Posted on Monday, 1 February 2010

um, hey, i am sick and i need your help.  arienette’s tears must have washed away my distaste for your wrenching bouts and somewhere in the withdrawls of this trauma taught me to see your fever as mine but now she’s vanished in a mirror i am beginning to see into something greater than vanity despite my action of placing this letter where it is now, now in your hands, the contrived futile pathetic attempt at catching each one of her tears on my tongue, to catch them from her eyes no matter how ghostly and hollow they really may be, kissing, her eyes, kissing away her fever whilst there are a thousand of her whose fevers i am too scared to get to know.  i guess i still miss her and i would like this i would like this to be my final correspondence now that i realize i only write these things so that she will read them for i know her pain it is forever saturated into me in a feverish vision i smell what her life must be now, the aches, the sleepless grappling along phantom footholds to heights of obsolescent lonesome invalidation if she if she ever gets to the top to see whatever dialectic diamond studded nightmare she imagined waited there waiting for her not with open arms but with a hateful laughter in the voice of her cruel father open arms coiling to strike so that she can fall into a trap of paper cuts ensnared suddenly snap ultimately that Tao of Doom back into certain lustings for repetitions for repetitions me wishing i could catch her like her tears into my arms on my tongue as she falls with them i wish she could feel no more aches and try for no more phantom footholds footholds oozing black-blooded mirrors candied costume carefully crafted contusions the truth will hurt for decades i spent half my life watching this happen to people please stop what you’re doing please stop what you’re doing i hope i hope this finds you arienette in some place where you really exist if you do if  you ever did and you can feel something that feels bad so you can see what has happened so you can feel something good again i’m delusional as fuck i hope i hope the truth is i’ll be in new york this weekend giving myself a gift maybe this is true and hopefully when i return i will stop writing these embarrassing letters i feel like i feel like everybody knows and they’re watching me and they can see my sickness how can they not i am disgusting and they’re laughing and they’re waiting to caress me but their eyes make me nauseous and their hands are the bloodied jaws of wolves to blame something other than self is living in caricature in itself i started this i started this to kill myself and leave no trace to clean the corpses i’ve parched as red carpets a tinge of crookery knowing somebody will know for how obvious it is if eyes are open to obvious signals at audible frequencies but it’s becoming since friday night and so soon i can tell my therapist that i was doing this in past tense i’m too embarrassed in the present of my dark identities of a.m. piss & trampled eggshells about the nightmares of seeing arienette in all the droplets of blood i hypercritically inject into these hypocritical anonymous paintings and zines on church rooftops and in bathrooms and wasted parks and itchy cafes and empty elevators i have become more of a peasant mummy awoken unstitching reflections of many stale lips than ever it’s getting lonely again, and in dream states i’m scaling the other end of the mountain she is scaling and we both know neither of us are there to meet either of us at the top, and i no i’m not looking for her and she’s not looking for me, we’re looking for cruel laughter, and she’s not there on the other side i just put her there to think i’ll find her at the top before i fall down to do it again oh god i don’t want this this grandiosity i want it dead alice miller has written to me about narcissistic disturbances and there is so much that i now maybe understand it hurts more now maybe i don’t want to listen to me not listening to her anymore how would she feel how would she feel if she knew i actually scaled into a bathroom and climbed out of a window just so i couldn’t see that her face is real, that my only survival mechanism is to believe she never existed i am sick i am defected into this i am so sick this isn’t happening (it is) O but conor i miss your arienette so much and somehow i can tell jokes all i want it’s pathetic but all i want is that in some pinched dream somehow she reads this and that we meet again reverberating in sober intoxication at the top of the endlessness of blue at the heights of these horrible truths…  no longer a dark passenger but a bright eyed somebody i embrace her shadows not knowing consequences OK again it’s all OK it’s all crashing down again because on friday night i saw her ghost entering through the door but others saw her too this time and she was trying to call him over and i am pretty sure he is real.  i hadn’t slept and was followed by a raven in the park toward crackheads by the dumpster and it was bad to see her face it is talons ripping me from the wolves to drop me crashing through the bathroom window through the bathroom window i cried and i fell in the dirt and i was heating up with the emotions that put me in the psych ward the day before christmas before i decided to love me and get this ipod from where you sing to me now my home should be a refuge but she invaded and i watched her in her nice coat yelling to him and i broke through the gate and lifted my bicycle above my head @ the right moment i think with one hand the other hand was a fist and it wanted a face or a heart or a mirror and i ran to the street and threw my bike like a body at the ground and screamed and unlocked it and rode away to a party where arienette’s ghost her ghost recited my name and said I’ve Heard So Much About You and i blew smoke in her face and said you are a myth despite your victims they were just never trained to handle your darkness and then and then another said I’ll Do Anything To Make You Happy and i said give me a blowjob looking her straight into her hollow drunken hollows and i said nevermind i already had a blowjob today and it was good.  moreover i wouldn’t be able to cum i didn’t sleep last night and if you saw what i just saw, and you’re unattractive besides so she gave me a massage and we laughed but i mean and then and then another ghost was talking about being an actress and i said to myself you’re not an actress you’re a ghost and we talked about minnesota and south Dakota and somehow los angeles sprayed its semen all over the conversation as one would expect and i almost thought she was nice but i don’t like blonde hair it is just simply too symbolic of nativity and mediocrity, two traits i am too sick to realize i possess which brings me to the fevers and mirrors you have embarrassed me with and then and then of course there were two being juggled on a couch and i was saying ‘this new look is bitch repellent, and maybe even woman repellent,’ and arienette said “good luck with that” with a thirst inside each of her blue eyes and tested when her twin arienette across the beans and rice did her best to inject herself into my lies and how i tried writing on paper towels about “toxic wombs” or some joke and i continued to scare them both away i think – i am getting better at this but then but then she said you used to be my student i can get in a lot of trouble and then i had her sit on my face anyway and then i said Girl I Am A Pimp Named Professor Cuddlecore, no body more, no body less, no body to hold or to have and she said some other things over a couple long cigarettes and now i know about The Dirty Projectors and she knows about Kayo Dot, so life isn’t solely misery and i think and i think i remember a singer calling my name when i was leaving as the light flooded in reoccurring tsunami fevers and he said they played at the arienettehole last time and i said “The Arienettehole Is a Myth,” and i vanished like the ghost of arienette and then and then a lesbian told me Just Tonight I Will Not Be Gay I Know You Love Me and i said arienette you take so many forms why can’t you leave me alone and she was there in my doorway impossible time has collapsed each face is the same dare i say mother dare i say mirror this isn’t happening it is, and a fever dare i say another word it is all i dare despite the bliss of sleep when i am reborn into another smoldering calm waiting to vomit itself into the wake of my misery, jesus conor you’re such an emo bitch get out of my fuck ur shape!! i drink nyquil in the morning on the weekends now to cure something and the dreams get heavy now and it all comes crashing down and it all comes crashing down again the image of a beautiful fish’s head and photographs from the east could it be suny purchase crumbling along the yangtze river and no you can’t smile you can’t ever smile unless i can see it it is not yours to have i am your conqueror i am your king you have no right unless i grant it to you here are some footholds you may use my face and there you have a new conor even if he doesn’t want you like you need him to isn’t this all familiar GO AWAY NASTY ACHES LEAVE HER ALONE! you are still my arienette i don’t want this i need this i need to not need this to die what a fool it’s just a figment of a fish’s head i can still smell the homeless man on BART and the train tracks calling your head in my lap in my endlessly callused hands holding shit because i’m full of shit none of this ever happened was it two bottles of wine can i do something so that you won’t need those vitamins anymore i can’t tell what’s a lie or an honest sentence anymore language is a curse and i just want to sail with you somewhere to see that you’re just arienette and i don’t long for anything but a healthy childhood and to stop watching pornography although i think it makes me good in bed sometimes no it is not good it is not good that i don’t need drugs to write like this these moments come from a depth or a height a certain cauldron of embarrassed neuroses i am not comfortable knowing and it’s all i know ah fuck my ipod just died now i can hear the conversations of people in the library and they’re calming and i can’t do this anymore.  that felt good.  thank you, conor, for listening.  i only get 50 minutes a week with the guy who my insurance pays for and it’s not quite enough.  and i’m building up that predicable disdain for him alice miller says you develop.  have you read “the drama of the gifted child?”  you probably don’t fit the case 100% but apparently i’m a “textbook” fit. fuck shrinks.  clearly i am, perfectly, fine. no, really.  i’m fine. i don’t even like your music.  i am more into, like, Henry Brant & T-Pain. tell arienette i say “good luck” if she still comes to you in dreams.  love, APNPC

um, hey,

i am sick and i need your help. 

arienette’s tears must have washed away my distaste for your wrenching bouts and somewhere in the withdrawls of this trauma taught me to see your fever as mine but now she’s vanished in a mirror i am beginning to see into something greater than vanity despite my action of placing this letter where it is now, now in your hands, the contrived futile pathetic attempt at catching each one of her tears on my tongue, to catch them from her eyes no matter how ghostly and hollow they really may be, kissing, her eyes, kissing away her fever whilst there are a thousand of her whose fevers i am too scared to get to know.  i guess i still miss her and i would like this

i would like this to be my final correspondence now that i realize i only write these things so that she will read them for i know her pain it is forever saturated into me in a feverish vision i smell what her life must be now, the aches, the sleepless grappling along phantom footholds to heights of obsolescent lonesome invalidation if she

if she ever gets to the top to see whatever dialectic diamond studded nightmare she imagined waited there waiting for her not with open arms but with a hateful laughter in the voice of her cruel father open arms coiling to strike so that she can fall into a trap of paper cuts ensnared suddenly snap ultimately that Tao of Doom back into certain lustings for repetitions for repetitions me wishing i could catch her like her tears into my arms on my tongue as she falls with them i wish she could feel no more aches and try for no more phantom footholds

footholds oozing black-blooded mirrors candied costume carefully crafted contusions the truth will hurt for decades i spent half my life watching this happen to people please stop what you’re doing please stop what you’re doing i hope

i hope this finds you arienette in some place where you really exist if you do if  you ever did and you can feel something that feels bad so you can see what has happened so you can feel something good again i’m delusional as fuck i hope

i hope the truth is i’ll be in new york this weekend giving myself a gift maybe this is true and hopefully when i return i will stop writing these embarrassing letters i feel like

i feel like everybody knows and they’re watching me and they can see my sickness how can they not i am disgusting and they’re laughing and they’re waiting to caress me but their eyes make me nauseous and their hands are the bloodied jaws of wolves to blame something other than self is living in caricature in itself i started this

i started this to kill myself and leave no trace to clean the corpses i’ve parched as red carpets a tinge of crookery knowing somebody will know for how obvious it is if eyes are open to obvious signals at audible frequencies but it’s becoming since friday night and so soon i can tell my therapist that i was doing this in past tense i’m too embarrassed in the present of my dark identities of a.m. piss & trampled eggshells about the nightmares of seeing arienette in all the droplets of blood i hypercritically inject into these hypocritical anonymous paintings and zines on church rooftops and in bathrooms and wasted parks and itchy cafes and empty elevators i have become more of a peasant mummy awoken unstitching reflections of many stale lips than ever it’s getting lonely again, and in dream states i’m scaling the other end of the mountain she is scaling and we both know neither of us are there to meet either of us at the top, and i no i’m not looking for her and she’s not looking for me, we’re looking for cruel laughter, and she’s not there on the other side i just put her there to think i’ll find her at the top before i fall down to do it again oh god i don’t want this

this grandiosity i want it dead alice miller has written to me about narcissistic disturbances and there is so much that i now maybe understand it hurts more now maybe i don’t want to listen to me not listening to her anymore how would she feel

how would she feel if she knew i actually scaled into a bathroom and climbed out of a window just so i couldn’t see that her face is real, that my only survival mechanism is to believe she never existed i am sick i am defected into this i am so

sick
this isn’t happening (it is)

O but conor i miss your arienette so much and somehow i can tell jokes all i want it’s pathetic but all i want is that in some pinched dream somehow she reads this and that we meet again reverberating in sober intoxication at the top of the endlessness of blue at the heights of these horrible truths…  no longer a dark passenger but a bright eyed somebody i embrace her shadows not knowing consequences OK again it’s all OK

it’s all crashing down again because on friday night i saw her ghost entering through the door but others saw her too this time and she was trying to call him over and i am pretty sure he is real.  i hadn’t slept and was followed by a raven in the park toward crackheads by the dumpster and it was bad to see her face it is talons ripping me from the wolves to drop me crashing through the bathroom window

through the bathroom window i cried and i fell in the dirt and i was heating up with the emotions that put me in the psych ward the day before christmas before i decided to love me and get this ipod from where you sing to me now my home should be a refuge but she invaded and i watched her in her nice coat yelling to him and i broke through the gate and lifted my bicycle above my head @ the right moment i think with one hand the other hand was a fist and it wanted a face or a heart or a mirror and i ran to the street and threw my bike like a body at the ground and screamed and unlocked it and rode away to a party where arienette’s ghost

her ghost recited my name and said I’ve Heard So Much About You and i blew smoke in her face and said you are a myth despite your victims they were just never trained to handle your darkness and then
and then another said I’ll Do Anything To Make You Happy and i said give me a blowjob looking her straight into her hollow drunken hollows and i said nevermind i already had a blowjob today and it was good.  moreover i wouldn’t be able to cum i didn’t sleep last night and if you saw what i just saw, and you’re unattractive besides so she gave me a massage and we laughed but i mean and then

and then another ghost was talking about being an actress and i said to myself you’re not an actress you’re a ghost and we talked about minnesota and south Dakota and somehow los angeles sprayed its semen all over the conversation as one would expect and i almost thought she was nice but i don’t like blonde hair it is just simply too symbolic of nativity and mediocrity, two traits i am too sick to realize i possess which brings me to the fevers and mirrors you have embarrassed me with and then

and then of course there were two being juggled on a couch and i was saying ‘this new look is bitch repellent, and maybe even woman repellent,’ and arienette said “good luck with that” with a thirst inside each of her blue eyes and tested when her twin arienette across the beans and rice did her best to inject herself into my lies and how i tried writing on paper towels about “toxic wombs” or some joke and i continued to scare them both away i think – i am getting better at this but then

but then she said you used to be my student i can get in a lot of trouble and then i had her sit on my face anyway and then i said Girl I Am A Pimp Named Professor Cuddlecore, no body more, no body less, no body to hold or to have and she said some other things over a couple long cigarettes and now i know about The Dirty Projectors and she knows about Kayo Dot, so life isn’t solely misery and i think

and i think i remember a singer calling my name when i was leaving as the light flooded in reoccurring tsunami fevers and he said they played at the arienettehole last time and i said “The Arienettehole Is a Myth,” and i vanished like the ghost of arienette and then

and then a lesbian told me Just Tonight I Will Not Be Gay I Know You Love Me and i said arienette you take so many forms why can’t you leave me alone

and she was there in my doorway impossible
time has collapsed
each face is the same
dare i say mother
dare i say mirror
this isn’t happening
it is, and a fever
dare i say another word
it is all i dare despite the bliss of sleep when i am reborn into another smoldering calm waiting to vomit itself into the wake of my misery, jesus conor you’re such an emo bitch get out of my

fuck ur shape!!

i drink nyquil in the morning on the weekends now to cure something and the dreams get heavy now and it all comes crashing down

and it all comes crashing down again the image of a beautiful fish’s head and photographs from the east could it be suny purchase crumbling along the yangtze river and no you can’t smile you can’t ever smile unless i can see it it is not yours to have i am your conqueror i am your king you have no right unless i grant it to you here are some footholds you may use my face and there you have a new conor even if he doesn’t want you like you need him to isn’t this all familiar GO AWAY NASTY ACHES LEAVE HER ALONE! you are still my arienette i don’t want this i need this i need to not need this to die what a fool it’s just a figment of a fish’s head i can still smell the homeless man on BART and the train tracks calling your head in my lap in my endlessly callused hands holding shit because i’m full of shit none of this ever happened was it two bottles of wine can i do something so that you won’t need those vitamins anymore i can’t tell what’s a lie or an honest sentence anymore language is a curse and i just want to sail with you somewhere to see that you’re just arienette and i don’t long for anything but a healthy childhood and to stop watching pornography although i think it makes me good in bed sometimes no it is not good

it is not good that i don’t need drugs to write like this these moments come from a depth or a height a certain cauldron of embarrassed neuroses i am not comfortable knowing and it’s all i know

ah fuck my ipod just died

now i can hear the conversations of people in the library and they’re calming and i can’t do this anymore. 

that felt good. 

thank you, conor, for listening.  i only get 50 minutes a week with the guy who my insurance pays for and it’s not quite enough.  and i’m building up that predicable disdain for him alice miller says you develop.  have you read “the drama of the gifted child?”  you probably don’t fit the case 100% but apparently i’m a “textbook” fit.

fuck shrinks.  clearly i am, perfectly, fine.

no, really.  i’m fine.

i don’t even like your music.  i am more into, like, Henry Brant & T-Pain.

tell arienette i say “good luck” if she still comes to you in dreams. 

love,
APNPC

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