Dear Kelly,
What a great Christmas card! I laughed heartily at it and nearly everytime I see it, I giggle. Good humor for hard times. Thank you.
Speaking of hard times, I can't believe Amir offered to move you in with his MOTHER. To him, that is a huge step a big show of how close he will let you get to him. To you it is not enough. To a third party, that could be a huge step to get in good with the family,. Still it's weird--in DC. I commend you for holding out and not attending his Thanksgiving.
I don't agree that he lacks empathy and has no conscience. You two just don't value the same things. He believes in polygamy and you want monogamy. And both of you are standing your grounds. He won't give in to your demands and you won't give into his. Just as much as he is trying to break your resolve by begging you to come see him, you are trying to break his by denying his pleas. to him, you have no empathy for his need for freedom of restraint. His liberty. He is a little nuts but you're a little fruity yourself. Perfect. Fruit and nuts. However, I do have to side with you in that the sending of "as long as I'm alive you will never have to worry abotu food, shelter and cable tv" will it's almost condescending. What if he offered to subsidize your rent? Would you accept?
I have not heard any news about the alien bacteria and that's exactly what that arsenic-based on is. It could take over the earth if we blew ourselves up. And Martian-life bacteria. Cool. So cool.
Thanks for thinking of me for the folder of handouts and book proposal info. Actually, you can put the whole folder in a big manilla envelope and send it as is. I look forward to it. Once I get this legal stuff out of the way. I'm going to focus back on my memoir writing. Slow and steady.
[insert doodle of a roller skate]
How did the roller disco party go? PLEASE tell me you took photos. Dear God that had to be an interesting night. I think Disco was invented so white poeple could dance. I think I am reincarnated from a mid-30s aged man who died in 1979. That would have made him a flower child growing up in the 60s and 70s. --which explains my peace, love, and happiness spirit, love of folk music, and previous preference for pot. Then the fantastic rock of the 70s and a love for disco--- I'm a disco queen, naturally and swoon over Led Zeppelin, and him being a man explains my love for women and my tendency to do dumb shit.
Please send me a photo of your tree! And any of the other yummy meals you cook/eat. I must live vicariously.
What a great puzzle art project. I vote you do the blackboard with a tiny eraser and chalk. First of all, that is unique and secondly, it speaks of the ephemeral state of life and the possibilities of the future as endless---we can create ANYTHING!
However, with your romantic history, perhaps LOVE IS PUZZLING, surrounded by photos of your exes wearing painted-on horns, moustaches or targets might be a thought---
Hey! I just your LOVE IS PUZZLING picture in the mail tonight. and I had no idea how large the puzzle pieces were!! 24X24 is a lot of room to work with . What a great idea to work with only stuff you already had in your apartment! that way you have a unique medium---who would have thought of stick tile and nail polish.? You did a great job Kelly. Andn ow you'll be part of a project thousands of people see next year. I'm not sure how they will show the piece---if each piece is 2' tall, overlap by 6"--then 10 of them would stand 15 ft trall, which of course I know gallery ceilings are tall, some of those gran rooms have 25ft tall ceilings, maybe 30ft? So 15 pieces tall? That's 333 pieces wide--that's like 500 ft wide one hell of an exhibit. When its shown in NY, can you photograph your place in it?
Isn't it neat to contribute to an art exhibit? I do that through the mail--called Mail Art. Some are individuals, but several museums advertise for submissions for mailart exhibits all around the world. I've put in pieces to Indonesia, France, Canada, Venezuela and Holland. Feels good to be in part of other people's moments in their lives.
CanI just say you shoudl call up the project artist and share wiht him your experience of the project and strike up another conversation maybe find out what artsy thing he'll be at and see if he is your ticket to being Kelly Kelly. I know that tidbit did not escape you.
I enjoyed painting a few black, white and red envelopes for you, as I know how serious you are about it. I noticed that the cool red Christmas envelope was adorned with a black and white silver screen actress. Cleaver. I noticed we have a black and red broom to clean with and I thought, "Oh -- Kelly would love this." Apparently the BWR combo is popular in kitchens? I wonder if there's anyone (or how many?) who has their entire home BWR like you? If Mini had been brown or tan, would you have still taken him home?
The lawyer John retained is probably a friend or a friend of a friend who doesn't know what a douchebag he is and was probably fed some sob story about how you are discriminating against him--or that he told you beforehand, the relationship didn't work out, and scorned you made up the story using his "condition" against him and it is you that is unethical. The attorney things she's fighting against discrimination, while she's ignoring that you could have been fighting for your life, slowing leeching from you.
FUCK THIS DOUCHEBAG, VIRUS-INFECTED ASS. I HOPE HE GOES IMPOTENT.
Thanks for the info on a subscription to Creative Non-Fiction.
You asked about my suicide ordeals. At 16, I swallowed like 90 antidepressants with day-old, hot, flat 7-Up. LIke an hour later, I wobbled into a park, crawled under a tree, smoked some pot, and then puked up huge glop into raw dust/dirt. I was desperate to die, so I picked up the dirty puke and ate it--I guess all the pills broke open together and the powder sort of congealed? I got spooked by all the barking dogs, thinking the cops were after me, and went back to the car, drove two blocks and passed out. Woke up, puked. Pass out. Woke up the next morning cold and pissed off that I was not dead. However, I was kind of euphoric---apparently while it will NOT kill you, 90 Prozac will flood your brain with happy feeilngs. I was 16. I didn't know what I now know---that you need a tricyclic anti-depressant to kill yourself---about 1500 mg of amytriptaline will do it, though I would recommend washing it down with some booze.
I was going to put this in the previous letter but I hesitated because I know your history and tendency to go DOWN THERE. But since you asked, and I firmly believe in the righ to die, and I think if people choose to die, whether at 75 with Alzheimers or 35 with cancer or whatevger, it should be as painless and as least traumatizing as possible.
The top 3 least painful ways to die by your own hand----1) a gunshot to the head Very effective, quick, and painless. Unless you fuck it up. Don't try using a long-ass rifle and pulling the trigger with your toes. I actually know a lady who did that. She was a nurse hooked on pain pills, terribly depressed, shot herself and not only did her kids find her, but it blew out her breast implant, deflated the other one and one lung, part of her intestines and some other stuff. I think she was aiming for her heart, slipped and used a buckshot or whatever, and all the little pieces ravaged her insides. She now has no boob on one side, half a boob on the other, lives on laxatives and anti-depressants, an ddo you know the police actually charged her with attempted suicide? What a fucking joke. It's the only crive you don't get charged with if you succeed, or pay for if you don't. How stupid.
Second, as noted vodka with a side of amytryptaline.
Third is a variation of the old head-in-the-oven and hose from car tailpipe to driver's side window in the privacy of your own garage. Well, neither of these work these days, at leaswt, not like they used to. I can't remember what differences were in the gases between then and now, but I remember ruling hte oven out,. It may have been a technical problem, like the open area of the kitchen. Not sure. But the idea you are working with is a gas replacement in your lungs/blood stream/brain to rob it of oxygen.
Now, you can achieve this through asphixiation by simply cutting off oxygen intake, but what happens is that you get a build up of CO2 --and your lungs cannot process back in carbon dioxide, so you go through a lot of chest pain so you suffocate, even if this is not done manually, say, by strangulation, but rather by trash bag over the head, duct taped at the neck. Very traumatic for about 2 minutes until you pass out, then another 2 minutes while you go kapoot. Not pleasant.
What you do to avoid feeling the depletion of your oxygen is to maintain that exchange in living tissue. CO Carbon Monoxide would work, but if you try sucking on a tailpipe now, it's the same suffocation feuling as you get from the aforementioned methods. This, you can thank the inventors of the catalytic converter. What used to come out of your tailpipe was the result of incompletely combusted petroleum, carbon monoxide and hydrocarbons. The catalytic converter re-oxidizes the air so now it becomes carbon dioxide and water.
The alternative is to use [Ed.: Can't read next word] gas to complete the lung exchange at the membrane. Here's the process: You set up a relatively well-sealed tent, preferably large enough to be comfortable laying prone or sitting Indian style. Take a book or some soothing music on your iPod. Now there may be some seizing going on after you pass out. Don't worry, if it does happen you won't feel it, but you need to make sure your tent is durable. You dont' want to rrip it open and get flooded with oxygen after you're severely brain damaged, but not quite dead. I dont' know if there's a per-ade air-tight tent out there, but I'd planned on making my own. You can use a puptent or one of those nylon crawl tubes.
Things to remember--the larger your tent, the more oxygen will be in there to begin with and you'll have to breath in and process this, which drags out the time, and requires a greater volume of inert gas, which will be in a big metal tank/canister, taking up space, money, and will be a bitch hauling up three flights of stairs.
So, if you aren't claustrophobic, get a nylon crawl tube. I don't know the technical name for them. We used to teach the dogs to go through them, but the kids played in them too. They have plastic/wire rings covered in nylon mesh that expands with open ends. 10 ft long will do to make room for you to lay down with a tank at the end. If you want more comfort, get a one-or-two person tent. You'll also need either thick 55 gallon trash bags, or plastic sheeting like 3 mil or 5mil from Lowes or Home Depot. I think the Jello type name for it is Visqueen or Viscune--the name comes from what its made from---viscose--used in the manufacturing of cellophane--of of those commercial kitchen rolls should do. Grab a roll of duct tape, too. Wrap up your tend all around, leaving your little opening to get in. You'll duct tape yourself in. Now the tank you can put in with you or leave outside and connect a hose duct-taped through your entry hold once you've turned it on. You'll probably want to poke a hole in the cellophane next to it for excess gas to escape, otherwise the pressure buildup might pop a seam and let in oxygen. If the hole is small then you'll only have negative air flow, which is good for balance while you are in the in-between state of unconsciousness.
As far as gases go, your choices are: Radon, Xenon, Krypton, Argon--recognize these yet? Neon and Helium. Radon comes from the radioactive decay of radium, which I think si pretty rare so I don't know why we used to have to get the house checked for radon when we were kids. I guess because it will kill you. Duh. Xenon is used in strobe lights. Krypton is used in flourescent lights, as is argon and neon. Argon can be bought at a welding gas supply company., because it's used as a gas shield when welding. But of course, my plan was Helium.
Now, I got pretty far with all of this, however, I obviously didn't do it. Most of it I constructed from bits and pieces of info I learned in physiology, chemistry and the internet. I did find helpful tips on methods I didn't want to try, but no specific directions like these. Then again, I was usually at work and in a rush to make the last bus. But here's what I deduced.
Helium boils at some ridiculously cold temperative, like -200C or something. That's why it's always gas at room temp. In order to get it in those tanks, it was probably cooled and capped, so when it ocmes out if will be chilly to some degree. Late fall chilly or deep Antartic winter chilly, I don't know. You can find out the temp of it inside and with ambient temperature in the tent along with your exhalation, some entropy will occur. I'm guessing you should wear long thermals and a sweater, take a couple blankets for both comfort and practical use, just in case.
The great thing about this method is that although it occurs painlessly and relatively quickly it takes a lot of preparation which is a safeguard against impulsive behavior.
The other thing I do not know is exactly how much of it you would need. That's why I suggest a smaller tent. Even if you used a standard two-person Coleman--that's like 6'5" in diameterwith a parboiled top. You can't ever stand up one so it is probably less than 5' tall. I'd just buy the biggest tank at Party City and pay for delivery. That way you don't have to lug it upstairs on the Subway. And besides, if it's your last purchase, why be cheap? And risk being veggie girl? No way! Go big. In fact, if it were me, I'd buy two. Here's why----
The longst part is the setup, the second longest is using the oxygen already in the tent, and then in your bloodstream/cells. Your cells--including your brain and heart and all other of your living tissue cells use oxygen for fuel in though the little sacs on the lungs and farts out CO2. If you break back in CO2, or if you can't breath back in, your lungs will stay full of CO2, but it can't pass back in through the membranes , so its like hitting a brick wall. Your saces are desperately pulling for something, anything and nothing will pass back in. That's the pain you'd feel of suffocation. You'll lose consciousness after a few minutes of agony.
No trauma, no pain. you know how I know for sure? Because it is the reason why people come to check the radon levels and why parents buy carbon monoxide monitors to hang in the hallway. It's odorless, colorless, and you don't have a clue what is going on until you're ready for a nap.
So that's my long, drawn-out, well though out and researched method of self-disposal if you want to save your face and die pretty. Those gunshot suicides are probably pretty ugly. And if you don't have ready access to a pharmaceutical hobbyist...
Shit, it's nearly 2am and I am sleepy. I hope this finds you well and in no desire for any long-term naps. However, I shared because I think we should all be able to decide our exit strategy if an emergency arrives. Or at least entertain you.
Can't wait for photos. I need some more joy in my life. The shit is getting deep around here. I feel like I'm in an asylum and it's the lunatics that are in charge. Oh yeah, I went to a review Friday and got a new and improved bullshit reason for being kept in solitary. This place is unbelievable. Merry Christmas. Eat some pie for me.
Peace,
Sarah
Happy Christmas.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Letters from the Inside, Michael Swango, #104
Dear Kelly,
Three letters to you in eight days! Another Festivus miracle!
Speaking of which: It is December and fett of snow is falling in the Rockies and a lovely blast of frigid air is coming your way for the weekend. We both know how much you look forward to that... so perhaps a few words on the holiday season.
You don't seem to me to be someone overly sentimental or enthusiastic about Christmas. But neither do you seem like a grinch (Trust me I have been friends with an/or dated both extremes as I'm sure you have.) Am I at least close? I know the bass parts of many Christmas carols.
Would it surprise you to know that I was a "gleeker"? And sang in Christmas Messiah choirs multiple times as a baritone/bass?
Three absolutely favorite Christmas carols: O HOLY NIGHT, ANGELS WE HAVE HEARD ON HIGH, DO YOU HEAR WHAT I HEAR?
Possibly the most haunting Christmas song, or any song for that matter is O HOLY NIGHT! I'veheard many amazing renditions--one that comes to mind, believe it or not, was in an episode of NIP/TUCK...on Christmas Eve, Julia is considering an abortion for her child who has a serious birth defect...she in the clinic pondering as the tenor Aaron Neville singsl O HOLY NIGHT! Absolutely chilling...stunning.
Would love for you to listen to it. How difficult is it to access an FX episode from NIP/TUCK from 4 or 5 years ago online?
It's good you are the "cool aunt/godmother" to your goddaughter...I think having a child for children around for the holidays keeps most adults from going off the rails this time of year. Except of course thosewho kill their children around the holidays. You and I have never discussed the horrifying yet fascinating phenomenon of "Family Annihilators". With your interest in sociopaths, as subject you should research at some point.
OK that footnote takes up out of the holiday spirit so back to your amazing letters and the myriad of topics to discuss:
never thank you for your marvelously detailed yet concise analysis/summary of the film CATFISH. As you said: "cringeworthy and so very sad." But also incredibly fascinating and a metaphor for the internet age.
You have no idea how much I appreciate your occasional film summaries of movies that most people will neither see or find interesting. Thanks again.
> Before I forget I must ask you a key question on the background of your intriguing work of fiction---the Modern Love proposed column: It states that John became HIV positive in 1985. This raises a host of questions which may help to illuminate the later sociopathic/murderous behavior:
> How did J become infected? Despite the later waves of infection in drug users and of course the pandemic amongst heterosexuals in sub-Saharan Africa...In the US in 1985 fay sex or contaminated blood products. Remember, HIV/AIDS had been causing morbidity/mortality for years before a test was found to detect the virus in blood and blood products.
As you know, this is a subject I know something about and have studied...You might recall the almost incomprehensively tragic case of Elizabeth Glaser...wife of Starsky and Hutch actor Paul Michael Glaser. She contracted HIV from a blood transfusion in the '80s, passed it to both of her children and all three died of AIDS in the years when the only treatment was AZT.
My point again, how did J get it? Perhaps via an HIV woman who didn't tell him? or was it gay sex or a transfusion before anyone knew better?
Also Just how many exposed women are we talking about? Dozens? Scores? Hundreds? Many men and women infected in the 80s and 90s died. Kelly, did his partners?
Final question: Did J offer no clues at all? The triple cocktail/retroviaral treatment is rigorous and demanding. Multiple pills, mulitple times a day, every day.
A difficult thing to hide from a sexual partner. But obviously not impossible....
And there are, of course, side effects---also difficult to hide. But not impossible...
KK there are so many levels to this story. Again, if the ability and willingness to turn the story into a novel is ever there (and legal roadblocks removed) I would love to contribute knowledge of HIV/AIDS and understanding of the sociopathic mind.
And once again...and I will repeat it as often as necessary,you have the total package of writing skills needed for that project, and many others/PLUS access to technology to ease the process and contacts in publishing and in NYC.
I remain furious at J for his deep mistrust and fear he instilled on his innocent victim. I feel for you so much. I am very serious.
Please describe your "fictional" ideas on how he became infected. Surelyl there are far more than the one other woman you mentioned, Jenia.
Still one more final note: I imagine the psychological impact of discovering you were HIV + in 1985. I have not only read many personal accounts but have talked to many gay men who were positive early on, but survivied into the late 90s. Initially a death sentence, then borrowed time, then...
Once I know more--further discussion of what might be in J's mind...how a sociopath would perceive the court situation and his attitude towards his nemesis (Imagine what he must want to do to you. I will---at least try.
***
Just so you know: As I got through these letters, I am writing down specific items and points to discuss further and in more detail.
The possible writing projects are one of these items.
> if the above project on John ever took shape, a chapter on the spiderlike way that unsuspecting women can be drawn into the complex and sophisticated and amoral web of a man with sociopathic tendencies.
> AND the Big Three!!! It is an awesome concept, and OMG! Kelly, you've been writing about it for 11 years. This book would write itself, KK. I will think seriously about chapters/order/etc. and send the breakdown as I see it. One man's opinion anyway.
Still working on that letter of yours I mentioned in my last letter. Hope I did't nbore you with the questions and detaisl on the entire J situation. It is something we must discuss further and a story that I believe needs to be told in a novel in great detail.
Must get this in the mail--another letter to follow, hopefully a bit more concise but still in depth.
Just read a brilliant review of the Black Swan. Soundsl ike Aronofsky has made a film worth seeing. And more you know Natalie Portmanis getting raves reviews. And one of my favorite actresses--Winona Ryder--is also in the film.
So totally sounds like a film to see. I hope someone does a novelization of the film.
Thinking of you sunshine--stay warm in your nest!
XOXO Take care and write soon.
Yours,
Michael
Three letters to you in eight days! Another Festivus miracle!
Speaking of which: It is December and fett of snow is falling in the Rockies and a lovely blast of frigid air is coming your way for the weekend. We both know how much you look forward to that... so perhaps a few words on the holiday season.
You don't seem to me to be someone overly sentimental or enthusiastic about Christmas. But neither do you seem like a grinch (Trust me I have been friends with an/or dated both extremes as I'm sure you have.) Am I at least close? I know the bass parts of many Christmas carols.
Would it surprise you to know that I was a "gleeker"? And sang in Christmas Messiah choirs multiple times as a baritone/bass?
Three absolutely favorite Christmas carols: O HOLY NIGHT, ANGELS WE HAVE HEARD ON HIGH, DO YOU HEAR WHAT I HEAR?
Possibly the most haunting Christmas song, or any song for that matter is O HOLY NIGHT! I'veheard many amazing renditions--one that comes to mind, believe it or not, was in an episode of NIP/TUCK...on Christmas Eve, Julia is considering an abortion for her child who has a serious birth defect...she in the clinic pondering as the tenor Aaron Neville singsl O HOLY NIGHT! Absolutely chilling...stunning.
Would love for you to listen to it. How difficult is it to access an FX episode from NIP/TUCK from 4 or 5 years ago online?
It's good you are the "cool aunt/godmother" to your goddaughter...I think having a child for children around for the holidays keeps most adults from going off the rails this time of year. Except of course thosewho kill their children around the holidays. You and I have never discussed the horrifying yet fascinating phenomenon of "Family Annihilators". With your interest in sociopaths, as subject you should research at some point.
OK that footnote takes up out of the holiday spirit so back to your amazing letters and the myriad of topics to discuss:
never thank you for your marvelously detailed yet concise analysis/summary of the film CATFISH. As you said: "cringeworthy and so very sad." But also incredibly fascinating and a metaphor for the internet age.
You have no idea how much I appreciate your occasional film summaries of movies that most people will neither see or find interesting. Thanks again.
> Before I forget I must ask you a key question on the background of your intriguing work of fiction---the Modern Love proposed column: It states that John became HIV positive in 1985. This raises a host of questions which may help to illuminate the later sociopathic/murderous behavior:
> How did J become infected? Despite the later waves of infection in drug users and of course the pandemic amongst heterosexuals in sub-Saharan Africa...In the US in 1985 fay sex or contaminated blood products. Remember, HIV/AIDS had been causing morbidity/mortality for years before a test was found to detect the virus in blood and blood products.
As you know, this is a subject I know something about and have studied...You might recall the almost incomprehensively tragic case of Elizabeth Glaser...wife of Starsky and Hutch actor Paul Michael Glaser. She contracted HIV from a blood transfusion in the '80s, passed it to both of her children and all three died of AIDS in the years when the only treatment was AZT.
My point again, how did J get it? Perhaps via an HIV woman who didn't tell him? or was it gay sex or a transfusion before anyone knew better?
Also Just how many exposed women are we talking about? Dozens? Scores? Hundreds? Many men and women infected in the 80s and 90s died. Kelly, did his partners?
Final question: Did J offer no clues at all? The triple cocktail/retroviaral treatment is rigorous and demanding. Multiple pills, mulitple times a day, every day.
A difficult thing to hide from a sexual partner. But obviously not impossible....
And there are, of course, side effects---also difficult to hide. But not impossible...
KK there are so many levels to this story. Again, if the ability and willingness to turn the story into a novel is ever there (and legal roadblocks removed) I would love to contribute knowledge of HIV/AIDS and understanding of the sociopathic mind.
And once again...and I will repeat it as often as necessary,you have the total package of writing skills needed for that project, and many others/PLUS access to technology to ease the process and contacts in publishing and in NYC.
I remain furious at J for his deep mistrust and fear he instilled on his innocent victim. I feel for you so much. I am very serious.
Please describe your "fictional" ideas on how he became infected. Surelyl there are far more than the one other woman you mentioned, Jenia.
Still one more final note: I imagine the psychological impact of discovering you were HIV + in 1985. I have not only read many personal accounts but have talked to many gay men who were positive early on, but survivied into the late 90s. Initially a death sentence, then borrowed time, then...
Once I know more--further discussion of what might be in J's mind...how a sociopath would perceive the court situation and his attitude towards his nemesis (Imagine what he must want to do to you. I will---at least try.
***
Just so you know: As I got through these letters, I am writing down specific items and points to discuss further and in more detail.
The possible writing projects are one of these items.
> if the above project on John ever took shape, a chapter on the spiderlike way that unsuspecting women can be drawn into the complex and sophisticated and amoral web of a man with sociopathic tendencies.
> AND the Big Three!!! It is an awesome concept, and OMG! Kelly, you've been writing about it for 11 years. This book would write itself, KK. I will think seriously about chapters/order/etc. and send the breakdown as I see it. One man's opinion anyway.
Still working on that letter of yours I mentioned in my last letter. Hope I did't nbore you with the questions and detaisl on the entire J situation. It is something we must discuss further and a story that I believe needs to be told in a novel in great detail.
Must get this in the mail--another letter to follow, hopefully a bit more concise but still in depth.
Just read a brilliant review of the Black Swan. Soundsl ike Aronofsky has made a film worth seeing. And more you know Natalie Portmanis getting raves reviews. And one of my favorite actresses--Winona Ryder--is also in the film.
So totally sounds like a film to see. I hope someone does a novelization of the film.
Thinking of you sunshine--stay warm in your nest!
XOXO Take care and write soon.
Yours,
Michael
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Letters from the Inside, Ira Einhorn, #4 & 5
Hi Taurus:
Sitting in the law library under the blinding lights: the law has become so corrupt that I'm revolting against the acquistion of more legal knowledge, as that only increases my disgust.
It is BRRRR here too, but I'm relatively immune to the cold as I learned early to turn on my inner heart, and reinforced the need for it by never wearinga heavy coat--just gloves and a hat.
Thank you for the holiday card.
The job market is a horror, so I can only hope something will turn up.
Unless something strange happens, A Black Swan, the USA is going to be an economic mess for years.
The street economy was killed by people who work south of you on the island--they are doing fine again due to 9trillion in tax money, but you and others who saved them are the new forgotten.
Sounds simple but that iswhat happened.
And given the election and O's lack of stomach, little is going to happy for years.
Think out of the box.
I watched the leading feminists of my generation hit the biological wall and being to compromise, but children do not seem to be your issue.
The way the world is going it is not good for male or female.
I created a 21st century lifestyle in the last 60s and never looked back.
I watche a father (I had wonderful parenting from my mother and father) work himself into exhaustion day after day. He was a lump on the couch. I internalized that image and resisted monogamy and marriage like a plague (even when living with good ladies).
One would have made a good wife/partner, but the lump on the couch got in the way.
And 60s/70s was sexual revolution time. Pill + no AIDS. PARADISE.
But as I learned: monogamy suits me as I love closeness and intimacy and fidelity builds trust which is the essense of a good relationship.
Yes, it was grea tot have lovers in 10 cities (I travelled a lot) but nothing in my wild love life can equal the 14 years of closeness I had with my wife.
So, yes, details and hold stready RE: your demand.
Doi you want living together and marriage?
I had a few wonderful mistresses and some wild sex partners--trivial in comparison to the love I found with a woman who on the surface had little in common with me.
I'm so content with simple things, if I have learning tools and problems to work on.
A "job" is alien to me.
My only half jobs were two college teaching stints: Temple U and Harvard (2 hours a week--I was a fellow).
In that kind of environment, you must have a partner that you like, like, like as you are in touching range 24 hours a day and loving could take place over the cutting board as I touched or killsed my wife everytime I saw her.
From my older and European perspective American couples seem to be at war.
"Love" seems to have disppeared into some post modern analysis. SAD is the operative term I use, reinforced by all of the many women friends lovers seducers etc. who have written me since my return.
I did a lot of rollerskating on the street when I was young.
I went to an incredible all boys school--Central High in PA. Those are the people from my past who are still with me. My closest friend has been a friend since I was 12. I lost a series of friends when I cut off for 17 years and a lot have now deserted.
My basic education took place in high school: learning to write english with clarity and lots of math. The best for me has been omnivorous reading of the best since then and conversations with the brightest.
My 60s/70s friends are a who's who of people in many fields including government, business, Wall St.
I learned a living.
From 1964--till my bust: I read, read, read, took part in 1000s of conversations that went on for years in letters, telephone calls, conferences, etc and made love to anyone who attracted me that was wiling.
At Penn, I quickly befriended the best profs and helped them with their work. I rarely went to class. I used the open stack vast library to educate myself. The polymath of the univ. and I quickly became inseparable. We read as one mind. He was in love with me, but not my scene: we did not let that get in our way.
He was a great teacher, but a tortured man.
Tending him when he was down taught me as much as the books we read, the music we heard or the art and dance we saw.
He undertsood all of western art at a very deep level. It soaked my being. By the time I became friendly with John Cage U saw clearly what he was doing as I had absorbed those who helped create him.
He immediately put me up for a Guggenheim.
Penn for me was people and the library and the beginning of lots of sex.
An environment in which one could learn and experiment.
I dealt with everybody as people are people.
I follow my interests religiously. If you were, are reading and thinking, I will be interested. If not: GOODBYE.
Same with somen: If you don't attract me: BYE
Or a class: if prof came in with yellow notes and read, I disappeared.
In another time I'd be married with ten kids. I like basic things. The artiface, most fashion, is a joke to me. I note it and move on.
For most, a good university is a place to meet lots of people (in my day a husband) and have the time to explore what the PAST has saved. I'm a connector; I made friends wherever I went---at Penn, I was turned on to the mental elite. The social elite was of no interest: trivial, though at times they courted me.
Women who wanted conversation in bed as well as sex sought me out--older students, grad students, faculty wives. I had energy and I used it.
By happenstance in 63-64, I became a leader and media figure and from then on, the elite in terms of power, money and intelligence sought me out.
By my bust, I had a range of friends and money was being tossed at me.
It is a story that must be told. The telephone company was spending $100,000 a year to eat lunch with me. I was about to do a TV series.
Harvard liked what I did with my dorm students so they asked me to stay an extra 6 mos. and offered me all my meals and my dorm quarters even thoiugh my friendship in the institute was for only 6 months.
A MacArthur was looming
then all was destroyed
and I went underground for many years.
Keep warm,
Taurus
Reading: The Black Swan, Nassim Nicholas Taleb: about how little of the future we can predict. He's saying the same thing over and over again.
BUT
What he is saying is key. Now as things have gone non-linear and that really confuses most people, there are too few interesting minds about.
Chronic City:, Jonathan Lethem, novel, down't quite do it for me.
Shadow Elite, Janine R. Wedez- she is describing my past lifestyle in Ponderous terms---not sure I'll finish it.
She is doing anthropology amojnd the neocons and others who work in lots of shadowy areas.
Catching Fire, Richard Wrangham, How cooking food influenced how we became human.
Signature in the Cell, Stephen C. Meyer: A convincing case (totally) for design science, a book that blows a hole in the Darwinian edifice.
A book of essays re: Pre-Adam Smith economics.
I try to do some latin each day, but for quite a while now I've been doing erotic stories (writing them) instead. Some turn me on---others sound like porno (educated). If I had an agent I would publish them--probably under a pseudonym.
***
Hi Taurus Lady:
Got your blog cum art project today. WAiting ot hear about your love battle.
Words I would use:
THE SHADOW WON'T ERASE
If you like collage look up the master: Kurt Schwitters.
I'm writing so much that I can hardly believe the piles. Switched last night from the erotic stories to novellas. Back to my case. It just pours out. I'm ready, gut sans computer. DIFICIL!
House of total silence as we were on LOCKDOWN! for a general search.
My room hardly touched as the one guy khnew me and set the tone:
10 minutes after they left I was back to normal order.
COLD
CO who came to search said that the temp yesterday with wind chill was -26. Cold doesn't bother me but I'm not out fighting it.
Hope the job problem and the man who will not ocmmit is not too much of a damper on your obviously strong spirit.
I was born two drinks above par. I'm horrified about what is happening to the USA. The legal system, the environment, my case, etc.
But my spirit is irrepressible even in here, I bought of bed and get to it.
I just wrote a story that makes my hair stand on end. YET I feel good. I could be a terrorist with a smile.
Have you always wanted one man or is the feeling recent? When I picture my Taurus lovers, the main quality that comes to mind is loyalty, then vunerablity.
Strong but vunerable.
I seem to get along best with cancers and the scorpio who has her energy under control: rare, but if a Taurus and a Scorpio are the best combo in the Zodiac.
Dail and his muse/wife is an example.
I'm all Venus and my venus is at the midheaven--it dominates my chart.
I'm a love bug, but the externalization of that energy has turned me into a very sexual creature, though a real kiss can be more satisfying than any sexual act.
I'm mercurial uranian fixed earth solid, but given to transformation.
I guess the cardinal emotion of a cancer touches me deeply.
The other is such a powerful moving force. The downplaying of love in the USA saddens me.
Peace,
Ira.
Sitting in the law library under the blinding lights: the law has become so corrupt that I'm revolting against the acquistion of more legal knowledge, as that only increases my disgust.
It is BRRRR here too, but I'm relatively immune to the cold as I learned early to turn on my inner heart, and reinforced the need for it by never wearinga heavy coat--just gloves and a hat.
Thank you for the holiday card.
The job market is a horror, so I can only hope something will turn up.
Unless something strange happens, A Black Swan, the USA is going to be an economic mess for years.
The street economy was killed by people who work south of you on the island--they are doing fine again due to 9trillion in tax money, but you and others who saved them are the new forgotten.
Sounds simple but that iswhat happened.
And given the election and O's lack of stomach, little is going to happy for years.
Think out of the box.
I watched the leading feminists of my generation hit the biological wall and being to compromise, but children do not seem to be your issue.
The way the world is going it is not good for male or female.
I created a 21st century lifestyle in the last 60s and never looked back.
I watche a father (I had wonderful parenting from my mother and father) work himself into exhaustion day after day. He was a lump on the couch. I internalized that image and resisted monogamy and marriage like a plague (even when living with good ladies).
One would have made a good wife/partner, but the lump on the couch got in the way.
And 60s/70s was sexual revolution time. Pill + no AIDS. PARADISE.
But as I learned: monogamy suits me as I love closeness and intimacy and fidelity builds trust which is the essense of a good relationship.
Yes, it was grea tot have lovers in 10 cities (I travelled a lot) but nothing in my wild love life can equal the 14 years of closeness I had with my wife.
So, yes, details and hold stready RE: your demand.
Doi you want living together and marriage?
I had a few wonderful mistresses and some wild sex partners--trivial in comparison to the love I found with a woman who on the surface had little in common with me.
I'm so content with simple things, if I have learning tools and problems to work on.
A "job" is alien to me.
My only half jobs were two college teaching stints: Temple U and Harvard (2 hours a week--I was a fellow).
In that kind of environment, you must have a partner that you like, like, like as you are in touching range 24 hours a day and loving could take place over the cutting board as I touched or killsed my wife everytime I saw her.
From my older and European perspective American couples seem to be at war.
"Love" seems to have disppeared into some post modern analysis. SAD is the operative term I use, reinforced by all of the many women friends lovers seducers etc. who have written me since my return.
I did a lot of rollerskating on the street when I was young.
I went to an incredible all boys school--Central High in PA. Those are the people from my past who are still with me. My closest friend has been a friend since I was 12. I lost a series of friends when I cut off for 17 years and a lot have now deserted.
My basic education took place in high school: learning to write english with clarity and lots of math. The best for me has been omnivorous reading of the best since then and conversations with the brightest.
My 60s/70s friends are a who's who of people in many fields including government, business, Wall St.
I learned a living.
From 1964--till my bust: I read, read, read, took part in 1000s of conversations that went on for years in letters, telephone calls, conferences, etc and made love to anyone who attracted me that was wiling.
At Penn, I quickly befriended the best profs and helped them with their work. I rarely went to class. I used the open stack vast library to educate myself. The polymath of the univ. and I quickly became inseparable. We read as one mind. He was in love with me, but not my scene: we did not let that get in our way.
He was a great teacher, but a tortured man.
Tending him when he was down taught me as much as the books we read, the music we heard or the art and dance we saw.
He undertsood all of western art at a very deep level. It soaked my being. By the time I became friendly with John Cage U saw clearly what he was doing as I had absorbed those who helped create him.
He immediately put me up for a Guggenheim.
Penn for me was people and the library and the beginning of lots of sex.
An environment in which one could learn and experiment.
I dealt with everybody as people are people.
I follow my interests religiously. If you were, are reading and thinking, I will be interested. If not: GOODBYE.
Same with somen: If you don't attract me: BYE
Or a class: if prof came in with yellow notes and read, I disappeared.
In another time I'd be married with ten kids. I like basic things. The artiface, most fashion, is a joke to me. I note it and move on.
For most, a good university is a place to meet lots of people (in my day a husband) and have the time to explore what the PAST has saved. I'm a connector; I made friends wherever I went---at Penn, I was turned on to the mental elite. The social elite was of no interest: trivial, though at times they courted me.
Women who wanted conversation in bed as well as sex sought me out--older students, grad students, faculty wives. I had energy and I used it.
By happenstance in 63-64, I became a leader and media figure and from then on, the elite in terms of power, money and intelligence sought me out.
By my bust, I had a range of friends and money was being tossed at me.
It is a story that must be told. The telephone company was spending $100,000 a year to eat lunch with me. I was about to do a TV series.
Harvard liked what I did with my dorm students so they asked me to stay an extra 6 mos. and offered me all my meals and my dorm quarters even thoiugh my friendship in the institute was for only 6 months.
A MacArthur was looming
then all was destroyed
and I went underground for many years.
Keep warm,
Taurus
Reading: The Black Swan, Nassim Nicholas Taleb: about how little of the future we can predict. He's saying the same thing over and over again.
BUT
What he is saying is key. Now as things have gone non-linear and that really confuses most people, there are too few interesting minds about.
Chronic City:, Jonathan Lethem, novel, down't quite do it for me.
Shadow Elite, Janine R. Wedez- she is describing my past lifestyle in Ponderous terms---not sure I'll finish it.
She is doing anthropology amojnd the neocons and others who work in lots of shadowy areas.
Catching Fire, Richard Wrangham, How cooking food influenced how we became human.
Signature in the Cell, Stephen C. Meyer: A convincing case (totally) for design science, a book that blows a hole in the Darwinian edifice.
A book of essays re: Pre-Adam Smith economics.
I try to do some latin each day, but for quite a while now I've been doing erotic stories (writing them) instead. Some turn me on---others sound like porno (educated). If I had an agent I would publish them--probably under a pseudonym.
***
Hi Taurus Lady:
Got your blog cum art project today. WAiting ot hear about your love battle.
Words I would use:
THE SHADOW WON'T ERASE
If you like collage look up the master: Kurt Schwitters.
I'm writing so much that I can hardly believe the piles. Switched last night from the erotic stories to novellas. Back to my case. It just pours out. I'm ready, gut sans computer. DIFICIL!
House of total silence as we were on LOCKDOWN! for a general search.
My room hardly touched as the one guy khnew me and set the tone:
10 minutes after they left I was back to normal order.
COLD
CO who came to search said that the temp yesterday with wind chill was -26. Cold doesn't bother me but I'm not out fighting it.
Hope the job problem and the man who will not ocmmit is not too much of a damper on your obviously strong spirit.
I was born two drinks above par. I'm horrified about what is happening to the USA. The legal system, the environment, my case, etc.
But my spirit is irrepressible even in here, I bought of bed and get to it.
I just wrote a story that makes my hair stand on end. YET I feel good. I could be a terrorist with a smile.
Have you always wanted one man or is the feeling recent? When I picture my Taurus lovers, the main quality that comes to mind is loyalty, then vunerablity.
Strong but vunerable.
I seem to get along best with cancers and the scorpio who has her energy under control: rare, but if a Taurus and a Scorpio are the best combo in the Zodiac.
Dail and his muse/wife is an example.
I'm all Venus and my venus is at the midheaven--it dominates my chart.
I'm a love bug, but the externalization of that energy has turned me into a very sexual creature, though a real kiss can be more satisfying than any sexual act.
I'm mercurial uranian fixed earth solid, but given to transformation.
I guess the cardinal emotion of a cancer touches me deeply.
The other is such a powerful moving force. The downplaying of love in the USA saddens me.
Peace,
Ira.
Letters from the Inside, Michael Swango, #104
Dear Kelly,
Three letters to you in eight days! Another Festivus miracle!
Speaking of which: It is December and fett of snow is falling in the Rockies and a lovely blast of frigid air is coming your way for the weekend. We both know how much you look forward to that... so perhaps a few words on the holiday season.
You don't seem to me to be someone overly sentimental or enthusiastic about Christmas. But neither do you seem like a grinch (Trust me I have been friends with an/or dated both extremes as I'm sure you have.) Am I at least close? I know the bass parts of many Christmas carols.
Would it surprise you to know that I was a "gleeker"? And sang in Christmas Messiah choirs multiple times as a baritone/bass?
Three absolutely favorite Christmas carols: O HOLY NIGHT, ANGELS WE HAVE HEARD ON HIGH, DO YOU HEAR WHAT I HEAR?
Possibly the most haunting Christmas song, or any song for that matter is O HOLY NIGHT! I'veheard many amazing renditions--one that comes to mind, believe it or not, was in an episode of NIP/TUCK...on Christmas Eve, Julia is considering an abortion for her child who has a serious birth defect...she in the clinic pondering as the tenor Aaron Neville singsl O HOLY NIGHT! Absolutely chilling...stunning.
Would love for you to listen to it. How difficult is it to access an FX episode from NIP/TUCK from 4 or 5 years ago online?
It's good you are the "cool aunt/godmother" to your goddaughter...I think having a child for children around for the holidays keeps most adults from going off the rails this time of year. Except of course thosewho kill their children around the holidays. You and I have never discussed the horrifying yet fascinating phenomenon of "Family Annihilators". With your interest in sociopaths, as subject you should research at some point.
OK that footnote takes up out of the holiday spirit so back to your amazing letters and the myriad of topics to discuss:
never thank you for your marvelously detailed yet concise analysis/summary of the film CATFISH. As you said: "cringeworthy and so very sad." But also incredibly fascinating and a metaphor for the internet age.
You have no idea how much I appreciate your occasional film summaries of movies that most people will neither see or find interesting. Thanks again.
> Before I forget I must ask you a key question on the background of your intriguing work of fiction---the Modern Love proposed column: It states that John became HIV positive in 1985. This raises a host of questions which may help to illuminate the later sociopathic/murderous behavior:
> How did J become infected? Despite the later waves of infection in drug users and of course the pandemic amongst heterosexuals in sub-Saharan Africa...In the US in 1985 fay sex or contaminated blood products. Remember, HIV/AIDS had been causing morbidity/mortality for years before a test was found to detect the virus in blood and blood products.
As you know, this is a subject I know something about and have studied...You might recall the almost incomprehensively tragic case of Elizabeth Glaser...wife of Starsky and Hutch actor Paul Michael Glaser. She contracted HIV from a blood transfusion in the '80s, passed it to both of her children and all three died of AIDS in the years when the only treatment was AZT.
My point again, how did J get it? Perhaps via an HIV woman who didn't tell him? or was it gay sex or a transfusion before anyone knew better?
Also Just how many exposed women are we talking about? Dozens? Scores? Hundreds? Many men and women infected in the 80s and 90s died. Kelly, did his partners?
Final question: Did J offer no clues at all? The triple cocktail/retroviaral treatment is rigorous and demanding. Multiple pills, mulitple times a day, every day.
A difficult thing to hide from a sexual partner. But obviously not impossible....
And there are, of course, side effects---also difficult to hide. But not impossible...
KK there are so many levels to this story. Again, if the ability and willingness to turn the story into a novel is ever there (and legal roadblocks removed) I would love to contribute knowledge of HIV/AIDS and understanding of the sociopathic mind.
And once again...and I will repeat it as often as necessary,you have the total package of writing skills needed for that project, and many others/PLUS access to technology to ease the process and contacts in publishing and in NYC.
I remain furious at J for his deep mistrust and fear he instilled on his innocent victim. I feel for you so much. I am very serious.
Please describe your "fictional" ideas on how he became infected. Surelyl there are far more than the one other woman you mentioned, Jenia.
Still one more final note: I imagine the psychological impact of discovering you were HIV + in 1985. I have not only read many personal accounts but have talked to many gay men who were positive early on, but survivied into the late 90s. Initially a death sentence, then borrowed time, then...
Once I know more--further discussion of what might be in J's mind...how a sociopath would perceive the court situation and his attitude towards his nemesis (Imagine what he must want to do to you. I will---at least try.
***
Just so you know: As I got through these letters, I am writing down specific items and points to discuss further and in more detail.
The possible writing projects are one of these items.
> if the above project on John ever took shape, a chapter on the spiderlike way that unsuspecting women can be drawn into the complex and sophisticated and amoral web of a man with sociopathic tendencies.
> AND the Big Three!!! It is an awesome concept, and OMG! Kelly, you've been writing about it for 11 years. This book would write itself, KK. I will think seriously about chapters/order/etc. and send the breakdown as I see it. One man's opinion anyway.
Still working on that letter of yours I mentioned in my last letter. Hope I did't nbore you with the questions and detaisl on the entire J situation. It is something we must discuss further and a story that I believe needs to be told in a novel in great detail.
Must get this in the mail--another letter to follow, hopefully a bit more concise but still in depth.
Just read a brilliant review of the Black Swan. Soundsl ike Aronofsky has made a film worth seeing. And more you know Natalie Portman is getting raves reviews. And one of my favorite actresses--Winona Ryder--is also in the film.
So totally sounds like a film to see. I hope someone does a novelization of the film.
Thinking of you sunshine--stay warm in your nest!
XOXO Take care and write soon.
Yours,
Michael
Three letters to you in eight days! Another Festivus miracle!
Speaking of which: It is December and fett of snow is falling in the Rockies and a lovely blast of frigid air is coming your way for the weekend. We both know how much you look forward to that... so perhaps a few words on the holiday season.
You don't seem to me to be someone overly sentimental or enthusiastic about Christmas. But neither do you seem like a grinch (Trust me I have been friends with an/or dated both extremes as I'm sure you have.) Am I at least close? I know the bass parts of many Christmas carols.
Would it surprise you to know that I was a "gleeker"? And sang in Christmas Messiah choirs multiple times as a baritone/bass?
Three absolutely favorite Christmas carols: O HOLY NIGHT, ANGELS WE HAVE HEARD ON HIGH, DO YOU HEAR WHAT I HEAR?
Possibly the most haunting Christmas song, or any song for that matter is O HOLY NIGHT! I'veheard many amazing renditions--one that comes to mind, believe it or not, was in an episode of NIP/TUCK...on Christmas Eve, Julia is considering an abortion for her child who has a serious birth defect...she in the clinic pondering as the tenor Aaron Neville singsl O HOLY NIGHT! Absolutely chilling...stunning.
Would love for you to listen to it. How difficult is it to access an FX episode from NIP/TUCK from 4 or 5 years ago online?
It's good you are the "cool aunt/godmother" to your goddaughter...I think having a child for children around for the holidays keeps most adults from going off the rails this time of year. Except of course thosewho kill their children around the holidays. You and I have never discussed the horrifying yet fascinating phenomenon of "Family Annihilators". With your interest in sociopaths, as subject you should research at some point.
OK that footnote takes up out of the holiday spirit so back to your amazing letters and the myriad of topics to discuss:
never thank you for your marvelously detailed yet concise analysis/summary of the film CATFISH. As you said: "cringeworthy and so very sad." But also incredibly fascinating and a metaphor for the internet age.
You have no idea how much I appreciate your occasional film summaries of movies that most people will neither see or find interesting. Thanks again.
> Before I forget I must ask you a key question on the background of your intriguing work of fiction---the Modern Love proposed column: It states that John became HIV positive in 1985. This raises a host of questions which may help to illuminate the later sociopathic/murderous behavior:
> How did J become infected? Despite the later waves of infection in drug users and of course the pandemic amongst heterosexuals in sub-Saharan Africa...In the US in 1985 fay sex or contaminated blood products. Remember, HIV/AIDS had been causing morbidity/mortality for years before a test was found to detect the virus in blood and blood products.
As you know, this is a subject I know something about and have studied...You might recall the almost incomprehensively tragic case of Elizabeth Glaser...wife of Starsky and Hutch actor Paul Michael Glaser. She contracted HIV from a blood transfusion in the '80s, passed it to both of her children and all three died of AIDS in the years when the only treatment was AZT.
My point again, how did J get it? Perhaps via an HIV woman who didn't tell him? or was it gay sex or a transfusion before anyone knew better?
Also Just how many exposed women are we talking about? Dozens? Scores? Hundreds? Many men and women infected in the 80s and 90s died. Kelly, did his partners?
Final question: Did J offer no clues at all? The triple cocktail/retroviaral treatment is rigorous and demanding. Multiple pills, mulitple times a day, every day.
A difficult thing to hide from a sexual partner. But obviously not impossible....
And there are, of course, side effects---also difficult to hide. But not impossible...
KK there are so many levels to this story. Again, if the ability and willingness to turn the story into a novel is ever there (and legal roadblocks removed) I would love to contribute knowledge of HIV/AIDS and understanding of the sociopathic mind.
And once again...and I will repeat it as often as necessary,you have the total package of writing skills needed for that project, and many others/PLUS access to technology to ease the process and contacts in publishing and in NYC.
I remain furious at J for his deep mistrust and fear he instilled on his innocent victim. I feel for you so much. I am very serious.
Please describe your "fictional" ideas on how he became infected. Surelyl there are far more than the one other woman you mentioned, Jenia.
Still one more final note: I imagine the psychological impact of discovering you were HIV + in 1985. I have not only read many personal accounts but have talked to many gay men who were positive early on, but survivied into the late 90s. Initially a death sentence, then borrowed time, then...
Once I know more--further discussion of what might be in J's mind...how a sociopath would perceive the court situation and his attitude towards his nemesis (Imagine what he must want to do to you. I will---at least try.
***
Just so you know: As I got through these letters, I am writing down specific items and points to discuss further and in more detail.
The possible writing projects are one of these items.
> if the above project on John ever took shape, a chapter on the spiderlike way that unsuspecting women can be drawn into the complex and sophisticated and amoral web of a man with sociopathic tendencies.
> AND the Big Three!!! It is an awesome concept, and OMG! Kelly, you've been writing about it for 11 years. This book would write itself, KK. I will think seriously about chapters/order/etc. and send the breakdown as I see it. One man's opinion anyway.
Still working on that letter of yours I mentioned in my last letter. Hope I did't nbore you with the questions and detaisl on the entire J situation. It is something we must discuss further and a story that I believe needs to be told in a novel in great detail.
Must get this in the mail--another letter to follow, hopefully a bit more concise but still in depth.
Just read a brilliant review of the Black Swan. Soundsl ike Aronofsky has made a film worth seeing. And more you know Natalie Portman is getting raves reviews. And one of my favorite actresses--Winona Ryder--is also in the film.
So totally sounds like a film to see. I hope someone does a novelization of the film.
Thinking of you sunshine--stay warm in your nest!
XOXO Take care and write soon.
Yours,
Michael
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Letters from the Inside, Sarah Pender, #52
Kelly! I am so proud of you! That was huge for you to turn down meeting Amir's mother at Thanksgiving. I mean, that was one thing in your trifecta of requirements--meet family, meet friends, monogamy. But you stood firm and wanted it all. So I am dying to know what happened at your hours long public goodbye. I got to admit, if it had been me I would have taken the chance to meet the mom at Thanksgiving, then let him string me along for a few weeks to see what he could do for me for Christmas.
Can't wait for the next installment of Korangyville.
Thanksgiving sounded yummy. I am glad that you listed duck and turkey separately, as I have heard of those turducken things and figure that it was probably invented by a man. Who else would want 20lbs of solid fowl meat except a testosterone-fueled carnivore? [Insert Tim Taylor the Toolman's grunt here.] Your feast sounded so delicious-and pretty! Part of a food's appeal is its presentation. I read an article that sound is also a factor. This chef in London runs the Fat Duck restaurant and has a special dish---Sound of the Sea. It's shellfish, seaweed, foam and "sand" made of finely ground ice cream cone/eel/vegetable powder and the plate is served with a conch shell that hides inside of it a tiny iPod that plays sounds of the ocean. It has moved at least a dozen patrons to tears. This is based off of a psychology experiment with potato chips. The experiment: two bowls, exact same chips from exact same bag. Pesson puts on a pair of headphones in which their crunching sounds were amplified on one bowl, muted on the other. People reported fresher chips when louder, stale chips when softer. This may be part of marketing of KRUNCHER chips. (Fantastic chips! My favorite are jalapeno flavored.)
Our special meal was a slice of turkey loaf, ham loaf, on top of a scoop of jellied cranberry stuff, mashed potatoes, soggy stuffing, a half soggy roll, three pieces of lettuce w/ranch dressing and a pumpkin-filled something. I was very happy and thankful. It beats bologna. [That my the next meal.]
At home my favorite dish is the cornbread pudding my grandma Jane used to make and the Tex Mex dip Grandma Betty made. Both have passed and I wonder if I'll be able to reproduce those in the future.
I have successfully gained ten pounds of stress-related wieght. I'm stressed, so I chew my lip until it is raw. I buy sunflower seeds (high in fat) to nibble with my front teeth to save the flesh from my lips. Then, I had migraines, so I was on steroids for three months to get rid of the stubborn pain. Not helpful. And then I am lonely and depressed, a good reason to eat. And then its the holidays which either gives me a reason to eat in celebration or eat out of depression. So I have a plan. I've stocked up on seven packages of mackeral and sardines, am ordering 5 more, and plan to substitute one meal per day with a package of fish, which will 1) reduce my caloric intake 2) give me a psychological boost from omega 3 and 3) stick to condiments. No snacks, just condiments to make the food I do get taste better. And as much as i hate to, I'm going to have to start exercising in my room. Don't get me wrong, I like to walk and jog and will do the requisite crunches, push-ups, etc. but exercising in my room is difficult and depressing. More depressing than anything. I really thought they would have let me out by now, however, I grossly underestimated their position.
I am really suprised I haven't heard from you this week. I hope you are well and the Universe blessed you with something your heart desires.
Drink something festive for me this month. I love the December holiday season feelings in society. The closeness and social gatherings. Extra care and tenderness for strangers. A remberance of what is good in our lives. And food. And twinkle lights. And the freedom to read about baby Jesus or light a menorah or whatever people do for Kwanza. What will you do these next three weeks?
Take care,
Sarah
Can't wait for the next installment of Korangyville.
Thanksgiving sounded yummy. I am glad that you listed duck and turkey separately, as I have heard of those turducken things and figure that it was probably invented by a man. Who else would want 20lbs of solid fowl meat except a testosterone-fueled carnivore? [Insert Tim Taylor the Toolman's grunt here.] Your feast sounded so delicious-and pretty! Part of a food's appeal is its presentation. I read an article that sound is also a factor. This chef in London runs the Fat Duck restaurant and has a special dish---Sound of the Sea. It's shellfish, seaweed, foam and "sand" made of finely ground ice cream cone/eel/vegetable powder and the plate is served with a conch shell that hides inside of it a tiny iPod that plays sounds of the ocean. It has moved at least a dozen patrons to tears. This is based off of a psychology experiment with potato chips. The experiment: two bowls, exact same chips from exact same bag. Pesson puts on a pair of headphones in which their crunching sounds were amplified on one bowl, muted on the other. People reported fresher chips when louder, stale chips when softer. This may be part of marketing of KRUNCHER chips. (Fantastic chips! My favorite are jalapeno flavored.)
Our special meal was a slice of turkey loaf, ham loaf, on top of a scoop of jellied cranberry stuff, mashed potatoes, soggy stuffing, a half soggy roll, three pieces of lettuce w/ranch dressing and a pumpkin-filled something. I was very happy and thankful. It beats bologna. [That my the next meal.]
At home my favorite dish is the cornbread pudding my grandma Jane used to make and the Tex Mex dip Grandma Betty made. Both have passed and I wonder if I'll be able to reproduce those in the future.
I have successfully gained ten pounds of stress-related wieght. I'm stressed, so I chew my lip until it is raw. I buy sunflower seeds (high in fat) to nibble with my front teeth to save the flesh from my lips. Then, I had migraines, so I was on steroids for three months to get rid of the stubborn pain. Not helpful. And then I am lonely and depressed, a good reason to eat. And then its the holidays which either gives me a reason to eat in celebration or eat out of depression. So I have a plan. I've stocked up on seven packages of mackeral and sardines, am ordering 5 more, and plan to substitute one meal per day with a package of fish, which will 1) reduce my caloric intake 2) give me a psychological boost from omega 3 and 3) stick to condiments. No snacks, just condiments to make the food I do get taste better. And as much as i hate to, I'm going to have to start exercising in my room. Don't get me wrong, I like to walk and jog and will do the requisite crunches, push-ups, etc. but exercising in my room is difficult and depressing. More depressing than anything. I really thought they would have let me out by now, however, I grossly underestimated their position.
I am really suprised I haven't heard from you this week. I hope you are well and the Universe blessed you with something your heart desires.
Drink something festive for me this month. I love the December holiday season feelings in society. The closeness and social gatherings. Extra care and tenderness for strangers. A remberance of what is good in our lives. And food. And twinkle lights. And the freedom to read about baby Jesus or light a menorah or whatever people do for Kwanza. What will you do these next three weeks?
Take care,
Sarah
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Letters from the Inside, Michael Swango, #102 & 103
[Ed.: As usual I am abandoning the underlining he does, but it remains in his actual letters. I am also skipping anything like movie or tv talk and only transcribing more personal and and interesting text.]
My Dear Scheherazade,
I am sure the reference is obvious, but I will explain why in a bit. You know i love to keep your beautiful mind working at all times...
Please excuse in advance what I am sure will be a somewhat disjointed letter(s). It has again been too long since I've written...so with no "stamp issues" currently, let me get to as much as I can. And there is a lot to discuss, both serious and not so much...
[Ed.: Omitting movie talk.]
The other day on the news I heard about a woman with the enchanting first name of Scheherazade...so beautiful. Anyway, with all the tales and storeis and reporting and interviews you have done I could easily see you staving off your doom each dawn from some brutal Arab prince by telling him a marvelous story each night...except the ending which you tell the next night and begin a new stoyr. Because, Kelly, you do have well over 1001!
I'm not a poetry guy in general, but did you know that the film No Country for Old Men's title comes from a haunting poem, "Sailing to Byzantium"? I think by Yeats, but not positive. Look it up and tell me what you think.
One more item: I know you are not a Stephen King fan, but I think I've mentioned several times that some of his best work tends to be his novellas and short stories. I defy you to read his SS "The Jaunt" and not remember it for a long time. The ending will chill you to the bone. Anyway, his most recent collection is titled Full Dark, No Stars.
Given your interest in all things sociopathic, I thought you might want to read the story "The Good Marriage". If you do, tell me about it. I will read all four of them when they come out in paperback.
***
Now to your letters. Yes, I will get to your most provocative comments on the graphic discussions you feel I am writing and your wanting to know the ins and outs of what I did and why... PLEASE know that you do not sound like "stick in the mud" or "scolding". Way too much makes you uncomfortable, and you really do have issues with open discussion of certain subjects---but that's who you are and I accept you 100%. But that doesn't mean that our conversations should not try to push beyond our self-imposed borders. I will continue to do so--and make no apologies---and I hope you continue to push me and prod me as well. Because if you are not changing and evolving AND opening yourself to new ideas, why bother?
So--all that to come, but I must take the bits of your letters in order to avoid missing any of your marvelous missives:
IN FACT, may I make this observatoin. You must try to see me as more than a sociopath or partial sociopath or former sociopath--and trying to understand that without reference to the 95% of life what went on outside of that.
Don't get me wrong, Kelly, I understand your fascination. And given what has happened to you in the fairly recent past it would seem imperative that you seek out some of these answers. But, dear Kelly, I see you as a far, far more complex person and woman than what defines you as "narrowly" as a blogger or publicist or a woman who narrowly excaped adeath in a scooter accident.
You are all those things and more--so much more. And I want to know everything about all the above and what you see so afraid to discuss.
Just know that yours truly also has many, many levels and sides and depths. You cannot know the whole without knowing all the parts, in depth and in detail.
What a fascinating journey---on both sides. We've actually only just begun...so much to discuss...so little time. Please excuse me if some of the following seems dated:
> All the build-up for Lone Star, a couple of scintillating episodes with great promise...and then like Kayser Sose in The Usual Suspects...POOF- he's gone!
I commented on that fantastic photo of you at Amir's event. IN the audience twirling your hair...How did he not run down to you from the stage and propose on the spot?
He's a quite the handsome man, is he not? Does he tend to change his facial hair, which he clearly has no problem growing?
And I told you how I thought "John" might perceive the whole confrontation with you regarding the court case and beyond...
Your comments please.
Your friend, XOXO
Michael
***
Dear Kelly---
Oh My God, she said to herself, he actually wrote a second letter shortly after the first! It's a Festivus Miracle!
OKKK, picking up where I left off:
There was a great picture of you in the audience at Amir's event. You stand out so clearly from the sea of men in coats and ties. You look HOT, Kelly and OMG the legs! My point in recounting this ancient history is that it only proves how utterly and totally human and feminine you are, and the essence of love, is powerful uncontrollable emotions and contradiction on a grand scale. There is also an immense sexual component that cannot be separated from the rest, but we'll discuss that when you're more "comfortable" ... You konw if you opened yourself up to actual discussion, you might actually hear something new, Kelly. Imagine that!!! That's gentle chiding, not anger!
One more comment on the photos of a smiling Amir at his event, clearly in good spirits. Tell him he wears a bow tie very well. But you already knew that and I have a feeling he does as wel...
Stunning painting by your friend "Wish You Were..." It is just beautiful and amazing. However, I do not have that "feeling of loss and longing" that you have most of your days. In my situation, aboard the Starship Enterprise sans crew to Alpha Centauri, 4.3 light years away, that cannot be allowed.
> I just answered my own question about Amir's facial hair by seeing that fascinating photo of you and him at the museum this past summer. He is sans facial hair completely with a sinister and debonair look on his face. You look like a woman in love. Period. And so different from the photo of you with long hair and a drink in your hand.
UNEXPECTED STUNNING REVELATION:
I was once a loyal and faithful user of FLEX shampoo. It came in a big bottle, was amazingly inexpensive, and was fantastic.
And you tell me they don't sell it anymore at stores? Say it ain't so...
Can you tell me exactly when this happened? Late 90s? Early 00s? Recently? You must have gone ballistic.
So ends another of your amazing letters.
***
Repeating what I said at the time: You do not overhwelm me--keep sending me EVERYTHING you do. Naturally it is your letters and revelations and allowing me to know you more intimately that are most welcomed. And I want to do the same, or as much as you will allow...
Congrats on your Mr. Beller's Neighborhood stories turned into podcasts. How did the recording session in Brooklyn go? AND more importantly, how did they sound online?
WOW! What a truly odd [and by odd I mean bizarre!] episode with the woman selling comforters on ebay. My God, the only thing missing at the end of her sad story was the single gunshot...
Fascinating essay on the amazingly negative reaction to Gap's new attempt to change their logo. I had seen a story about it on one of the entertainment shows, but hte article gave the precious and welcome details.
KK--You would think they would have done a focus group on a new logo before unleashing it on the world. It is works for a vodka...
Yes, the new logo did SUCK! Sort of like New Coke redux@
In answer to your questions on focus groups, my days of them took place during my years at medical school in Springfield, IL. Like several other midwest towns (then and now) Springfield was considered the "heartland" and an ideal test market for various consumer products.
I was always short on funds, and they would pay you for your time. So...the answer is yes. Several times. One was actually for a shampoo (not Flex, however)!
By the way, as previously mentioned (not commented by you at the time) this was the same time during which I was a regular sperm donor (X3 years).
***
The next part of your missive requires a lot of discussion...
You saying I am inh the minority in liking your writing our possible collaboration...you writing the Big Three... the widow and the stewardess. I dont' want to minimize this by shorthand: the widow was and is a beautiful sensitive woman with whom the intensity was beyond belief...The stewardess hurt so muich, and I liek to think I helped her at a time of desperate pain and need...
You take care. Know the Universe will take care of you and good thoughts your way from the west every day. Hang in there you amazing woman. Thinking of you.
Your friend,
Michael
PS Great line from Glee:
"Rachel, you are as brilliant and talented as you are irritating..."
My Dear Scheherazade,
I am sure the reference is obvious, but I will explain why in a bit. You know i love to keep your beautiful mind working at all times...
Please excuse in advance what I am sure will be a somewhat disjointed letter(s). It has again been too long since I've written...so with no "stamp issues" currently, let me get to as much as I can. And there is a lot to discuss, both serious and not so much...
[Ed.: Omitting movie talk.]
The other day on the news I heard about a woman with the enchanting first name of Scheherazade...so beautiful. Anyway, with all the tales and storeis and reporting and interviews you have done I could easily see you staving off your doom each dawn from some brutal Arab prince by telling him a marvelous story each night...except the ending which you tell the next night and begin a new stoyr. Because, Kelly, you do have well over 1001!
I'm not a poetry guy in general, but did you know that the film No Country for Old Men's title comes from a haunting poem, "Sailing to Byzantium"? I think by Yeats, but not positive. Look it up and tell me what you think.
One more item: I know you are not a Stephen King fan, but I think I've mentioned several times that some of his best work tends to be his novellas and short stories. I defy you to read his SS "The Jaunt" and not remember it for a long time. The ending will chill you to the bone. Anyway, his most recent collection is titled Full Dark, No Stars.
Given your interest in all things sociopathic, I thought you might want to read the story "The Good Marriage". If you do, tell me about it. I will read all four of them when they come out in paperback.
***
Now to your letters. Yes, I will get to your most provocative comments on the graphic discussions you feel I am writing and your wanting to know the ins and outs of what I did and why... PLEASE know that you do not sound like "stick in the mud" or "scolding". Way too much makes you uncomfortable, and you really do have issues with open discussion of certain subjects---but that's who you are and I accept you 100%. But that doesn't mean that our conversations should not try to push beyond our self-imposed borders. I will continue to do so--and make no apologies---and I hope you continue to push me and prod me as well. Because if you are not changing and evolving AND opening yourself to new ideas, why bother?
So--all that to come, but I must take the bits of your letters in order to avoid missing any of your marvelous missives:
IN FACT, may I make this observatoin. You must try to see me as more than a sociopath or partial sociopath or former sociopath--and trying to understand that without reference to the 95% of life what went on outside of that.
Don't get me wrong, Kelly, I understand your fascination. And given what has happened to you in the fairly recent past it would seem imperative that you seek out some of these answers. But, dear Kelly, I see you as a far, far more complex person and woman than what defines you as "narrowly" as a blogger or publicist or a woman who narrowly excaped adeath in a scooter accident.
You are all those things and more--so much more. And I want to know everything about all the above and what you see so afraid to discuss.
Just know that yours truly also has many, many levels and sides and depths. You cannot know the whole without knowing all the parts, in depth and in detail.
What a fascinating journey---on both sides. We've actually only just begun...so much to discuss...so little time. Please excuse me if some of the following seems dated:
> All the build-up for Lone Star, a couple of scintillating episodes with great promise...and then like Kayser Sose in The Usual Suspects...POOF- he's gone!
I commented on that fantastic photo of you at Amir's event. IN the audience twirling your hair...How did he not run down to you from the stage and propose on the spot?
He's a quite the handsome man, is he not? Does he tend to change his facial hair, which he clearly has no problem growing?
And I told you how I thought "John" might perceive the whole confrontation with you regarding the court case and beyond...
Your comments please.
Your friend, XOXO
Michael
***
Dear Kelly---
Oh My God, she said to herself, he actually wrote a second letter shortly after the first! It's a Festivus Miracle!
OKKK, picking up where I left off:
There was a great picture of you in the audience at Amir's event. You stand out so clearly from the sea of men in coats and ties. You look HOT, Kelly and OMG the legs! My point in recounting this ancient history is that it only proves how utterly and totally human and feminine you are, and the essence of love, is powerful uncontrollable emotions and contradiction on a grand scale. There is also an immense sexual component that cannot be separated from the rest, but we'll discuss that when you're more "comfortable" ... You konw if you opened yourself up to actual discussion, you might actually hear something new, Kelly. Imagine that!!! That's gentle chiding, not anger!
One more comment on the photos of a smiling Amir at his event, clearly in good spirits. Tell him he wears a bow tie very well. But you already knew that and I have a feeling he does as wel...
Stunning painting by your friend "Wish You Were..." It is just beautiful and amazing. However, I do not have that "feeling of loss and longing" that you have most of your days. In my situation, aboard the Starship Enterprise sans crew to Alpha Centauri, 4.3 light years away, that cannot be allowed.
> I just answered my own question about Amir's facial hair by seeing that fascinating photo of you and him at the museum this past summer. He is sans facial hair completely with a sinister and debonair look on his face. You look like a woman in love. Period. And so different from the photo of you with long hair and a drink in your hand.
UNEXPECTED STUNNING REVELATION:
I was once a loyal and faithful user of FLEX shampoo. It came in a big bottle, was amazingly inexpensive, and was fantastic.
And you tell me they don't sell it anymore at stores? Say it ain't so...
Can you tell me exactly when this happened? Late 90s? Early 00s? Recently? You must have gone ballistic.
So ends another of your amazing letters.
***
Repeating what I said at the time: You do not overhwelm me--keep sending me EVERYTHING you do. Naturally it is your letters and revelations and allowing me to know you more intimately that are most welcomed. And I want to do the same, or as much as you will allow...
Congrats on your Mr. Beller's Neighborhood stories turned into podcasts. How did the recording session in Brooklyn go? AND more importantly, how did they sound online?
WOW! What a truly odd [and by odd I mean bizarre!] episode with the woman selling comforters on ebay. My God, the only thing missing at the end of her sad story was the single gunshot...
Fascinating essay on the amazingly negative reaction to Gap's new attempt to change their logo. I had seen a story about it on one of the entertainment shows, but hte article gave the precious and welcome details.
KK--You would think they would have done a focus group on a new logo before unleashing it on the world. It is works for a vodka...
Yes, the new logo did SUCK! Sort of like New Coke redux@
In answer to your questions on focus groups, my days of them took place during my years at medical school in Springfield, IL. Like several other midwest towns (then and now) Springfield was considered the "heartland" and an ideal test market for various consumer products.
I was always short on funds, and they would pay you for your time. So...the answer is yes. Several times. One was actually for a shampoo (not Flex, however)!
By the way, as previously mentioned (not commented by you at the time) this was the same time during which I was a regular sperm donor (X3 years).
***
The next part of your missive requires a lot of discussion...
You saying I am inh the minority in liking your writing
You take care. Know the Universe will take care of you and good thoughts your way from the west every day. Hang in there you amazing woman. Thinking of you.
Your friend,
Michael
PS Great line from Glee:
"Rachel, you are as brilliant and talented as you are irritating..."
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Letters from the Inside, Sarah Pender, #51
Kelly,
I got a flourescent orange letter from you last night, thanks. I am always affected by color, especially in unexpected places. I never noticed it much unitl I lived in a world of cement and steel, harsh lighting, hard angles, and three colors, all traditional institutional colors. And speaking of colors, I created another Black, White, and Red envelope for you. I even shunned the bell stamp for the flag because it had red, white and dk. blue, which would not upset the balance much. I like this one. I tsort of created itself. Oftentimes I paint a variation of what I see in real life, but this, I pulled directly out of my ass. I nominate it museum-worthy!
Glad you liked Mr. Mini [Ed.: painting she did on previous envelope]. God knows you need all the pleasantries you can get right now. When I read your last entry, about the snapping hairband, I totally got you. As in, I was recreated myself. Overm y life,I have gone through cycles, like waves, of depression, since I was like, 14. At 16, I made a valiant effort at suicide, only to wake up alive and pissed off, even more depressed. In jail, in prisonm and because my circumstances keep getting harder, the waves get bigger. Higher highs, lower lows. Crazy, panicky shit. More tears and snot-clogged tissues than I care to count. And it is in those valleys of the wave where those snapping hairbands, a not-good news letter, or in one case, a falling coffee bag, that trigger the urge to just fucking die. I've thought of a dozen ways to end it that would not be too painful or traumatizing. I researched it when I was in Chicago---the levels of pain or panic associated with different types of suicide. And from what I have read, the idea of just walking into the sea surf or sliding down into your tub m ay sound like a soothing way to go, but it is not. One reason why drowning is not ranked up there at the top is because it is not instaneous relief. It is pretyt much like suffocating, because what you are really doing is depriving your lungs of usable oxygen, and so you must suffer the crushing agony of carbon dioxide buildup in your system for about two-three minutes before you lose consciousness, and then another minute or so for your heart to quit. That's why guns are popular. Instant (hopefully) relief. Or the razor-blade-in-water method. It's a lot slower than poeple think. You have to lay in your bloody water for like a half-hour before you bleed enough. If you cut really well, maybe 15 minutes to lose consciousness. 45 to be beyond this world. And it's a cold way to go, literally. I actually found the perfect way to go, where I could jsut lay, listening to my MP3 player until the Universe booked me out. No pain. No panic. And I even wetn so far to begin writing my last letter, but by the time I figured out how to get what I needed (it took 2 days of plotting), I rose up enough out of the valley to push it off for the next time. And then a month later I was arrested. And two years later, I'm still stuck in this bathroom. Anyway, I just totally get you in that moment.
Don't forget, if you commit suicide [Ed.: I never said or even alluded to killing myself] Mini would be the first to find you, and that would traumatize him for life. You wouldn't want that. And then he'd be without you, which would make him want to run in front of a speeding car. Even then, it would only break his legs, leaving him a traumatized, ownerless, gimp. You simply can't do that to Mini.
Did you ever figure out what was written on the copy paper the bank guy was holding?
I, too, look in the mirror, unbelieving the soft wrinkles starting to form around my eyes, on my forehead, around my mouth. And simply cannot fathom that I have lived in prison for ten years. You talk about your youth and innocence being wasted. Don't I fucking know!
I cannot believe you wrote this: "Because he's so prominent and I'm a nobody with a bad reputation, I try hard not to discuss the industry with him." Kelly, I get tha tyou aren't on the Top Ten List of Who's Who in RE, but WTF? Don't you have faith in your abilities? The more you treat yourself as a precious object to be had, the more value you have---because of the way you show up to people. And what about your reputation is so bad? Bc. you were fired for blogging? Because you are the Plaintiff in a lawsuit? Your personal life has absolutely NOTHING to do with your ability to work. Or create. Or organize. Or whatever job skills you need. I have a very bad reputation, yet that sure didn't impair my job skills when I was out. That proves that it's all perception. Perceive yourself as worthy and amazing, because you are. And others will catch on quickly.
Although Amir knows your situation and has not offered to help with job leads doens't mean anything. Men are DENSE. Often they just miss it. Plus they want to feel needed, so maybe he is waiting for you to ask.
How did you know you had so many readers of your now-defunct public blog? Does it tell you how many views you got? And you think you are a nobody..shush.
I understand about not being able to talk about the deal with "John" openly. My random thought was -- ok NY is a blue state...
I hate it how every time I get handcuffed behind my back, my nose itches.
So, do you smell like your apartment? And what does your apartment smell like?
What will you do for Thanksgiving? I bet Chinese food is popular in NYC.
Hope you liked my first story. I look forward to getting a response from Michele. Oh, that info you sent for the Creative Non-Fiction Magazine, how much does s single issue or subscription cost? I'd liek to see an issue before I write something to submit.
Hope you are well and the Universe has brought you a big, happy blessing!
Peace,
Sarah
I got a flourescent orange letter from you last night, thanks. I am always affected by color, especially in unexpected places. I never noticed it much unitl I lived in a world of cement and steel, harsh lighting, hard angles, and three colors, all traditional institutional colors. And speaking of colors, I created another Black, White, and Red envelope for you. I even shunned the bell stamp for the flag because it had red, white and dk. blue, which would not upset the balance much. I like this one. I tsort of created itself. Oftentimes I paint a variation of what I see in real life, but this, I pulled directly out of my ass. I nominate it museum-worthy!
Glad you liked Mr. Mini [Ed.: painting she did on previous envelope]. God knows you need all the pleasantries you can get right now. When I read your last entry, about the snapping hairband, I totally got you. As in, I was recreated myself. Overm y life,I have gone through cycles, like waves, of depression, since I was like, 14. At 16, I made a valiant effort at suicide, only to wake up alive and pissed off, even more depressed. In jail, in prisonm and because my circumstances keep getting harder, the waves get bigger. Higher highs, lower lows. Crazy, panicky shit. More tears and snot-clogged tissues than I care to count. And it is in those valleys of the wave where those snapping hairbands, a not-good news letter, or in one case, a falling coffee bag, that trigger the urge to just fucking die. I've thought of a dozen ways to end it that would not be too painful or traumatizing. I researched it when I was in Chicago---the levels of pain or panic associated with different types of suicide. And from what I have read, the idea of just walking into the sea surf or sliding down into your tub m ay sound like a soothing way to go, but it is not. One reason why drowning is not ranked up there at the top is because it is not instaneous relief. It is pretyt much like suffocating, because what you are really doing is depriving your lungs of usable oxygen, and so you must suffer the crushing agony of carbon dioxide buildup in your system for about two-three minutes before you lose consciousness, and then another minute or so for your heart to quit. That's why guns are popular. Instant (hopefully) relief. Or the razor-blade-in-water method. It's a lot slower than poeple think. You have to lay in your bloody water for like a half-hour before you bleed enough. If you cut really well, maybe 15 minutes to lose consciousness. 45 to be beyond this world. And it's a cold way to go, literally. I actually found the perfect way to go, where I could jsut lay, listening to my MP3 player until the Universe booked me out. No pain. No panic. And I even wetn so far to begin writing my last letter, but by the time I figured out how to get what I needed (it took 2 days of plotting), I rose up enough out of the valley to push it off for the next time. And then a month later I was arrested. And two years later, I'm still stuck in this bathroom. Anyway, I just totally get you in that moment.
Don't forget, if you commit suicide [Ed.: I never said or even alluded to killing myself] Mini would be the first to find you, and that would traumatize him for life. You wouldn't want that. And then he'd be without you, which would make him want to run in front of a speeding car. Even then, it would only break his legs, leaving him a traumatized, ownerless, gimp. You simply can't do that to Mini.
Did you ever figure out what was written on the copy paper the bank guy was holding?
I, too, look in the mirror, unbelieving the soft wrinkles starting to form around my eyes, on my forehead, around my mouth. And simply cannot fathom that I have lived in prison for ten years. You talk about your youth and innocence being wasted. Don't I fucking know!
I cannot believe you wrote this: "Because he's so prominent and I'm a nobody with a bad reputation, I try hard not to discuss the industry with him." Kelly, I get tha tyou aren't on the Top Ten List of Who's Who in RE, but WTF? Don't you have faith in your abilities? The more you treat yourself as a precious object to be had, the more value you have---because of the way you show up to people. And what about your reputation is so bad? Bc. you were fired for blogging? Because you are the Plaintiff in a lawsuit? Your personal life has absolutely NOTHING to do with your ability to work. Or create. Or organize. Or whatever job skills you need. I have a very bad reputation, yet that sure didn't impair my job skills when I was out. That proves that it's all perception. Perceive yourself as worthy and amazing, because you are. And others will catch on quickly.
Although Amir knows your situation and has not offered to help with job leads doens't mean anything. Men are DENSE. Often they just miss it. Plus they want to feel needed, so maybe he is waiting for you to ask.
How did you know you had so many readers of your now-defunct public blog? Does it tell you how many views you got? And you think you are a nobody..shush.
I understand about not being able to talk about the deal with "John" openly. My random thought was -- ok NY is a blue state...
I hate it how every time I get handcuffed behind my back, my nose itches.
So, do you smell like your apartment? And what does your apartment smell like?
What will you do for Thanksgiving? I bet Chinese food is popular in NYC.
Hope you liked my first story. I look forward to getting a response from Michele. Oh, that info you sent for the Creative Non-Fiction Magazine, how much does s single issue or subscription cost? I'd liek to see an issue before I write something to submit.
Hope you are well and the Universe has brought you a big, happy blessing!
Peace,
Sarah
Friday, November 26, 2010
Letters from the Inside, Ira Einhorn, #3
Hi Kelly, [insert sign for Taurus]
Hope you are feeling better. I take no meds and ever virii in creation seems to love my cells, so... I empathize heavily with sickness; may it pass quickly.
I am an expert in the paranormal as in anything else I have ever studied, so your story [Ed.: He is referencing Brujeria] conveyed and yes you should have listened.
I was a ground for psychics and one of my closest during the 70s knew more about the paranormal than any planetary being: Andrija Puharish.
I midwifed URI which was his international bestseller that I got to Bill Whitehead at Double Day--he was my conduit for many books. I was an unofficial editor there frolm '68-'69 to my being blown out of the H2O.
My network was set up to involve the top physical minds in reflection upon the paranormal.
I held physics and consciousness conferences all over the USA. Ah, the puckered lemon of history.
Look up: SPACE-TIME and BEYOND, SARAFATTI, WOLFE & TOBIN (a book I agented); BEYOND TELEPATHY- a book I had reprinted.
For Taureans--try to find Marc Edmund Jones (I think that is correct): He is the clearest and the finest--read his chapters on Taureans in any book you can find. Better than my babbling. And look at his studen: Dane Rudhyar- The Astrology of Personality.
I am very intuitive and psychic in a wayno one has been able to explain, including myself; I did palmistry so naturally and accurately that i felt like a fraud, so I took up astrology to ground myself. I read everything extant. I did 200 charts (all the movement heavies were my friends) and then put it all away.
BUT
The psychic is very real and I worked with some of the best.
Our rationality is the tip of the iceberg, a took that has driven spirit from the world and we are all suffering loss
ALAS
Taureans are fixed earth--2nd house of the Zodiac--the house of resources---but al my Taurus is found in my chart in the 8th: SCORPIO--Love, Sex, Death and the Occcult (hidden) in A + - sense.
Steadfast, ridiculously loyal, particularly as my Venus is found at the mid heaven.
Just think: Years of women filling my bed, knocking at my door, calling me, writing me.
Wall to wall and then: Boom, I meet a woman who really pleases me.
AND MONOGAMY
Without a 2nd thought.
Instant transformation/transmutation.
14 years, for me of CLOSENESS, infinite patience with the cultural difference: she's Swedish--mother problems--distant father, but lots of love and caring.
In astrological terms I'm a Uranian-- my sun is combust Uranus and in conjunction with Mercury.
I change/transform in an instant and communicate it. I should have een or would have been an actor in 1920.
In 1960, I became a life actor on the Movement Stage.
Journals are the crux of a very big tale. [Ed.: He is referring to the fact that 63 of his journals were seized by the police and used against him in his trial and he is petitioning to get them back contending they were taken and used illegally.] You can't take personal writing; It is protected and then taken illegally they were given to a writer: My life's work---PLAGIARY--to be used against me and then used illegally in court. [Ed.: He encloses he court document/petition.]
I read early, I was a math whiz and progressed from comic books to sports books to the classics, mostly innate. The desire to learn was insatiable.
A good highschool--Central High in Philly--a sage as a mentor and close friend who encouraged me, but the drive was innate.
There is always the thrill of the first page of a new book, not unlike the first kiss of a new love.
I felt that way for 14 years with my wife.
Genuine love and adoration, energy. Our bodies liked each other. Again: Little to do with upbringing in temrs of instilling. Support--yes! My mom was there unitl her last breath at 94.
By 12, I was beyond them.
I filled my room with books, but I was also social and athletic: I could have gone to a small school on a football scholarship.
I chose an Ivy League school.
I've come to love Latin and try to do some daily. English comes from North West Germanic and I've studied its older roots (Old English, Old Norse, Old High German, Middle High German, etc.). I'm not a philologist, but I love the feel of language as much as I love women's bodies.
Sex and intellect but not dry intellect.
Ellen Burstyn and I were close for a few months--not lovers--but close.
I looked closely at a script she was doing (RESURRECTION).
She wanted me to meet everyone she knew, but I went off to teach at Harvard and was so in demand that I neglected her as she didn't attract me physically and then my universe exploded: The Prince of Iran (the Shah's nephew and man) asked me to set up and run his satellite net, but Iran in 1979 was poison to my politics. I knew the downfall was coming.
OMNI was interview me for a big ferature.
I went off to Yugoslavia to talk to the ruling council about a tesla celebration (Google me and the RUSSIAN WOODPECKER.)
My translator who stuck to me like glue for 4 Belgrad days was Tito's translator.
Arthur Koestler had agreed to do a book length interview and a recent friend was on the way to see me about writingt and acting in a 60s TV Dope Opera. ETC ETC ETC. Then the morning of his coming, life ended.
More Anon,
I
Hope you are feeling better. I take no meds and ever virii in creation seems to love my cells, so... I empathize heavily with sickness; may it pass quickly.
I am an expert in the paranormal as in anything else I have ever studied, so your story [Ed.: He is referencing Brujeria] conveyed and yes you should have listened.
I was a ground for psychics and one of my closest during the 70s knew more about the paranormal than any planetary being: Andrija Puharish.
I midwifed URI which was his international bestseller that I got to Bill Whitehead at Double Day--he was my conduit for many books. I was an unofficial editor there frolm '68-'69 to my being blown out of the H2O.
My network was set up to involve the top physical minds in reflection upon the paranormal.
I held physics and consciousness conferences all over the USA. Ah, the puckered lemon of history.
Look up: SPACE-TIME and BEYOND, SARAFATTI, WOLFE & TOBIN (a book I agented); BEYOND TELEPATHY- a book I had reprinted.
For Taureans--try to find Marc Edmund Jones (I think that is correct): He is the clearest and the finest--read his chapters on Taureans in any book you can find. Better than my babbling. And look at his studen: Dane Rudhyar- The Astrology of Personality.
I am very intuitive and psychic in a wayno one has been able to explain, including myself; I did palmistry so naturally and accurately that i felt like a fraud, so I took up astrology to ground myself. I read everything extant. I did 200 charts (all the movement heavies were my friends) and then put it all away.
BUT
The psychic is very real and I worked with some of the best.
Our rationality is the tip of the iceberg, a took that has driven spirit from the world and we are all suffering loss
ALAS
Taureans are fixed earth--2nd house of the Zodiac--the house of resources---but al my Taurus is found in my chart in the 8th: SCORPIO--Love, Sex, Death and the Occcult (hidden) in A + - sense.
Steadfast, ridiculously loyal, particularly as my Venus is found at the mid heaven.
Just think: Years of women filling my bed, knocking at my door, calling me, writing me.
Wall to wall and then: Boom, I meet a woman who really pleases me.
AND MONOGAMY
Without a 2nd thought.
Instant transformation/transmutation.
14 years, for me of CLOSENESS, infinite patience with the cultural difference: she's Swedish--mother problems--distant father, but lots of love and caring.
In astrological terms I'm a Uranian-- my sun is combust Uranus and in conjunction with Mercury.
I change/transform in an instant and communicate it. I should have een or would have been an actor in 1920.
In 1960, I became a life actor on the Movement Stage.
Journals are the crux of a very big tale. [Ed.: He is referring to the fact that 63 of his journals were seized by the police and used against him in his trial and he is petitioning to get them back contending they were taken and used illegally.] You can't take personal writing; It is protected and then taken illegally they were given to a writer: My life's work---PLAGIARY--to be used against me and then used illegally in court. [Ed.: He encloses he court document/petition.]
I read early, I was a math whiz and progressed from comic books to sports books to the classics, mostly innate. The desire to learn was insatiable.
A good highschool--Central High in Philly--a sage as a mentor and close friend who encouraged me, but the drive was innate.
There is always the thrill of the first page of a new book, not unlike the first kiss of a new love.
I felt that way for 14 years with my wife.
Genuine love and adoration, energy. Our bodies liked each other. Again: Little to do with upbringing in temrs of instilling. Support--yes! My mom was there unitl her last breath at 94.
By 12, I was beyond them.
I filled my room with books, but I was also social and athletic: I could have gone to a small school on a football scholarship.
I chose an Ivy League school.
I've come to love Latin and try to do some daily. English comes from North West Germanic and I've studied its older roots (Old English, Old Norse, Old High German, Middle High German, etc.). I'm not a philologist, but I love the feel of language as much as I love women's bodies.
Sex and intellect but not dry intellect.
Ellen Burstyn and I were close for a few months--not lovers--but close.
I looked closely at a script she was doing (RESURRECTION).
She wanted me to meet everyone she knew, but I went off to teach at Harvard and was so in demand that I neglected her as she didn't attract me physically and then my universe exploded: The Prince of Iran (the Shah's nephew and man) asked me to set up and run his satellite net, but Iran in 1979 was poison to my politics. I knew the downfall was coming.
OMNI was interview me for a big ferature.
I went off to Yugoslavia to talk to the ruling council about a tesla celebration (Google me and the RUSSIAN WOODPECKER.)
My translator who stuck to me like glue for 4 Belgrad days was Tito's translator.
Arthur Koestler had agreed to do a book length interview and a recent friend was on the way to see me about writingt and acting in a 60s TV Dope Opera. ETC ETC ETC. Then the morning of his coming, life ended.
More Anon,
I
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Letters from the Inside, Sarah Pender, #50
Dear Kelly,
I'm surprised my fingers are still allowing me to write! For the last two weeks I have written and written, pages and pages, edited, copied, copied again and I am pooped. I sent Michele B. another submission today. It's a story about me and my father, very touching---sort of bittersweet. It developed on its own so I had started it from one thought---about how when I was a teenager, I used to go through his stuff just to feel close to him, learn about him, and I stole his socks.
He had cool socks.
Not the boring white tube socks, although he did have some white socks, but trouser socks of all types. Wool socks.
ARGYLE SOCKS!
Anyway, the story turned out ver different. It makes me appreciate the relationship I have with my father.
If she chooses the first story, I will edit down the father essay to 300 words and submit it to Reader's Write. Or maybe submit it the way it is and let them edit it. I noticed that hte longest RW entries are 300 words. My stories are 1000-1500, so it would be a lot of editing. Or maybe send it to that Non-Fiction magazine. Either way, I got plans. On a day when my mind does not want to work, I will hand copy it for you.
I don't know if it is the change in seasons, the upcoming holiday (for which I have used as an excuse to buy $30 worth of junk food to l ast me through 2 weeks of self pity), or being moved to a room with white-frosted windows so I can't see out of get sunshine in, or what, but I have been feeling sort of empty and lonely, stressed, anxious an dsort of searching.
Okay, bullshit, Iknow why I have been feeling this way, but it's a cumulative effort. It's like I'm okay dealing with living in the latrine, but when the shit starts backing up, there's only so much you can take before the stench makes you want to puke.
Of couse part of it is situational. Living in a cement and steel bathroom for nearly two years isn't easy. Today is day 692. That's fucking ridiculous. And they give me no way out. Like most people can earn their way out by just sitting and following the rules for a couple of weeks or months and they get released. Even ones who got caught traficking pills with a staff member. 30 days. 90 days. Beat up an officer? Get out in a year. Beat up an inmate? 60 days. Get 42 write ups in a year? 70 days. I m ean, these are just examples, but Iit does get a little infuriating when they tell me I'm a threat to the safety and security of the facility so I stay locked away, yet these people aren't a threat? WTF? No to say I want them to stay. Hell, I don't wish that on anyone. Free the people!
And then there's the holidays, my mother's health, my sister's divorce, feeling guilty that my father is going to spend like $800 to fly out here, take a cab from the airport to here and back just to see me for two hours through fucking glass. It's just so wrong. And I think about all the holiday gatherings I have missed and how things would be different if I were home. Last Thanksgiving I spent in a Super 8 motel room eating "Dennys" turkey dinner with two slices of pumpkin pie and a slic of pecan pie for dessert, watching Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire--I was a little depressed.
And then there's my ex-lover, partner, whatever. That is such a long story, but after waiting two years to be able to talk/write to her, she professes her love which is what I've been dying to hear, only for me to write back with all these excuses why I don't see it working out between us. I am such an idiot. I fucking love that woman. Like, be still my heart, make every molecule in my body dance, would walk to the ends of the earth for--and it broke her heart. Now I'm trying to back upand start over, seeing that I hurt her and may have blown whatever chance I had at getting what I wanted. For over four years--her. I guess it was really out of fear. Like, who wants to stick it out with someone locked in a cage inside a locked building inside a locked compound? I am just so sick of being disappointed by people. I don't expect too much. I hardly expect anything at all. But then they offer to help and then they flake out. I think that it's because they see the enormity of what i face and they get scared, too emotionally attached to the outcome, and rather avoid the disappointing possibilities than to try at all, even with the possiblity of success. I used to think there was something wrong with me, but I recently have come to believe that a lot of people care so much that they don't want to deal with the hurt or difficulties I go through in my life. I don't know. It just sucks.
And there's all this legal research and pending court issues. Of course I dont' want to deal with that. And dear God, I don't have the money. Who does? Are wealthy people the only ones who deserve justice? Bullshit.
Fuck.
Pbbbth...
Anyway, that's my bitchy session for the week. Glad you could attend. Please leave comments in the suggestion box.
Goodnight.
Peace.
Sarah.
HOW ARE YOU?
I'm surprised my fingers are still allowing me to write! For the last two weeks I have written and written, pages and pages, edited, copied, copied again and I am pooped. I sent Michele B. another submission today. It's a story about me and my father, very touching---sort of bittersweet. It developed on its own so I had started it from one thought---about how when I was a teenager, I used to go through his stuff just to feel close to him, learn about him, and I stole his socks.
He had cool socks.
Not the boring white tube socks, although he did have some white socks, but trouser socks of all types. Wool socks.
ARGYLE SOCKS!
Anyway, the story turned out ver different. It makes me appreciate the relationship I have with my father.
If she chooses the first story, I will edit down the father essay to 300 words and submit it to Reader's Write. Or maybe submit it the way it is and let them edit it. I noticed that hte longest RW entries are 300 words. My stories are 1000-1500, so it would be a lot of editing. Or maybe send it to that Non-Fiction magazine. Either way, I got plans. On a day when my mind does not want to work, I will hand copy it for you.
I don't know if it is the change in seasons, the upcoming holiday (for which I have used as an excuse to buy $30 worth of junk food to l ast me through 2 weeks of self pity), or being moved to a room with white-frosted windows so I can't see out of get sunshine in, or what, but I have been feeling sort of empty and lonely, stressed, anxious an dsort of searching.
Okay, bullshit, Iknow why I have been feeling this way, but it's a cumulative effort. It's like I'm okay dealing with living in the latrine, but when the shit starts backing up, there's only so much you can take before the stench makes you want to puke.
Of couse part of it is situational. Living in a cement and steel bathroom for nearly two years isn't easy. Today is day 692. That's fucking ridiculous. And they give me no way out. Like most people can earn their way out by just sitting and following the rules for a couple of weeks or months and they get released. Even ones who got caught traficking pills with a staff member. 30 days. 90 days. Beat up an officer? Get out in a year. Beat up an inmate? 60 days. Get 42 write ups in a year? 70 days. I m ean, these are just examples, but Iit does get a little infuriating when they tell me I'm a threat to the safety and security of the facility so I stay locked away, yet these people aren't a threat? WTF? No to say I want them to stay. Hell, I don't wish that on anyone. Free the people!
And then there's the holidays, my mother's health, my sister's divorce, feeling guilty that my father is going to spend like $800 to fly out here, take a cab from the airport to here and back just to see me for two hours through fucking glass. It's just so wrong. And I think about all the holiday gatherings I have missed and how things would be different if I were home. Last Thanksgiving I spent in a Super 8 motel room eating "Dennys" turkey dinner with two slices of pumpkin pie and a slic of pecan pie for dessert, watching Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire--I was a little depressed.
And then there's my ex-lover, partner, whatever. That is such a long story, but after waiting two years to be able to talk/write to her, she professes her love which is what I've been dying to hear, only for me to write back with all these excuses why I don't see it working out between us. I am such an idiot. I fucking love that woman. Like, be still my heart, make every molecule in my body dance, would walk to the ends of the earth for--and it broke her heart. Now I'm trying to back upand start over, seeing that I hurt her and may have blown whatever chance I had at getting what I wanted. For over four years--her. I guess it was really out of fear. Like, who wants to stick it out with someone locked in a cage inside a locked building inside a locked compound? I am just so sick of being disappointed by people. I don't expect too much. I hardly expect anything at all. But then they offer to help and then they flake out. I think that it's because they see the enormity of what i face and they get scared, too emotionally attached to the outcome, and rather avoid the disappointing possibilities than to try at all, even with the possiblity of success. I used to think there was something wrong with me, but I recently have come to believe that a lot of people care so much that they don't want to deal with the hurt or difficulties I go through in my life. I don't know. It just sucks.
And there's all this legal research and pending court issues. Of course I dont' want to deal with that. And dear God, I don't have the money. Who does? Are wealthy people the only ones who deserve justice? Bullshit.
Fuck.
Pbbbth...
Anyway, that's my bitchy session for the week. Glad you could attend. Please leave comments in the suggestion box.
Goodnight.
Peace.
Sarah.
HOW ARE YOU?
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
Letters from the Inside, Sarah Pender, #49 Part 2
[This is the personal essay she submitted to the book, Our Voice, I told her about.]
Harriet Tubman would be proud. Through a modern-day Underground Railroad a change of brave friends passed me from an undisclosed location to a Motel 6 to a sagging brown couch to a Super 8 to a place I can best describe as the Cockroach Inn. After being conveyed across state lines, I am left with two bags, three hundred dollars and time to find some direction, which have determined is anywhere away from Oppression.
For years, I prayed to the God of justice to rescue me. Then, disillusioned by a blind, ignorant Justice and an apparently deaf God, I vowed to save myself. Slowly, I stitched together the tatters of my shredded self-esteem and quietly harvested pebbles of courage until I had enough to smash out of the House of Pain.
If i return, He will kill me--mayben not physically but He will eat my soul until I beg for the swing of Death's scythe. That is, if I have soul left, because rightt now, I'm a so hungry I would sell it for a cheeseburger. Although I know that I am being hunted like wild game by a posse, led by Him, of trigger-happy thugs, starvation is a worse fate, so out into the concrete forest I go to forage for food. Luckily my hotel window frames the view of Super Walmart.
Sunglasses and a billed had shield me from the searing August sun. Thick air pushes against my face, smothering me, quickening my pulse. But I shove back against the anxiety and start walking. At the busy intersection the tiny walking man lights up and I quick-step across. From behind their steering wheels a dozen hostile eyes burn me. Though red, if the light abruptly turns green I wonder if road rage would have me run down. Feeling uneasy, I step into a half-jog, and just two steps from the opposite curb, a multi-tasking motorist screams to a halt, almost greeting me with a chrome bumper kiss. Then she glares at me like it is my fault.
My heart pounds furiously, demanding to be let out and absolved of this runaway nonsense. Slow, deep breaths soothe my colicky nerves. I focus on the sun-dappled sidewalk reflecting a shadowy dance of a sugar maple; it's low branches sweet my crown in calming solidarity.
Summer beauty is suddenly swallowed by alarm.
A jelly bean sub-compact follows me into the strip mall entrance and slows dramatically. The shaggy-haired driver rubbernecks like I am a highway accident.
I dribble in my panties.
He turns back.
In protest, my stomach attempts to wrench itself from my gut because it knows that He has come. However unlikely it may be for a hired assasin to drive a powder blue hatchback, I am convinced it merely disguises lethal intent. My legs want to bolt, but switch getaways are not made in heavy boots. People do not clomp their way to safety.
I hold my ground, but avoid meeting his eyes when he stops me.
Through the driver's window, he says, "Excuse me. Do you smoke?"
"Uh, no. Sorry." I tremble.
His hands brandish no weapon.
"Oh well. Alright then." His tone speaks not of a professional predator, but of a boy turned down for a prom date. "You have a nice day."
He creeps away leaving me confused. Smoke? Dude you just passed a gas station. Either I missed a vital puzzle piece or that heat has scrambled my brain because I don't get it.
Instead of exiting he recircles. A stall tactic.
I stare with dread at the approaching car. If this is it, just shoot me.
He pulls so close that his air conditioning licks my face. He says, "I can't believe you don't smoke pot."
This frozen pea of information unplugs me, and I really look at him. Just below his scruffy chin, his neck is strangled by a red tie laid over a thickly wrinkled shirt that puckers over his belly. Fast food trash litters the passenger floorboard, and from the rearview mirror, dangles a marijuana leaf.
He is not hunting me. He is soliciting me.
His chubby face waits for an answer, but words lodge in my throat.
He adds, "Because you totally look like you would smoke."
Oh, sure. I can see how my white t-shirt, jeans and twenty dollar shades pigeonhole me as a pothead. What a dope! Please put your Geo Metro in gear and putter away from me. Finally, I cough out a series of responses referencing a husband before I sidewind away from Shaggy, confusion still hanging in the air.
Inside the sliding doors, the cold blast flushes my lungs, refreshing me for about five seconds before a wall of sound slams into me. Beeps and clicks and a wailing child set hte backdrop for a widespan view of profound abundance. Ceilings erected for dinosaurs cover rows of shelves and towers of merchandise, enough to outfit the army of a small communist country. A front line of tanks is formed by checkout stands, lit up and ready to fire.
An ancient,smiling prune greets me.
I greedily accept a wire card as a possible battering ram inm case another svengali shows up in Frozen Foods. Of course, I get the retarded cart with one wobbly wheel that pulls left. It's a sales stragegy to crash you into stuff you dont' need or even want, but once collided with, you rationalize why you can't live without it.
In Produce, uniform stacks of colorful cornucopia beckon me to eat fruit once forbidden in our House. From a cascase of peaches, I select a fuzzy orb and tear off a plastic bag. I shake it, roll it between my fingers, and try opening it with my teeth. Finally, I give up, relinquish the peach, and peel open the uncoooperative bag.
A gigle bubbles up, and momentarily the dark tide recedes, but surges again, throwing me into a surreal Miracle-Gro induced hallucination.
Heads of broccoli, lettuce and other vegetables resembling bulbous yard weeds, pulse like Frankenstein's green heart. Potatoes blink at me. An Ugli fruit snarls.
I dark into the dary section, snagging a bag of baby carrots along the way.
Blessedly, the milk does not moo at me. I pluck cups of Dannon from teh refrigerated shelf, avoiding the probiotics. I can't believe they market this stuff as a seven-day program to make you poop. I pick up pre-packaged chedder and turkey slices, because a deli experience may induce psychosis.
Then I wobble into aisle four and am paralyzed by the Great Wall of Snack Bars. Thousands of colorful boxes line up in ranks like tiny soldiers divided into troops of chocolate, granola, fruits and nuts, low-fat, high-fiber, onm and on for endless minature battlefield miles. I am left with an unfocused stare and hinged-open mouth. like a heavily medicated psychiatric patient minus the drool.
The din of shoppers grows to a roar and together with the harsh flourescent lighting, is as torturous as any military interrogation room.
I must seek shelter immediately.
I manuever through the jungle of sweatshop labor goods to an express lane, but I have one item over the limit. l consider ditching the yogurt cup in the soda fridge, but that's only slightly less rude than leaving unwanted butter on the bubble gum rack, so I veer toward an automatic checkout, softly chanting, "I can do this."
I panic only briefly when the computer cashier loudly accuses m e of stealing. My innocence being verified on the screen, I defend myself. I scanned the stupid cheese, lady. I poke buttons until she shuts up and lets me feed a twenty into her hungry mouth.
As I collect my change a sense of pride swells in me.
Although I survived in the House for eight years, surviving was reative: obeying, retreating, silence, or saying yes to anything to avoid pain. The moment I decided to escape the clutches of oppression, I shopped surviving and started living.
Now, I get to say how it goes.
It takes a lot of courage to own my life, to make choices and deal with the consequences without anyone to blame. It takes courage to move forward through the fire of fear instead of backing away. Even if I get burned, on the other side is a reward for having the guts to try.
I leave with my plastic sack trophy dangling from my hands. Emotion pinches my heart and wrings tears from my eyes that drip off my chin and onto the thirsty pavement.
At first, I whisper into the wind.
Then, to the sun, I turn up my face and stretch my arms out l ike the wings of a great blue heron taking flight, calling into the sky with a triumphant cry, "I am free!"
Harriet Tubman would be proud. Through a modern-day Underground Railroad a change of brave friends passed me from an undisclosed location to a Motel 6 to a sagging brown couch to a Super 8 to a place I can best describe as the Cockroach Inn. After being conveyed across state lines, I am left with two bags, three hundred dollars and time to find some direction, which have determined is anywhere away from Oppression.
For years, I prayed to the God of justice to rescue me. Then, disillusioned by a blind, ignorant Justice and an apparently deaf God, I vowed to save myself. Slowly, I stitched together the tatters of my shredded self-esteem and quietly harvested pebbles of courage until I had enough to smash out of the House of Pain.
If i return, He will kill me--mayben not physically but He will eat my soul until I beg for the swing of Death's scythe. That is, if I have soul left, because rightt now, I'm a so hungry I would sell it for a cheeseburger. Although I know that I am being hunted like wild game by a posse, led by Him, of trigger-happy thugs, starvation is a worse fate, so out into the concrete forest I go to forage for food. Luckily my hotel window frames the view of Super Walmart.
Sunglasses and a billed had shield me from the searing August sun. Thick air pushes against my face, smothering me, quickening my pulse. But I shove back against the anxiety and start walking. At the busy intersection the tiny walking man lights up and I quick-step across. From behind their steering wheels a dozen hostile eyes burn me. Though red, if the light abruptly turns green I wonder if road rage would have me run down. Feeling uneasy, I step into a half-jog, and just two steps from the opposite curb, a multi-tasking motorist screams to a halt, almost greeting me with a chrome bumper kiss. Then she glares at me like it is my fault.
My heart pounds furiously, demanding to be let out and absolved of this runaway nonsense. Slow, deep breaths soothe my colicky nerves. I focus on the sun-dappled sidewalk reflecting a shadowy dance of a sugar maple; it's low branches sweet my crown in calming solidarity.
Summer beauty is suddenly swallowed by alarm.
A jelly bean sub-compact follows me into the strip mall entrance and slows dramatically. The shaggy-haired driver rubbernecks like I am a highway accident.
I dribble in my panties.
He turns back.
In protest, my stomach attempts to wrench itself from my gut because it knows that He has come. However unlikely it may be for a hired assasin to drive a powder blue hatchback, I am convinced it merely disguises lethal intent. My legs want to bolt, but switch getaways are not made in heavy boots. People do not clomp their way to safety.
I hold my ground, but avoid meeting his eyes when he stops me.
Through the driver's window, he says, "Excuse me. Do you smoke?"
"Uh, no. Sorry." I tremble.
His hands brandish no weapon.
"Oh well. Alright then." His tone speaks not of a professional predator, but of a boy turned down for a prom date. "You have a nice day."
He creeps away leaving me confused. Smoke? Dude you just passed a gas station. Either I missed a vital puzzle piece or that heat has scrambled my brain because I don't get it.
Instead of exiting he recircles. A stall tactic.
I stare with dread at the approaching car. If this is it, just shoot me.
He pulls so close that his air conditioning licks my face. He says, "I can't believe you don't smoke pot."
This frozen pea of information unplugs me, and I really look at him. Just below his scruffy chin, his neck is strangled by a red tie laid over a thickly wrinkled shirt that puckers over his belly. Fast food trash litters the passenger floorboard, and from the rearview mirror, dangles a marijuana leaf.
He is not hunting me. He is soliciting me.
His chubby face waits for an answer, but words lodge in my throat.
He adds, "Because you totally look like you would smoke."
Oh, sure. I can see how my white t-shirt, jeans and twenty dollar shades pigeonhole me as a pothead. What a dope! Please put your Geo Metro in gear and putter away from me. Finally, I cough out a series of responses referencing a husband before I sidewind away from Shaggy, confusion still hanging in the air.
Inside the sliding doors, the cold blast flushes my lungs, refreshing me for about five seconds before a wall of sound slams into me. Beeps and clicks and a wailing child set hte backdrop for a widespan view of profound abundance. Ceilings erected for dinosaurs cover rows of shelves and towers of merchandise, enough to outfit the army of a small communist country. A front line of tanks is formed by checkout stands, lit up and ready to fire.
An ancient,smiling prune greets me.
I greedily accept a wire card as a possible battering ram inm case another svengali shows up in Frozen Foods. Of course, I get the retarded cart with one wobbly wheel that pulls left. It's a sales stragegy to crash you into stuff you dont' need or even want, but once collided with, you rationalize why you can't live without it.
In Produce, uniform stacks of colorful cornucopia beckon me to eat fruit once forbidden in our House. From a cascase of peaches, I select a fuzzy orb and tear off a plastic bag. I shake it, roll it between my fingers, and try opening it with my teeth. Finally, I give up, relinquish the peach, and peel open the uncoooperative bag.
A gigle bubbles up, and momentarily the dark tide recedes, but surges again, throwing me into a surreal Miracle-Gro induced hallucination.
Heads of broccoli, lettuce and other vegetables resembling bulbous yard weeds, pulse like Frankenstein's green heart. Potatoes blink at me. An Ugli fruit snarls.
I dark into the dary section, snagging a bag of baby carrots along the way.
Blessedly, the milk does not moo at me. I pluck cups of Dannon from teh refrigerated shelf, avoiding the probiotics. I can't believe they market this stuff as a seven-day program to make you poop. I pick up pre-packaged chedder and turkey slices, because a deli experience may induce psychosis.
Then I wobble into aisle four and am paralyzed by the Great Wall of Snack Bars. Thousands of colorful boxes line up in ranks like tiny soldiers divided into troops of chocolate, granola, fruits and nuts, low-fat, high-fiber, onm and on for endless minature battlefield miles. I am left with an unfocused stare and hinged-open mouth. like a heavily medicated psychiatric patient minus the drool.
The din of shoppers grows to a roar and together with the harsh flourescent lighting, is as torturous as any military interrogation room.
I must seek shelter immediately.
I manuever through the jungle of sweatshop labor goods to an express lane, but I have one item over the limit. l consider ditching the yogurt cup in the soda fridge, but that's only slightly less rude than leaving unwanted butter on the bubble gum rack, so I veer toward an automatic checkout, softly chanting, "I can do this."
I panic only briefly when the computer cashier loudly accuses m e of stealing. My innocence being verified on the screen, I defend myself. I scanned the stupid cheese, lady. I poke buttons until she shuts up and lets me feed a twenty into her hungry mouth.
As I collect my change a sense of pride swells in me.
Although I survived in the House for eight years, surviving was reative: obeying, retreating, silence, or saying yes to anything to avoid pain. The moment I decided to escape the clutches of oppression, I shopped surviving and started living.
Now, I get to say how it goes.
It takes a lot of courage to own my life, to make choices and deal with the consequences without anyone to blame. It takes courage to move forward through the fire of fear instead of backing away. Even if I get burned, on the other side is a reward for having the guts to try.
I leave with my plastic sack trophy dangling from my hands. Emotion pinches my heart and wrings tears from my eyes that drip off my chin and onto the thirsty pavement.
At first, I whisper into the wind.
Then, to the sun, I turn up my face and stretch my arms out l ike the wings of a great blue heron taking flight, calling into the sky with a triumphant cry, "I am free!"
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Letters from the Inside, Sarah Pender, #49
Dear Kelly,
After I sent you the last letter, I got a letter from Michele B. inviting me to submit for Our Voice. And after about 25 hours of writing, rewriting and polishing, I finished the final submission. I am really proud of it. Once I recopy it (which takes about two hours!) I'll sent it to Michelle and keep my fingers crossed. I may try to work on the one about my father, or my first (gay) boyfriend, but I don't know if I can make the deadline. That was A LOT more work than I thought it would be. I evny those writers who can take 6 weeks in the Bahamas and write a best-selling novel.
I like the Dali postcard, but I don't get it. Ossification of the Cypress---no, I don't get it.
I got my buddy hooked on Saturday night Moth hour. A long time ago, I told her she should work on her storytelling. She's naturally funny and comes up with some original vivid metaphors and similes that make me pee on myself. If she would write them down and polish them up, practive, she could totally do a MothShow.
I painted this envelope for you, and see that hte red is more of a pink than a primary red. [Ed.: She always paints my envelopes so I requested she do them in black, white and red. The first was a big red apple and this one she is referencing is a red Mini against a black striped background.] I am going to play with teh colors to see if I can eek out a truer red. I didn't have anything to work from, so my silhouette doesn't look like Mini as I had intended. I need a visual aid to help. Tomorrow or Sunday, I'll be able to paint again.
I get a kick out of what you create on your blog or articles for other sites. For one, it's a glimpse into someone else's life that doesn' t deal with the same retarded assholes that I do. You deal with different retarded assholes. It's amusing.
How did your recording for Mr. Beller's Neighborhood go? Do you think you sound funny on air? I like how our culture is preserving the art of storytelling. Whether is's for convenience of an iPod junkie generation or for a real appreciation for the art, I like it. If there's a magnetic storm or sunspot burst or something that wipes out computers and storage--what's left? Books and storytelling.
When you recorded in the studio, did your nerves make you want to pee a lot? When I get nervous I want to shit.
I am sorry Mini ate your perfect red spread. You sure love that little dog. I would too.
I liked the "Goatheads" article. The way she felt about moving to Brooklyn, being fascinated by all the different cultures, races, languages, shops, foods, etc. -- feeling on vacation every day, that comes close to how I felt when I moved to North Chicago. It didn't ever feel ordinary or boring.
As for the goatheads, that's one culture gap I would not want to bridge. Unless it would grant me a special wish. A really good wish.
I have never heard of this poem, Howl, or the big deal around it. I found it interesting that Ginsberg's boyfriends were bi--the artist said, "straight men" but straight men don't fuck men. Bi men do. But I thought about if there were differents in my attraction towards homosexual women vs. bisexual women. Yes, absolutely. Hadn't thought about that much before.
In the photo of you in the crowd at Amir's event, I know you are twirling your hair but I swear it looks like you are flipping him off. Although Amir is a little goofy looking, his great success and apparent charm make up for that ten times over. I'm a little biased because I know how much suffering you get out of your relationship with him. That makes me want to let Mini poo in his $1200 shoes. :-) He doesn't deserve you.
Have you asked Amir for a job lead?
That painting by your friend [Ed.: She is referencing [someone] from OD] captures exactly how I felt today, and countless other days in the past ten years after realizing my stupid loss.
"Like witches running from a stake." That's a good line, Kelly. You are so creative. I'm glad you have time to write. But why don't you do it to pay your rent? How long will focus groups and monthly columns supplement your PR gig?
Hey, do you have a website counter? If so, what is your reader base?
That "creative writing" you sent a couple of weeks ago, how's the real life version of that going? When you hired your civil atty, did you pay a retainer and then make a contingency agreement? How long do you think it will drag out? Have you talked to any politicians about creating a criminal law against that?
Have you considered working to write somle public figures' bio or memoirs? You're really good at "As told to Kelly" articles. Maybe Amir or someone he knows wants immortality themselves. Even if in vain, if they have the money you need the work. It doesn't have to be epic, just a job. I bet lots of wealthy people would pay to have their memoirs written. tHey just don't see it out because they don't know they want it---yet. Create some conversations and I bet there's an interest. It would not be heavy content, you would be provided the material and you could make a hunk of swiss cheese sound interesting.
I had some sort of emotionally wrenching reaction to being handcuffed today. I guess I just came to a tipping point. I mean, I get handcuffed every day, sometimes 6 times a day, but I absolutely hate it when an officer clamps them down so small, they might as well be child's handcuffs. I get bruises, no one cares. I got cuffed for my shower and they were supertight, when I asked for them to be loosened, I got justification for their placement and denial they were tight., like I had done something wrong by complaining. I begged, just get them off my bone. Nope. I refused to shower. Take the cuffs off please. I'd rather wash my ass in my sink then get cuffed up like that, like a misbehaving dog on a choker chain. Fuck that. I was so upset, I cried. God please save me, I pray.
Hopefully I'll have a better day tomorrow.
Peace,
Sarah
***
PART TWO will be her writing submission for the book I suggested.
After I sent you the last letter, I got a letter from Michele B. inviting me to submit for Our Voice. And after about 25 hours of writing, rewriting and polishing, I finished the final submission. I am really proud of it. Once I recopy it (which takes about two hours!) I'll sent it to Michelle and keep my fingers crossed. I may try to work on the one about my father, or my first (gay) boyfriend, but I don't know if I can make the deadline. That was A LOT more work than I thought it would be. I evny those writers who can take 6 weeks in the Bahamas and write a best-selling novel.
I like the Dali postcard, but I don't get it. Ossification of the Cypress---no, I don't get it.
I got my buddy hooked on Saturday night Moth hour. A long time ago, I told her she should work on her storytelling. She's naturally funny and comes up with some original vivid metaphors and similes that make me pee on myself. If she would write them down and polish them up, practive, she could totally do a MothShow.
I painted this envelope for you, and see that hte red is more of a pink than a primary red. [Ed.: She always paints my envelopes so I requested she do them in black, white and red. The first was a big red apple and this one she is referencing is a red Mini against a black striped background.] I am going to play with teh colors to see if I can eek out a truer red. I didn't have anything to work from, so my silhouette doesn't look like Mini as I had intended. I need a visual aid to help. Tomorrow or Sunday, I'll be able to paint again.
I get a kick out of what you create on your blog or articles for other sites. For one, it's a glimpse into someone else's life that doesn' t deal with the same retarded assholes that I do. You deal with different retarded assholes. It's amusing.
How did your recording for Mr. Beller's Neighborhood go? Do you think you sound funny on air? I like how our culture is preserving the art of storytelling. Whether is's for convenience of an iPod junkie generation or for a real appreciation for the art, I like it. If there's a magnetic storm or sunspot burst or something that wipes out computers and storage--what's left? Books and storytelling.
When you recorded in the studio, did your nerves make you want to pee a lot? When I get nervous I want to shit.
I am sorry Mini ate your perfect red spread. You sure love that little dog. I would too.
I liked the "Goatheads" article. The way she felt about moving to Brooklyn, being fascinated by all the different cultures, races, languages, shops, foods, etc. -- feeling on vacation every day, that comes close to how I felt when I moved to North Chicago. It didn't ever feel ordinary or boring.
As for the goatheads, that's one culture gap I would not want to bridge. Unless it would grant me a special wish. A really good wish.
I have never heard of this poem, Howl, or the big deal around it. I found it interesting that Ginsberg's boyfriends were bi--the artist said, "straight men" but straight men don't fuck men. Bi men do. But I thought about if there were differents in my attraction towards homosexual women vs. bisexual women. Yes, absolutely. Hadn't thought about that much before.
In the photo of you in the crowd at Amir's event, I know you are twirling your hair but I swear it looks like you are flipping him off. Although Amir is a little goofy looking, his great success and apparent charm make up for that ten times over. I'm a little biased because I know how much suffering you get out of your relationship with him. That makes me want to let Mini poo in his $1200 shoes. :-) He doesn't deserve you.
Have you asked Amir for a job lead?
That painting by your friend [Ed.: She is referencing [someone] from OD] captures exactly how I felt today, and countless other days in the past ten years after realizing my stupid loss.
"Like witches running from a stake." That's a good line, Kelly. You are so creative. I'm glad you have time to write. But why don't you do it to pay your rent? How long will focus groups and monthly columns supplement your PR gig?
Hey, do you have a website counter? If so, what is your reader base?
That "creative writing" you sent a couple of weeks ago, how's the real life version of that going? When you hired your civil atty, did you pay a retainer and then make a contingency agreement? How long do you think it will drag out? Have you talked to any politicians about creating a criminal law against that?
Have you considered working to write somle public figures' bio or memoirs? You're really good at "As told to Kelly" articles. Maybe Amir or someone he knows wants immortality themselves. Even if in vain, if they have the money you need the work. It doesn't have to be epic, just a job. I bet lots of wealthy people would pay to have their memoirs written. tHey just don't see it out because they don't know they want it---yet. Create some conversations and I bet there's an interest. It would not be heavy content, you would be provided the material and you could make a hunk of swiss cheese sound interesting.
I had some sort of emotionally wrenching reaction to being handcuffed today. I guess I just came to a tipping point. I mean, I get handcuffed every day, sometimes 6 times a day, but I absolutely hate it when an officer clamps them down so small, they might as well be child's handcuffs. I get bruises, no one cares. I got cuffed for my shower and they were supertight, when I asked for them to be loosened, I got justification for their placement and denial they were tight., like I had done something wrong by complaining. I begged, just get them off my bone. Nope. I refused to shower. Take the cuffs off please. I'd rather wash my ass in my sink then get cuffed up like that, like a misbehaving dog on a choker chain. Fuck that. I was so upset, I cried. God please save me, I pray.
Hopefully I'll have a better day tomorrow.
Peace,
Sarah
***
PART TWO will be her writing submission for the book I suggested.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Letters from the Inside, Michael Swango, #100 pt. 3
OK--Totally switching gears to an equally serious topic as your livelihood---your health.
It certainly sounds like you have touched all the bases regarding the persistent sub-acute infection which has plagued you for so long. [Ed.: Group B Strep] I have seen the truly awful results of anal-vaginal fistulea caused when women in rural Africa undergo days of labor because they can't get to the hospital. The instense pressures inside the pelvis can tear significant holes in that membrane. These women become recluses and pariahs. IN fact, there are hospitals in sub-Saharan Africa devotedly exclusively in to surgery to repair these horrendous injuries. As you might image, repair is complex and not always successful. Many women have to undergo two or three operations to finally close the defect. PBS did a stunning documentary on the subject a couple of years ago. [Ed.: He is mentioning fissues because I explained I had to go get an abdominal scan with dye to see if there were any rips in my intestines. Luckily prior to getting that exam, I and my doctor finally figured out why I've had recurrent GBS infections (they are extremely painful and rare). The bacteria was growing from an antibiotic that I had taken quite a few times. It was killing so much of the good bacteria in my system (I do take probiotics and eat yogurt) that it caused a horrible overgrowth of GBS.]
Yes, I know--Michael is always there with a cheery anedote or two...Just putting things in perspective.
By the way---part of my ability to "compartmentalize" is being able to realize that such awful things to not in anyway and should not in any way prevent a man and a woman who are emotionally close and who trust each other from engaging in deep, loving anal sex, especially the utter intimacy & orgasmic intensity (man and women) of anal sex in the missionary position.
I know, TMI. [Ed.: To reiterate, I've told him a billion times, no sex talk.]
Must get this in the mail--but still so much more to talk about. And I will--hope sooner than later. I really do enjoy writing to you, Kelly, even if I drive you half-crazy most of the time...
Just received "Mind Game", the fascinating letter from NZ from the New Yorker. Wow--full comments to follow.
AND your letter in which you relate your confrontation at the laundromat. My God, trouble just finds you sometimes, doesn't it?
So--scanning and very briefly:
>Brilliant discussion/rant re the rescinded job offer!
>I knew that the "Buried" review would bother you. Poor baby. You and I would be perfect in those situations.
> No, I've not seen "Young Prisoner's Handbook" but it just seemed liek a film you must see and tell me about!
> I will think seriously about how a sociopath woudl perceive the whole situation/court case you've described. You asked "How do you think he views me and what do you think he'll do?" I will consider that and I think I can give you a reasoned opinion. I believe there are multiple twists and turns, and that full understanding of a sociopath is nearly impossible without the full picture. And I understand your limitations.
Lots in this letter--and again, sorry it was so delayed. Hope my cash/stamp problem improves. Hope I filled your Brain Housing Group with enough stuff that you forget for a little while how much life SUCKS!!
Thinking of you, Kelly. Hang in there---write soon. And so will I.
Your friend,
Michael
"You know you love me. XOXO." The narrator is of course Kristen Bell. She ends each episode with those worlds.
P.S. KK tons more movie talk, but all this seemed more important.
It certainly sounds like you have touched all the bases regarding the persistent sub-acute infection which has plagued you for so long. [Ed.: Group B Strep] I have seen the truly awful results of anal-vaginal fistulea caused when women in rural Africa undergo days of labor because they can't get to the hospital. The instense pressures inside the pelvis can tear significant holes in that membrane. These women become recluses and pariahs. IN fact, there are hospitals in sub-Saharan Africa devotedly exclusively in to surgery to repair these horrendous injuries. As you might image, repair is complex and not always successful. Many women have to undergo two or three operations to finally close the defect. PBS did a stunning documentary on the subject a couple of years ago. [Ed.: He is mentioning fissues because I explained I had to go get an abdominal scan with dye to see if there were any rips in my intestines. Luckily prior to getting that exam, I and my doctor finally figured out why I've had recurrent GBS infections (they are extremely painful and rare). The bacteria was growing from an antibiotic that I had taken quite a few times. It was killing so much of the good bacteria in my system (I do take probiotics and eat yogurt) that it caused a horrible overgrowth of GBS.]
Yes, I know--Michael is always there with a cheery anedote or two...Just putting things in perspective.
By the way---part of my ability to "compartmentalize" is being able to realize that such awful things to not in anyway and should not in any way prevent a man and a woman who are emotionally close and who trust each other from engaging in deep, loving anal sex, especially the utter intimacy & orgasmic intensity (man and women) of anal sex in the missionary position.
I know, TMI. [Ed.: To reiterate, I've told him a billion times, no sex talk.]
Must get this in the mail--but still so much more to talk about. And I will--hope sooner than later. I really do enjoy writing to you, Kelly, even if I drive you half-crazy most of the time...
Just received "Mind Game", the fascinating letter from NZ from the New Yorker. Wow--full comments to follow.
AND your letter in which you relate your confrontation at the laundromat. My God, trouble just finds you sometimes, doesn't it?
So--scanning and very briefly:
>Brilliant discussion/rant re the rescinded job offer!
>I knew that the "Buried" review would bother you. Poor baby. You and I would be perfect in those situations.
> No, I've not seen "Young Prisoner's Handbook" but it just seemed liek a film you must see and tell me about!
> I will think seriously about how a sociopath woudl perceive the whole situation/court case you've described. You asked "How do you think he views me and what do you think he'll do?" I will consider that and I think I can give you a reasoned opinion. I believe there are multiple twists and turns, and that full understanding of a sociopath is nearly impossible without the full picture. And I understand your limitations.
Lots in this letter--and again, sorry it was so delayed. Hope my cash/stamp problem improves. Hope I filled your Brain Housing Group with enough stuff that you forget for a little while how much life SUCKS!!
Thinking of you, Kelly. Hang in there---write soon. And so will I.
Your friend,
Michael
"You know you love me. XOXO." The narrator is of course Kristen Bell. She ends each episode with those worlds.
P.S. KK tons more movie talk, but all this seemed more important.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Letters from the Inside, Ira Einhorn, #1
So I read THIS article recently when it was linked to LOVEFRAUD, the website devoted to all things sociopathic. I felt the writer did a poor job on the story and wasted a chance at writing about a fascinating murderer, Ira Einhorn. I don't know if it was that she was intimidated by him, if she just didn't know much about incarcerated sociopaths, etc. but I believe there was a far better story waiting to be written if she had to skills to do so.
Anyway, I started researching Einhorn and decided to write to him. He fits in with my criteria: He is extremely bright, charming and sociopathic. Check, check and check!
I wrote him a similar letter to all the first letters I sent to prisoners. It was on a little note card with a picture of me wearing a black and white striped dress standing up against my wall of the same color and pattern.
Today I got his first answer and what a doozy it is. Get on the coaster, kids, this is going to be a fun ride.
If you will please welcome Ira to the dancefloor:
If you are interested in more background on Einhorn, Google him. He is a pretty fascinating man who loves the ladies, except, um, the ones he kills.
Anyway, I started researching Einhorn and decided to write to him. He fits in with my criteria: He is extremely bright, charming and sociopathic. Check, check and check!
I wrote him a similar letter to all the first letters I sent to prisoners. It was on a little note card with a picture of me wearing a black and white striped dress standing up against my wall of the same color and pattern.
Today I got his first answer and what a doozy it is. Get on the coaster, kids, this is going to be a fun ride.
If you will please welcome Ira to the dancefloor:
If you are interested in more background on Einhorn, Google him. He is a pretty fascinating man who loves the ladies, except, um, the ones he kills.
Letters from the Inside, Michael Swango, #100 Pt. 2
[Ed.: This is continued from <--- there.]
Here's just one idea from my spaceship traveling to Alpha Centauri:
Although I did have my own personal version of your Rule of Three, you have published it on your blog so we'll call it your idea (kidding!). As I understand it: "Kreth's Postulate" says that it is virtually impossible for a woman in Manhattan to simultaneously have her job, her relationship, and her home running smoothly. (You put it so much better.)
There's a book: The Rule of Three: "One woman's frantic, sad & funny attempt to have it all when something is always wrong." [Or a much more well-written version.]
I am sure that in your thousands of bloggings you have addressed at length and in detail, the trial and tribulations of job, relationships, and home.
Mine was a "rule of four"" 1) Where you live 2) Where you work 3) Who you're with 4) What you drive. These four things define virtually everyone: Your house/apt; your job/ your relationship/significant other (Yes, KK, sexual OMG!) and your car. I never thought all four were impossible to have at the same time--but most of our actions focus on them.
Hell--I think in just what I've read from you all three and more have been covered.
By the way--having thought about these things myself, I would be more than happy to help. Perhaps provide an anonymous male viewpoint in the relationship part of the triad.
The beauty of your "rule of three" is that even if a woman has never thought of her life in those terms, she will instantly realize that relationship, job, and home ARE the center of her life.
[Not: Obviously for any woman attending school full-time--that is her job.]
And your stories and experiences, even if based in NYC, will resonate universally to any woman living anywhere in the USA or anywhere else for that matter.
Ok--so tell me where I am wrong. You cn do this--and I would be willing to help in any way I can. Talk to me, Kelly.
Again, I know you believe I was a sociopath 24/7for a long time. Not even close. I did talk--in depth and at length to many women about their views of men and sex. (Hence my theory on why gay men and straight women for such unique and powerful bonds. If anything I know of can be of help--no problem.
By the way, I would of course be willing to help write or edit any of the sexual passages that would inevitably arise in your relationship vignettes, etc.!
I am kidding, of course. I know that when you "felt it" you can and do write about that as well as you do everything else. However, KK, to be serious--I think you do underestimate the importance and power of sex in male/female relationships. And I don't mean "All men are dogs...that's all they think about..." Wrong and wrong.
What keeps a man in a committed, monogamous relationship with a woman is almost always NOT what women thing. Yes, sex is a huge part of it, but not in the way you think. From talking exclusively with women, I can also made some educated suppositions on what keeps a woman in such a relationship.
Three quick thoughts on this subject:
(Which clearly deserves much more detailed discussion.)
>Ask yourself what is it that causes a spouse or boyfriend (usually but not always male) or ex-spouse to KILL their significant other or ex-significant other in a rage or fit of passion/and often kill anyone else who is there...and often (but not always) then kill themselves.
> Ask yourself My story (personal) of "The Widow" (That's what she caleld herself) About that very imperative of emotion and sex and need of men and women (yes, her and I...)
No time to tell it today but again if you're interested I will discuss in detail along with the lovely and heartbroken and devastated flight attendant after the United crash.
My God, Kelly, I do so enjoy writing to you--as much as I enjoy receiving your amazing letters.
***
[Part Three tomorrow and also TEASER ALERT: I recently wrote to a fascinating sociopathic murderer and just got his first response. Boy, is it a doozy!]
Here's just one idea from my spaceship traveling to Alpha Centauri:
Although I did have my own personal version of your Rule of Three, you have published it on your blog so we'll call it your idea (kidding!). As I understand it: "Kreth's Postulate" says that it is virtually impossible for a woman in Manhattan to simultaneously have her job, her relationship, and her home running smoothly. (You put it so much better.)
There's a book: The Rule of Three: "One woman's frantic, sad & funny attempt to have it all when something is always wrong." [Or a much more well-written version.]
I am sure that in your thousands of bloggings you have addressed at length and in detail, the trial and tribulations of job, relationships, and home.
Mine was a "rule of four"" 1) Where you live 2) Where you work 3) Who you're with 4) What you drive. These four things define virtually everyone: Your house/apt; your job/ your relationship/significant other (Yes, KK, sexual OMG!) and your car. I never thought all four were impossible to have at the same time--but most of our actions focus on them.
Hell--I think in just what I've read from you all three and more have been covered.
By the way--having thought about these things myself, I would be more than happy to help. Perhaps provide an anonymous male viewpoint in the relationship part of the triad.
The beauty of your "rule of three" is that even if a woman has never thought of her life in those terms, she will instantly realize that relationship, job, and home ARE the center of her life.
[Not: Obviously for any woman attending school full-time--that is her job.]
And your stories and experiences, even if based in NYC, will resonate universally to any woman living anywhere in the USA or anywhere else for that matter.
Ok--so tell me where I am wrong. You cn do this--and I would be willing to help in any way I can. Talk to me, Kelly.
Again, I know you believe I was a sociopath 24/7for a long time. Not even close. I did talk--in depth and at length to many women about their views of men and sex. (Hence my theory on why gay men and straight women for such unique and powerful bonds. If anything I know of can be of help--no problem.
By the way, I would of course be willing to help write or edit any of the sexual passages that would inevitably arise in your relationship vignettes, etc.!
I am kidding, of course. I know that when you "felt it" you can and do write about that as well as you do everything else. However, KK, to be serious--I think you do underestimate the importance and power of sex in male/female relationships. And I don't mean "All men are dogs...that's all they think about..." Wrong and wrong.
What keeps a man in a committed, monogamous relationship with a woman is almost always NOT what women thing. Yes, sex is a huge part of it, but not in the way you think. From talking exclusively with women, I can also made some educated suppositions on what keeps a woman in such a relationship.
Three quick thoughts on this subject:
(Which clearly deserves much more detailed discussion.)
>Ask yourself what is it that causes a spouse or boyfriend (usually but not always male) or ex-spouse to KILL their significant other or ex-significant other in a rage or fit of passion/and often kill anyone else who is there...and often (but not always) then kill themselves.
> Ask yourself My story (personal) of "The Widow" (That's what she caleld herself) About that very imperative of emotion and sex and need of men and women (yes, her and I...)
No time to tell it today but again if you're interested I will discuss in detail along with the lovely and heartbroken and devastated flight attendant after the United crash.
My God, Kelly, I do so enjoy writing to you--as much as I enjoy receiving your amazing letters.
***
[Part Three tomorrow and also TEASER ALERT: I recently wrote to a fascinating sociopathic murderer and just got his first response. Boy, is it a doozy!]
