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if i were to talk about my killing
what would i say?
what could i tell that would
alleviate the pain of
what song would set me free
and find me flying
what tricky story would wind
its legs around you
and run me far from
the smoking clutches of hell?
if i told you about
the day i was killed
and the way i was killed
truth would leak from this
crafted monastery of deception
and the whole of me
and be lost on the
dead. by denelle hobbs
*note* this is NOT the poem i mentioned in a recent blogpost “This girl might have been lost…” that poem i am still looking for, but found this one today so thought i’d put this up instead
This post is going to go in Mexico’s page, in the Girls section after it appears here.
*Disclaimer* Feel free – anyone who doesn’t understand what the hell I’m doing – to un-follow this blog. It’s potentially going to be weirder than a SI.FI movie (though notably, maybe not as weird as Sharknado; c’mon).
The following posting here is a journal entry from 2009. I have been working on a memoir for some years now, and am plugging away at finishing that off. But have also another book I started working on in 2009, and this entry came up after doing some work for that book.
Generally speaking – at least in my case – having Multiple Personality Disorder … dealing with these aspects of myself just constantly brings up trauma I have been trying to avoid looking at for my entire life. Please bear with annoying repetitive stories.
The people listed in the journal entry are several of my “alters” or other personalities/sides that I have been discovering. Some have given themselves names back when I was a little bitty thing, some I have dolled out a name or position to for want of something else to call them. Several of the names here were found in a coloring book, each alternate person claiming a piece of work by signing their name in cornflower blue or Indian red. Anyway…this is the beginning of Mexico’s story…
i’ve started writing “(potential title of memoir style book here)”.
it smells like shit.
it smells like cat shit outside my window, or else one of my cat’s just shat.
now i have a headache, and my jaw aches, and i had to take 3 ginger chews because of my stomache.
i know i need to look at this stuff. i’m trying. but people get fucking NERVOUS!
today i did a picture project.
i looked through a bunch of old pictures and developed piles that i thought looked like different me’s.
a pile of little ‘tiger’s
a pile of denny’s ( i think it was denny, she’s so cute and jodie foster)
there was nellie bly,
and nervous nellie
and cindy or christy who is really a precious little thing
and the eraser.
my sister even recognized the eraser. i told her it was her, and when she saw the last picture (of the group) she said “yep”.
she could tell that pictures of denny were different than pictures of the other girls, not just because the hair was different, but other things. she totally saw it.
nervous nellie seems to be the only one with a big flat spot on her forehead. i guess i must have wrote the ‘shooting myself’ poem about her. (i’ll try to remember to put this poem up later…)
several pictures that i found i cannot find names for.
and there are names still that i haven’t determined a face for.
scritchy. little bird. sandi.
but most disturbing of all is a singular picture of a girl i didn’t recognize. all of these pictures i’ve seen a million times. i’ve seen them in photo albums while i was growing up, or at gramma’s or uncle john’s, and at my own house once they’d been passed on to me.
so i’ve seen this picture before.
but i don’t know the girl.
everyone else i recognized.
oh i didn’t necessarily know the name of the person, but i recognized the eyes, or the expression, or something about the way the person stood, and i could say – even if i didn’t know the name – here, this picture goes with all of these other pictures of that girl.
there are some pictures that are of no one. there is just no one there, and so it is a generic body or a generic girl that is there. tobie said maybe that is after the eraser has come through. so that might be. or maybe the downloader is a separate person than the eraser, and those are pictures of the downloader. i don’t know.
i just know that this one picture of this one girl sort of shocked me. everyone else rang out in my ‘self’ as a me, something familiar, even if old and lost. something recognizable.
this girl wasn’t recognized.
this girl might have been lost.
perhaps she has disappeared.
perhaps she is the poster girl for all the times i’ve been missing: in pictures at school, when yearbooks get signed, when parts of my life mysteriously go missing. maybe she is one of those milk bottle children who go away and are never seen again.
i don’t know who she is.
but she hurt my heart today.
wow. what ever happened to this thing called LOGIC? or COMMON SENSE? or PEOPLE WHO ARE NOT ASSHOLES AND TRY TO BLAME EVERYONE ELSE FOR ALL THEIR SHORTCOMINGS. (this includes YOU lawyer!!!)
Five inmates at the Idaho State Correctional Institution are suing national beer and wine companies for $1 billion, claiming that alcohol was responsible for their crimes, the Associated Press reports. The civil suit alleges that they were not sufficiently warned about alcohol’s addictive properties.
The inmates, who do not yet have an attorney, drafted the litigation themselves.
Keith Allan Brown, who pleaded guilty in 2010 to voluntary manslaughter, filed the suit on Dec. 10, according to the Kansas City Star. The 52-year-old wrote that over the course of his life, he has spent almost 30 years in prison, and that alcohol has “played a major role” in most of the situations that landed him there.
“At no time in my life,” the suit states, “prior to me becoming an alcoholic, was I ever informed that alcohol was habit forming and addictive.”
Brown’s co-plaintiffs are Jeremy Joseph Brown, Cory Alan…
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Saturday the beautiful people of Lansing marched the streets in a Gay Pride Parade. Rainbow socks, roller derby babes, and interesting, colorful people roamed the streets.
Unfortunately my sister and I missed the whole thing. oooops. This is what comes of sleeping in on a Saturday. We were busy trying to caffeinize ourselves into some semblance of human being while the crowds waved their flags and danced on the square. Well, we’ve gone before, so what’s two less people this year?
We did get a chance to boogie down to the Capital and see the very tail end of things: people leaving holding hands or drinking iced beverages; dogs pulling their owners away from the scene, excited to finally get that walk in; and of course the Religious Right with many signs waving in the air. Interestingly it was the nay-saying-sign-wavers that were the last to leave the party. And as my SISTER and I walk the streets, a clump of nay-sayers walk by, and one man sticks his Bible in my face and says something about God sending me to hell.
ummmm…dude, I’m the LEAST gay woman you’ll ever meet. I love men so much, it’s become unquantifiable. I have the sex drive of a man, sure, but it’s all directed to the OPPOSITE sex, not my own. So if God is in the mood to send homosexuals to hell, well I’m not on that bus. I’d be on the cursing-pill-popping-liberal bus.
I can’t really understand why Christians want to go to a Gay Pride festival. But more on that later…
So as the sign-wavers cheered me on to hell, we took the street toward the Comic Book Shop! (hell bound for sure) On the way there we did happen across a few straggling homos who posed for the camera with enthusiasm. I got shots of these cute chicks who were very adorable.
I’m pretty sure they were early college age, but once you’re as old as I am, everyone starts to blend together. They could have been in high school.
I’m not sure if they are paying her for kisses, or for her fabulous vagina, or because she loves vagina. But any way, she’s pretty damn cute and worth spending a few bucks on, as the cute hat girl is clearly seeming to do. This rainbow smoking vagina loving sign holder must have run into the same Bible-wielding-send-you-off-to-hell guy that I ran into, cause check out her hand:
It’s ok if I go to hell, though I’m planning on re-incarnating myself. I’d like to be a courtesan in a next life. Or an assassin.
you can spot my work schedule by my blog. long week: just a pictue. short week: three blogs in one day. by the way, blog is such a weird word.
i haven’t written about my “condition” lately. mostly because i have trained myself to walk around pretending like i don’t have it; like there is nothing wrong with me. but sometimes…well i can’t always avoid the truth.
on Wednesday of last week, i came into work in a different personality. apparently. because EVERYONE commented on how weird i was that day, and one of my co-workers/friends said “i don’t think denelle is with us today”. i’m not sure if she was talking about the Multiplicity situation, or if she just thought i was “on Pluto” which is what one of my other co-workers said.
i sort of feel like i have MPD-Lite. like a lite beer instead of the real thing. i’m not sure if that is an accurate summation, or a real possibility. maybe i just don’t want to think i’m as crazy as i am. i put up pictures on my blog because people seem to respond more strongly to my photos than to my written blogs, and somewhere in a corner of my mind, someone sighs from relief, thinking that if we just keep people happy we won’t have to talk about that “weird stuff”.
but it is weird. Wednesday i was in whatever personality i was in, and i didn’t know i was any different than normal. i’ve never played an RPG game or Magic the Gathering or anything like that, but i think i can liken my situation (multiple personalities) with Magic: people – like cards – are on reserve for certain situations. i more frequently use my WORKER card, because it is an appropriate face to show the general public. but i have all these other guys in my deck, just waiting for the right circumstance to pop in the game: a laughing little silly girl; a cynical, untrusting old soul; a prankster type; a klutzorama. all of them are waiting for their moment to come back, so they can hop around and eat ice cream, or stick their tongue out at someone.
and they don’t necessarily know that they haven’t been out in a while. some of my personalities are very aware of time, others, my lifeline. others are … well, pretty clueless and scared. and sometimes these people pop out on accident, which is maybe what happened on Wednesday, i don’t know. but then i had someone asking me if i was OK all night, is there some way they can help.
i’m like: Jesus, i’m not bleeding out of my eyes! i’m just crazy! and how are you going to help; have you got a personality organizer handy?
well, anyway, i guess all this came on because i just put up an old poem that uses the word “skritchy”, and that is what i call one of my personalities.
but skritchy is a story for another day….