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I had been gasping for air as you kissed me. The world was tumbling around me. You held me but I felt no arms around me. Just air that was smelling like fog on a bad day. I wondered if I was dreaming. But when you pinched me I knew it was no dream. I said to you in my mind, Please help me. When you never heard a word I simply decided it must be time to die. But no death came. Just you in a state of grinning at me. I could not grin back. I passed out.
My dear Jasper. You cannot win me. I will not be won by you or anybody. Iím not the prize you think I am. You only think Iím a portrait in your heart. Nothing can be true in this life. Itís too strange for both of us. You took me to a dance that played old school trance. By that I mean uplifting trance. I danced though not with you. You wanted only to drink. I saw friends there who were having such fun. I had a good laugh. I sensed deep down you just wished to be in me
Despite all that has gone before I find you insufferable in all your glory. Wanting to dine and drink and walk me through a forest of stinking crap. The forest is always dim lit and unsavoury. When I was a kid I knew another kid who could not speak properly but was very popular for some reason. Whenever I think of that kid I see you. And I despise you for your tongue in cheek words that hurt so much. Please go back to your former lover. I want nothing more to do with your kind anymore. I hate you.
I had all these fancy words spinning around in my head this morning as I sat at my office desk. I was in blue and not for a change feeling that blue. You had finally left my life. I praised God for listening at last to me. I took a slow gentle walk before the office. I felt tranquil. The sun was glowing. I was glowing. I wanted to cry out to the world my joy. Then who should I see jogging towards me but you? I almost laughed hysterically. But refrained and ran home instead. So much for life.
My mom calls me Darla or Dixie or Freda. But mostly Darla. But never my real name, Anonymous. She makes me frown. ďHoney, youíre so pretty,Ē she says as I sit on the sofa in the parlour in the red rheumy Missouri night of our anaemic little town. She watches reality TV. I watch my dreams. I do her errands while dreaming Iím Irene Dunne playing opposite Cary Grant in My Favourite Wife. I always felt sorry for Gail Patrick in that movie forced to lose Cary to Irene. I want to be Gail Patrick and win Cary this time.
The dark of the day. The creepy little monster playing with my heart. Thatís me playing with my sick sea monster phobias. Look, Iím not the nut you think I am. Or maybe so. The office is quiet. A man with a voice like George Sanders is drawling to the boss in the main office. The walls are paper thin. I can hear every word. They are discussing me. Iím to be wined and dined later before they take me home and smother me to death. Iím to be buried in Forest Lawn. I donít know why they say this.
I feel kinda strange today. I dunno, like Iím twelve all over again. And the guys on the set are saying,Ē Lights, camera, action,Ē And I open the door and I go into the room to meet my two dads for the first time. It was pretty crazy back then. My God I was so nervous taking my first step forward knowing this would be the first time most people would ever have seen me. And so I became famous. But sometimes fame fades all too soon. And so now Iím here in limbo, hovering, invisible, waiting, wondering, what next?
Yes, itís true. I used to be Anne Frank back when I was alive. Now they call me Hedda Grouchen. Jack Kerouac and I have been lovers for years. We still make out on street corners, giggling at our invisibility. We ride on trains and busses. We walk together in city parks and down country lanes, ghosts in the living daylight. We even ride with strangers in their cars. One old man was sure his car was haunted because of the strange voices he had started to hear. He nearly crashed the car when I whispered in his ear, once.
3.33pm the office is shaking, people are screaming. My heart is pounding, eyes wide with terror. Deafening noise. Building is crumbling all around me. I look around. I donít know where to go as I stand there trembling, tears running down my cheeks. A guy passing in the hall sees me and yells, ďGet outa here, now,Ē I follow mindlessly, running down flights of crumbling stairs, gasping for air, wondering. He crashes through the main entrance and falls into grey mist. I stop, scream looking down into nothingness. A hand pushes me and I fall out screaming to my death.
I feel like Iím coming through this. The people at the asylum are not so sure. They still lock me up at night and handcuff me to the bed. If I wanna pee I have to shriek and hope somebody will come before I fill my panties. Itís debilitating having to wear a diaper, but itís the only alternative. It makes me so mad. Is it any wonder I make so much noise and kick guys in the groin? ďIím that crazy?Ē I tell them as they put me in the strait jacket and leave me to shout and swear?
I was sitting in my office in the Brook Tower looking at the blank sheet on the laptop and wondering where to go next. I had no plot. Iím a woman with no plot, I thought. But it didnít feel like it would be a start. Outside the sky was grey, rain falling through an icy wind. I had no character to breathe life into. I felt pathetic. One day I would have children who might think Iím pathetic. There was no flow. My mind was disintegrating. I was cold. I wanted to die. Or maybe not. Just to write.
Iím going to write something today. I donít know what. Just anything I please and publish it as a short story or novella. Iím looking out my office window at a beautiful woman standing outside the hotel across the road. She looks impatient and keeps checking the time on her cell phone. Her name is Petra. I donít know that, of cause. But I like the name. I think sheís waiting for her boyfriend or some guy she knows. They are planning a murder. Youíre thinking itís unlikely? But stranger things have happened. And I rather enjoy strange things sometimes.
I was at the bar and this guy was looking at me from across the room. Watching my every move. Made me mad. Every time I looked his way he was looking at me stone faced. I said to my friend Alice, ďWho the hell is he?Ē She didnít know. Didnít care. Pissed me off. In the end I picked up my glass of wine and shoved my face in his. ďYou gotta thing about me, or what?Ē I growled. He looked at me blank. ďSorry,Ē he said, ďIím blind.Ē Why do things like that happen to me, damn it?
Daddy thinks he knows what girlís want when it comes to romance. My sister Linda thinks heís a prat. To prove a point daddy writes a series of romantic notes to Linda and sends her flowers pretending itís all from a secret admirer. Linda is immediately intrigued and pretends to go along with it. Though the truth is she hates men. One day daddy hires a handsome eligible guy to deliver the note and flowers. Linda sees the guy at the door. ďDo you want to live?Ē she says, pointing a gun at him. The guy runs for his life
Iím a foundling in the icebox of Jessica Juices fridge that is or might not be dying. Things mean things and things donít. I tell Daddy Christmas to go suck. He sits on the corner of Jelli and Rie sucking a pop shaped like a manís dick. I giggle then throw up. Iím prone to insomnia, I tell people. They look at me wide eyed. Ask me why? I tell them Iím just a shadow really. Means nothing but a bit of bread on the sidewalk. A bird picking at the crust. Looks vaguely interesting to passers by at night.
It hadnít seemed to be mad, the thing going on. If even it was going on. Perhaps I was dreaming I was walking along a dark distant path towards I donít know where. The light was dim and the street long and narrow. But I walked and wondered where I might end up. Then I thought, hang on, maybe it doesnít really matter where I end up. I can just go and be happy or sad or whatever. Finally I came to a crossroad that led on into another long dim lit street. In time I began to feel better.
Grandma told me a secret today. ďI killed a man,Ē she told me over coffee and bagels. I didnít believe her. Grandmaís a professional liar. My mom used to tell me that grandma never told the truth. Today, though, she looked wide eyed and convincing. ďHe used to visit me during the war,Ē she said. ďHe was crazy. Took all my money,Ē ďBut what about grandpa?Ē I asked. ďBefore his time,Ē she said. After a moment grandma said, ďI burnt the body on the fire. Such a smell. Ugh,Ē I keep wondering what it must be like to kill somebody.
I was eating an Orange, which I like. But I could smell the drains coming through a gap in the wall and felt sick. I wanted to go out and never come back because of it. Because I practically spend half my life in the spot where the drain stink was coming from. I didnít want to go in the other room because the internet cable wonít reach that far. So I was stuck. Then this morning I came down to find the cat trying to be sick. Well at least it wasnít trying to be sick over the laptop.
My name is Kay and his is Harry. And itís 1943 and we are in a bar in Manhattan. And heís in his corporalís uniform. And heís young and handsome and innocent in the way he probably thinks I am. And we have none each other like 25 minutes when suddenly he asks me to marry him. And I look at him like heís crazy. But then I realize heís deadly serious. He even wants me to meet his mom. I make a quick decision. I go in the ladies. Climb out the window. Itís raining, but what the heck?
Ide turned on the laptop and wondered what to write. It was a mid-winter gloomy sort of day out with the usual chill wind you expect at this time of the year. The sky was slate grey, a bit like the colour I imagined the inside of my brain might be. But one will never truly know that. I had an idea I wanted to escape my current state that was too filled with worry of things to come. Should I just walk out and walk till I dropped? Or hang myself like my dad did years ago this day?
I donít live in Manhattan. But I want too. And to be rich and live in a big flashy apartment in the heart of the city. And write cool books about, well, something cool. And I wanna be a pretend detective at night. Yeah, a lady Shamus. Now that would be cool, right? By pretend I mean not really. But it would be fun. Instead Iím a lazy stay at home bitch whose reading lousy detective stories till she falls asleep and dreams. I dream Iím walking the warm dark night streets waiting for dreams to come true. My dreams.
A boy called Jimmy Cyber said to me in class this morning. ďJust do it,Ē ďJust do what?Ē I said. ďDo it,Ē he replied staring me in the face. His ebony eyes were like daggers sticking out. I felt scared stiff. I bent to the task. I thought he meant write. I was wrong. He nudged me. ďYouíre not doing it,Ē he said. ďI am,Ē I said looking down at the words on the page. ďNo,Ē he said earnestly. I wondered if I should tell the teacher about him. ďThen the teacher came over. ďYouíre not doing it,Ē he said.
I might be your worst nightmare hiding in the closet of your bedroom, knife in hand teeth bared. I think you deserve what youíre going to get. So sit back, or should that be, lie back, and enjoy. Cuz man Iím gonna slice you up like you never imagined. Yeah in cold blood Iím gonna release all youíre blood. And youíre guts are coming out too. Splash on the carpet. Your screams sounding eerie in the night. Always loved the sound of your voice when you were terrified. Go for it, boy, just all the way to hell, big boy.
I like to dance sometimes. You disapprove. I want to knife you. You depress me. Thank God I never had youíre child. Itís never gonna happen. Last night I went out with friends. You disapproved. ďYouíre not going anywhere,Ē you growled. I stuck two fingers up at you. You looked vaguely surprised at my defiance of you. At the party I met a sweet guy who told me he was just a small man and women were not to have any great expectations of him. He made me smile at his modesty. So where is your modesty? So ends rant.
The garden is strong. But how can a garden be strong? It has no muscle. Itís not like a real person. Yet it feels so when I tread the grass. I hear strange little squealing noises coming up from the soil. And I wonder if it has a life of its own. What does it do during the night when Iím asleep? Does it go wondering down the street to all night cafes for coffee? Sounds absurd the garden going for walks in the night. I wonder through dreamy sleep and see it going by and smile and sayĒ hello.Ē
Iím told the dead live here in this old building. I should be afraid. Itís cold and eerie standing in the shadows watching the sky grow dark through the cracked windows. I feel light headed. Like any moment a ghost is gonna step out and say, ďHi,Ē I giggle at the thought. I sense dead eyes on me through the gloom. I shudder, turn and say, ďI know your there. You canít scare me. I will be with you someday,Ē Something scrapes along the floor. My heart leaps. ďWhoís there?Ē I say. A shadow steps forth. I run like hell.
ďThe Martians are not coming,Ē I tell Jason, ďNor the Venusians,Ē He looks pissed. I wonder if insanity runs in his family. Certainly his mom has issues. I order Jason to finish the letters in his office. He sighs and tells me he needs some fresh air. ďFine,Ē I say, ďGo, but donít come back,Ē He groans and tells me Iím a bloody tyrant. I nod and dismiss him. I want to be alone. I return to the novel Iíve been typing all morning instead of the report I really should have been finishing. The Martians are due around midnight.
What the hell is this acid crap your always on about? Got some stash on you now, eh? You poker faced shit. Havenít even a clue what stiff dreams it gives you. Ending in failing heartbeat. Havenít you ever imagined waking up in your coffin to find you canít get out and youíre still alive? Now wouldnít that be just fun for you. A real happy accident. Hoping itís only a dream. But itís not. And your mouth is dry and your heart is thudding. Soon youíre going to die for real. Take acid will travel. A nice cool death.
I saw this wonderful movie last night with a chick in it called Killer. The movie was made in the 1940ís which is my favourite movie period. I love those comedies from that time. And the forties fashions the chicks wore was just so dreamy. So many beautiful dolls from back then. I wanna be one of those forties doll chicks in heels and pretty hair and pouting lips. Ann Blyth was Killer in that movie. Super eccentric miss too. If I had been a guy, I would definitely have married Killer. I mean who could possibly resist those lips?
I feel down or up. Like a freak. Iím in the sky looking down at the towns and cities of boredom world. Seeing, or should that be invading, the privacy of the private in their toilets. The world is quite transparent when you look from this height. Not sure if itís the same for others. I havenít seen another soul since I came up here. The freak has no wings. So how does she do it? Voodoo? Magic? Anything? Who cares? Iím not looking for answers. I got them from you and they were crap. So I really donít care.
I woke feeling angelic. Unusual for me. I normally wake up angry, shouting at everybody. Making all and sundry desperately miserable. This is what my mind tells me. That I am this truly miserable woman who is on major league drugs and working in Hollywood and constantly in the gossip columns. Itís not true, of cause. Iím a sweet girl. My name is Anonymous Jones. And I look really gorgeous. A sort of young Loretta Young. I live a simple life in the back streets of New York. I have no secrets from my family. Iím a pathological liar of cause.
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