Saturday, 6 September 2008

Thursday, April 06, 2006
Comedy And Tragedy

damascus gate...sept 2005 ( a woman I saw, in a white gown with hair over her face swaying in the market place, the background was changed, just changed to a kind of darkness that moves round someone)

Straight From Diary in Middle Of Sicko Words, hence the stilted writing, and edits through brackets...

[American Friend] has not written back for two weeks, either caught up in the tornado which has traversed across America (or tired of me telling him not to bother to pray for my family, because...(Mum says Buddhists monks and all holy people are egotistical and selfish, perhaps in my account they are but I am about to tell you I have been on a mission, failed and suceeded many times in these last few weeks) through to Tennessee. He was living in Oklahoma with his brother.

My brother has just been punched in the shoulder by me, for making me hear his words. (He puts on also, a disparaging accent, (in other words Arabic) missed his face because...)

He has been continually referring to me as Gay Michal. So...last night I think I spoke to her, perhaps I met her in that dream when I was woken up in the bedsit to that other hellian.

The words she gave me:


An old nag flying overhead said;

'she's stuck up.' having to talk to them in this...

'Agh, I can feel you going up my nose!'

'great, now I'm stuck up her nose.'

(also someone says tonight be quiet 'we are cleaning the devil', I have been doing my utmost to help, complete this mission or exacerbate it, by discussing things such as a reading of The Great Treatise in I-Ching, that seems an important chapter, reading A child's version of The Oydessy, finding out that the most meditative thing to do is to clean dog's poo off my sisters trainer, and needing to relax and sleep and cry a lot, like today, I have also dropped my 'life', mobilephone down the toilet, getting a new one will be much better, a new life...)

I break off the conversation, but lay on my back almost chanting;

'feather pillows, double bed.'

I tell her I feel raped, (or the word just jumps into my head, such an easy word to use, what other word is there though?) and a soft flow goes into my heart, but there is no opportunity for an absolute healing.

I lay there arms crossed, or holding a sword in my right hand, and feel my feet glow.


I also think about G. I make this into a tragi-comdey to PROTECT), think something that makes me feel calmer, warmer, lighter all over, 'from constipation with love.' because I remember our conversation. But I hearmy Dad speak in the other room and my face heats up (we had a fight that day, he told me I shout, and drew a knife in front of my face, a few days before, went to punch me and drag me out of the house, he stopped when I told him I was constipated after grabbing onto the banister, this is all ridiculous.) and so does my right arm and I'm holding a sword again or someone's hand.

I've been thinking about all the ways I could kill the men who have abused my heart. I must forget that.

I mention G name and it is though she replies to me, remember her voice this is what makes me the Love in me almost fill me.

'you are already shortening my name (!)' which is good...I may end up gurgling

I cannot speak to her like this.

(I mean I cannot speak without speaking, I need a place to hide away in. Well, the washing should be ready soon.)

Written this afternoon.

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