false piety and he's a deadbeat. I almost started crying one day though when I showed up at McDonalds, but Dan had already been there, then gone home because of the rain, and that guy came up to me, almost like a little boy and asked if Dan was coming back. Dan wants me to obtain a more stable living situation. "Your own apartment. With a kitchen. And a bathroom. A woman needs a bathroom." He's sure I qualify for SSI. I don't, but he wants to get me a lawyer, or talk to some people he knows in the housing office. He's not one of these assholes who tells me I need help. He's a decent man who says, "I wanna help you." Because, unlike so many of you, he has confidence in what one regular human being can do for another, and he knows he can help me. All he wants me to do is keep appointments. Fuck, you guys, I went to therapy for two years and never missed one I didn't cancel intentionally. No problem. Yes, he's an atheist, but believes in astrology, past lives, and nudity. "You and me go way back. We knew each other in another life. I was your knight errant. I knew it the first time I saw you." (Comment on this)