Saturday, March 31, 2012


this shitty excuse of a webcomic, represented by the FAQ that's all OOO I KNOW SPEECH THERAPISTS is honestly getting my goat.

i will not weep to read of the creator's death. SHAZAAAAAAM!

how many of us have had our voices mocked? hell, CLINT used to tell me he wished i didn't exist because my voice was grating. i vividly remember standing by the stairs in the star gallery and being so shocked to see him tearing me apart in yet another way...that it just became another reason to fake a suicide attempt in 1994--all my reasons had to do with him mocking my body, pimping me out, kissing me and pretending he didn't know me, dragging me by my panties (which were thus ripped and bloodied)and the hair...and pelting me with objects heavy and hard...

--and i still get laughed at. sometimes people just burst out laughing...then if i deign to explain that i'm deaf i get, "oh, i thought you had a speech defect!"


ah, racism is NOT racism when it's deaf people. we're just cutez and dumbz!

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

scheiss for the wise:

i've written some Mighty Excellent Verse on new york city. i'm still postulating excellent works. i realized today that i'd like to see what others have done, whether anyone's decided to take my approach. all i can think of as a true poem about the city is (the often weak poet) millay's


    We were very tired, we were very merry—
    We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
    It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable—
    But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table,
    We lay on a hill-top underneath the moon;
    And the whistles kept blowing, and the dawn came soon.
    We were very tired, we were very merry—
    We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry;
    And you ate an apple, and I ate a pear,
    From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere;
    And the sky went wan, and the wind came cold,
    And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold.
    We were very tired, we were very merry,
    We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
    We hailed "Good morrow, mother!" to a shawl-covered head,
    And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read;
    And she wept, "God bless you!" for the apples and pears,
    And we gave her all our money but our subway fares.

a truly peurile site has collections of corrosive poetry about new york city, one of which is this steaming *ahem*:

Robert Clairmont

Pretty girls are selfish, little things;
Darting in and out of plate glass windows;
Walking prettily all over city streets.
A pretty girl stood so near a street lamp,
Hair coiled and shining and O, she didn't even smile.
Pretty girls are selfish, little things;
They'd rather read a magazine.

From Quintillions (NY: American Sunbeam Publisher, 2005)

really? ...who told you this was a strong finish? it doesn't even go with the rest of the poem. reading a magazine is a vacuous act, if it's a beauty rag or a tabloid, or even maxim or gq and its ilk--

--not selfish. and anyway, it's like the poem is a little Chinese empress with her feet bound. no matter how hard she tries to stand, she's too top-heavy and topples. and topples. and topples. 

also, news flash: post-berryman, the dreamiest and henry, "O" had better lend impact, absorb velocity from what's before it and knock the next bit dead.

o! how dreary this new world order, where everyone has a "reason why [sic]" and thinks that "that being [sic] said," something new can crawl across my eyes.

Thursday, March 22, 2012

to be pissenlit

scheiss. i miss sebastian. HEY! YO! you, the crippled german who lived as one of us for months, who made us cry to see you go...

...hey! you! the one who got what i realize now was my terrifically LOUD ass out of the car and into the tent and just snuggled me all night HEY YOU and the sex you had with me still in your arms in the morning AHEM yes anyway...that made me die laughing. it says everything about me that i giggled inside and was horrified but preferred to let you finish than sit up and go OMFGWTFUGUYZES all four hands are still wrapped around me, JUST LET ME GO FOR FUCK'S SAKE!

LOL see this "hottie" who was so fake and everyone was all OMG HOW EXPENSIVE and i was like see dat's why you go to tjmaxx and they all OHHH. this total rooted-out a&f cunt met me and did the thing a lot of guys we meet do at first. only he had a bad heart, broken somewhere, and our eyes clashed, snakes at opposition.

he was adam's friend, and adam is hot. and CHILL. got out of the marines and went all hippie. so sunuvafitch is all pissed at me for being the one ugly person there. TRUTH: all the rest of them, jane, sebby and em and jason and adam&amy. you'd fuck 'em all in an orgy. so.

i'm triggered because when nobody's looking he snatches a bag of munchies out of my hands. he makes sure he glares and glowers. when he's advised to come hang out with me and see why i'm so cool but have to be able to lipread etc he just goes stony. dude. we've all drunk into the night and he disappears, and the tent is crowded and we're all passed out.

he's exactly the type to either pretend to hit me and snarl that HE doesn't see anything special about me and i'd better watch out...or do all that, then grab me somewhere deeply private/rape me and then threaten me. i'm triggered as fuck and asleep but not quite, meandering a good buzz.

and he comes in. i feel something on my ass. i realize that it's sunuvafitch with his awful highlights and idiot shoes. i fantasizes all day about taking a piss all over them. they look like shoes that get accidental drips out of neighboring urinals. they BEG to be sloshed. Brown suede shoes that flare out and then taper in and down. what flair!?

so just before it sets in that he was falling asleep ass-to-ass with ME, too drunk to care, i was having raped-awake flashbacks and was UP AND SCREAMING and locked into a car, unable to shake myself out of the convulsions. shaking and screaming and crying like my heart was about to break. months into our friendship and not one of them knew i'd been raped, except POSSIBLY em. but, no, that was the following spring. no; this was nearing halloween. THAT was a fun campout too! SQUEE!

SEBBY of all people is recruited to get me, and comfort me enough to get me out he does. i can't help myself but i'm hyperventilating too badly to do anything but gasp words over and over again until each has been repeated into enough intelligible syllables to get them out.

and he's the first person i've told outside of marci and josh who's got the decency to be horrified. but he's not just shocked--he's sad. that, you know, gets me calm. into the two-person tent with just us three.

and it is precisely this that makes me love people.

in the morning a little sexual assault is lookin' mi-ighty fi-ine.

the boy was full of himself. sexier than most, as i had the privilege of seeing a few pix he'd sent, and flinging through girls. too big a shot to keep from drinking and recklessly motoring--on his cycle. flung through the air and a lucky bastard with broken legs and all--well, he said, eighteen years was enough of that! he was the most handsome, adorable teddy bear of a pretty fit, strikingly sharp man with a cane.

so the old sebby never would've had a chance in hell.

i miss walking into sitwell's and seeing him at a chess table with some beer. a
and being greeted with a brisk cane walk and big tumbling hug, a seat and a guinness. and i know that all those crystal-stained moments helped save a life.

good-guy-moment collage: PRETTY MUCH ALL FILLED UP.

meeting floyd got me calmed down enough to sit at that bar and put dad and clint aside and pull out my postersoul and sift through all my good-guy moments and keep them permanently tacked to it.

spinal tap

must've been too big for [toys in] babeland to keep restocking. it's nowhere to be found. I just don't feel like taking the ruler off the floor and deciding where the base really ends. the tape measure and circumference shall never meet at this rate.

i just want to send someone a photo; it really does have a spine printed into the back. i have to hang on to this; what if the MoSex batters down my door for it!? poor spinal tap, unstretching things since 2005.

it has no anchor.

Monday, March 19, 2012

preying on a dime

shilling for time.

to say little to nothing.

snarfin' da larfs


but OMG post-floyd me what? self can laugh at all manner of absurdities. cuz life for-for?

TODAY first-time ever! booger HANG FROM NOSE since before memory.

two-years-ago that me wonder-think-HMM-deeper-analysis: inevitable what? one read-down found that-there list: BOOGER HANG FROM NOSE. embarrassing, yes. before meet floyd, after serious abuse, me do-what?

GUARANTEED pre-floyd me BLARGH. mind-gone. all taunts point to one thing. KILL SELF because dry sinuses got dusty. my bedroom heater is still on and dries my nostrils into caves in my sleep. BUGGER.

first time ever: i didn't wipe&blow a follow-up.


at a store. and I busted out something snarful. just OH SNAP GIRLFRIEND THOSE GUYS! And they're like you're cute, seriously, and i could get hit on four times...well, that's one fantastic haircut!

WHY NOT. i was like, oh, that's why they were like SERIOUSLY, snicker, really, yum, but SNICKER. my compact stays packed every day forward.


p.s. who caught "bugger"? sean better find the right rosebud to kiss; WHOZ HOOKED ON PHONIX!?!?!

psychotic explosions of the boorish pixelation

i wrote this for the insanely sexy genius who kept almost killing me or sending me to the ER so nonchalantly that it was always amazing to recognize his brutality: he was perfectly aware of his own strength.

he was perfectly built and quite literally four feet from shoulder to shoulder; his ams were easily eighteen inches around: he had the perfect tiny amount of fat so nothing veined or cracked mussels. i found him perversely attractive.

he made me laugh. i loved every las twisted drop of gallows humor--

--until it was too much, and too much it was.

predicting the mess he couldn't contain (like i really would've lasted with a man who bragged about his stint in jail), i contained it within...

Galactic Pollution: Soho at Twilight

the billboards along Canal could poke an eye out
with how big they say to love.
the way the billboards leap from their sticky backing
will never prove us enough
so ill-lodged are they 'twixt heaven and pedestrian
as blustering through the tuff
we scuttle pedestrian as ants down the sidewalk
too burdened to glance above.


the dolly pardon: the drink dissected, the heart eviscerated!

so. floyd mixed me a drink. so in the most important way, he loved me, because he didn't. in the least. except he did; he mixed me the doll.

no one had ever hinted at me being pretty. i looked him levelly in the eyes and thanked the universe for bringing me there. and then shit blew up. to recap:

it was j-spot's birthday. we'd gone on one date; seven hours later he confessed that i was just too brainy. he likes to read and play anime. being clever is too much work. he has a girlfriend. he's much too young for me--he confessed that it hadn't been just a friendly date, that he'd been intrigued and wanted to see if we were well-suited to each other. we were.

we were inseparable. we met right after i almost jumped in front of a train post-L.A. he and a friend were the first to a party, and i third, at a cavernous bar. (not just big, see, stalagmites and stalactites and luke upside-down in chains.) they were FOAF. i zeroed in on them, seeing them sign, and said my typical zany wacko WTF randomisty: yo, i like weed.and j-spot was petrified. OMGROFLOLWTFUCRAZY? they were just such pantywaists, all wide-eyed and geeky and young, dorky and in need of a good mental wedgie.

j-spot is also just as hot as floyd. and i once took him to the BDSM sex shop off the christopher stop, and then he totally was like, be my sex therapist! what should i do with my girl? MMMMMM, me loves the authority-doling.

so his girl's all paranoid. he's been forbidden to tell her about my sexual abuse. she thinks there's an affair going on. she's not so far off the mark in that we resemble each other but i'm 4582 shades paler. and so what if we have a secret? i blubber about rape stuff. GURL IT AIN'T SEX.

she talks incessantly about how hot j-spot is. she's had a pretty shitty history with guys. ain't none of it worth repeating here, but we have mutual acquaintances and friends. we've both been made fun of for being less than pretty. so she's stupider than dumberest and i can't stand her for it. j-spot is like, see, we can just chill. it's h!lar!ous.

so she gets more and more paranoid, becomes distraught. and j-spot celebrates being half a decade younger than me. i'm a proud mama. i know the most fantastic bartender in the world and would we like to end our night there? SO YEAH!

and she says to j-spot--he tells me this apologetically--"do you want me to break up with you? no? well, then, you gotta ask that bartender to go out with beth." and he fucking--ignores--me as i gasp in terror that he KNOWS that i'm so happy to have a NJ floyd who knows about the tape stuff but that we're BFF and floyd is my safe bartender pal who helps me parse wordlessly what i sometimes re-parse with j-spot verbally.

he says, dude, but she gon' leave me if i don't do this. c'mon, man, i point out, she's just bluffin'. but the idiot's all sensitive from some awful abuse and won't fucking see her manipulation. par for the love goon. i explain that if i have to deal with this i'm going to fall apart; it's too close to sexual abuse for floyd to start treating me with sexual disdain, not comfortable, charged, nonchalant either-way-it-dips friendship. Too bad, j-spot whimpers. he needs his girl, and she told him that she'll move out that. very. night.

THERE WAS NEVER SO MUCH AS A FUCKING KISS, DUMBCUNT. our cuddling was when i was slime-faced after a rape. AIGHT, eight months AFTER this dolly pardon.

so she's smirking at me. she's been obsessed with me and floyd since they met. smitten, the kitten, cuz he really had been kind. signing a bit and really answering questions. she felt so at home she kept pressing the issue. DAMMIT. some people really don't believe that hearing people treat deaf people well for reasons apart from romantic interest.


and then j-spot's asked. and floyd mournfully says no TO MY FACE. to ME. resolute and his eyes are cut off, dead a little, less trusting. and i want the world a table because i need to turn it. topple all the cakes and punch bowls. upend myself and howl. but he's been such a perfect friend i can only smile back in shock. betrayed by j-idiot.

and i'm so scared i'll never be his friend again. that he's going to follow me out one night for real, grab me and shove me against the wall and tell me how disgusting i am and why do i keep acting like i'm pretty and hit me or shove his hand somewhere my heart would break.

and he just smiles and it's back, and solemnly he mixes a drink, and he gently curls safe tendrils of caring all around me: this is the doll. i just created it for you.

and i felt pretty, not pretty at all but knowing that he wanted me to feel pretty instead of pretty lousy changed my life in a way all our other moments hadn't. BUT THAT FUCKING CUNT smirking at me and all smug that j-spot was HERS NOT MINE and crestfallen that floyd-that-nice-bartender-who-signs-for-beth-so-he-wants-her-RIGHT!?!?!? had turned me down...when we left the burger joint, she slipped her hand into mine and rubbed my arm sympathetically, saying I'M SO SORRY AWWWWWW--and I started sobbing. big angry heartbroken sobbing. CUZ HE WAS WATCHING AND THINKING I WANTED BIM.

and SURE i'd've fucked him. in three years. with a stable friendship and oops okay too much to drink and gigglypuff falling into his arms and OMG he IS cute and HE WON'T HIT ME and we can totally have hot chocolate spiked with BOURBON in the morning and i'll cook naked because he won't hate the belly cuz as they say:

OH WOW YOU LOOK GREAT NAKED. i made a good decision!

but I NEVER EVEN THOUGHT ABOUT IT. i totally misjudged him. he was a total asshole i wouldn't've pulled out of a burning car...until he touched me. and opened his perfect mouth with all affection and zero affectation. GOOD-LOOKING AND HELLA SWEET(er than the honey inside my NIN hive).

he watched me fold and bawl. i walked them to the train and went back to look him in the eye so i could sleep knowing that he didn't want to hit me or gloat that i was ugly. he was so stern. I CAN'T HAVE YOU CRYING OVER ME. AND THIS IS MY IMAGE, MY PLACE OF EMPLOYMENT. so yes, darling, dry your tears, you may have some water, with ice, but you walk right outta here and don't let me catch you having feelings for me.

secret: i think he might've said yes some other time, had he been single and sure of trusting me, which shocked me to my core. when he scolded me it was almost like, "dude, you screwed up--i need discretion."

cuntface MEANT to make me cry. but cuntface also has an IQ i'm almost positive is sub-100. so what good is hatred? dumb is dumber than dirt.



didn't just shut me out!

he forgave me. i was safe. that LADEEZ AND GELTS

is a real friend. a real man.

now he likes me to know he likes guns.


i stopped using craigslist to cover up the pain post-sexual assault when NO JOKE this guy was really enthusiastic about meeting to fuck and was funny, clever enough and reasonably cute...and sent a picture of himself arm-in-arm with a friend: floyd.

Sunday, March 18, 2012

the doll: just peachy with a shot of courage

brian floyd is hot. the last time I saw him he was probably balding. he's so sexy and i always thought it was a nice side benefit of being pals. the only man better-looking is the indian doppelgänger with a huge thick AHEM who was an amazing kisser, funny, brilliant and spent fifuckingteen minutes post-kiss TOUCHING UP HIS SHELLACED HAIR because i'd tried running my hands through it and COULD NOT GET MY FINGERS UNTANGLED. cue the ER.

i was able to see into the bathroom mirror from the couch. narcissistic clueless echo that he was--that hair product I have NEVER encountered before, and i swear by ice spiker!

so, floyd was safe. i stopped blogging because i was alive. busy not drowning in rape flashbacks. just so safe that even though i was terrified of him i practiced until not only was i fearless...i looked forward to his gorgeous features for one reason:

i had one man in my life who thought i was funny and didn't follow me out to slide his hand down my pants or up my shirt and stick his fingers somewhere MINE and laugh that i should have known, don't look so shocked, would you stop crying!?

I STOPPED SPLITTING IN ORDER TO DEAL WITH THE PTSD. i dealt with it head-on all day every day until it dissipated. because for maybe twelve hours a week i had a place where in all my filth and froth i could spew forth on all matters disgusting, hysterical, philosophical and sexual. all my sex jokes were met with a merry twinkle and pealing chortles. he shot back as good as i came.

in time i was sighing dreamily at the one imperfection the man has: his nonexistent ass. i love a man with an ass. JWWCS had none, and he was a waiter! it was marvelous, watching him jump like an agile curious george onto the counter and reach for his bottles.

he let me tease him when he muddled basil for lemonade. i'd make orgasm faces and beat off in time with him, and he'd just blurt out a giggle and make a face right back, just not an orgasm face, and my heart would just swell all nutella.

so to my secret ingredient i wrote, and he mistook it as a "baby i wanna i just gotta marry you" piece:

Serenade: O Heart, Useless Organ
Your feet tap out south like Texas big as the swath they cut
Like a Bible. Your blood must be in every edition. Parchment
Needs ink to breathe. I would set pen to paper could I note
The molasses your laughter breathes into the armadillo sky.
Your toes curl sunrises, your ankles laze, I fear I’ve fallen
through the floorboards.
There has never been one,
The alchemist frowns. Never, not purple
Nor any fairy tale under the rainbow.
No one has ever loved the ordinary.
But look, one will pluck,
His gnarled finger bunioning mine,
So plucked you will bear fruit. He winks, for
Fools climb glass mountains every day.
                                          Come. Your eyes are that of the third prince.
Once at a supermarket an eight-year-old coveted me.
I had left the apartment at long last, could no longer
Sleep, pricked tho my finger. It burned until the hole
Through me was gone. I grabbed a silver dress, lips
Red, ears dripping baubles. He returned, tiptoe, without
His mother.
As I stooped, careful to cover my cleavage as easily
As I could, I caught my breath at his beauty, thinking
The most confounded things: that I was sculpted ice,I
Maybe a queen bedecked in diamonds out doing my
Grocery shopping, cart and determination shining
As a pair.
I might order one of those.
Now, among the spidering you do,
The fade across the seat of your jeans
Calls to attention lumps of plasticine.
I would sculpt you a bedroom to match
Crawl into my grandparents’ secret room
To retrieve the antique doll hangers
Hearts in spades
And you haven’t a whit to lose.

snuffling towards the shuffleboard of scuttling hordes:

there's no time to blink, never.

wrote this about Dan the Man with the Polka-Dot Band (i didn't get it right til i was eight and had a polka-dot dress so 'course i got it wrong for fun then!) in 1996 or 1997:

his wife, in her misery, had fucked the dog
his son dangled from the ceiling fan
all the more reason to nurse the bottle, he thought
strolled out the door&off to work he ran

spiked his coffee with Jim Beam
a Dunkin' Donut got him through the day
he built the wall he ran to leave
we saw the tombstone but not the grave

poorly written. construx are more fun. i loved construx; they were my fraggle rock. lemmings to eat and eat and eat at the straws. yay kittehs!

so forgiving david changed most everything. liddabit o' bangin' will do you right. mosi was so fucking shitty in bed that i was super-duper nice and no mincing here on HERRINGBONESUXXOR for far too long. IT WAS AN ACT, PEOPLE! i promised myself and joeray that after clif NO MORE LOUSY SEX OR TINY PENISES. somebody likes her cock to stick it to her.

anyway, mr. cock of the walk is almost as bad as mosi. nine pretty inches with another half to pack the perfect wallaby wallop. josh was just a quarter of an inch shy. and all three suffer elephant dick BUT! david knows what a female orgasm is good for. BUT OMG IS DAVID THE BEST IN BED OMG!

i've had some amazing, sizzling-hot lovers and dates and two boyfriends here in NYC. i love my thirties; my first favorite looks like a sunburnt snowboarder bob harper, freshly thirty, only younger and with reddish hair. sweetest thing, a little dumb--and i never fuck dumb--just a bit thick and all WOW WOT IZ DAT WORD WOW I LOVE THAT YOU'RE SO SMART IT'S SEXY IN A WOMAN WOWZA. i still have the hand-drawn liz in fingerspelling and his typically ditzy addition of letters underneath.

(squee: i was so scared. and he squealed, YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL! i went stiff. i shifted so he couldn't get at me. and he had me all gathered up in his strong arms and me blushing and shying away with fearfearfear. he was all OMG WE ARE GONNA GET YOU THERE GET OVER HERE and scooped me up on the couch and UPSIDE-DOWN gave me the HIGH-FIVE FRENCH KISS. grimmie and i actually preferred that to regular french kiss--the taste buds really tickle each other something pink! we totally 69kissed all the damn time. SOOOO steel-spoke is all bob harper painted with jake pavelka's brush, and it's all fucking awesome AND THEN BLOWS MY MIND. from penetration alone i have a fuckton of orgasms. like rainbow-chasing unicorns.)

and that is how my sexual-peak titties xxx thirties began at thirty-two. HUR HUR TO THE BURRS. and david's the one guy since then who can't get me to orgasm during INTRAVENOUS. but his hands are so special i say UR NUMBA ONE! UR NUMBA ONE! it was almost embarrassing because kissing was always orgasm time!!!>> and he exploited that--he'd have one small foot trapping my kicking boots and thank his lucky stars that people could hear me through the kisses.

what naughtiness. what an idiot--that sign was always "in for you all up in my bidniz!" i could be sick and cramping with a tension headache and off my panties would glide. soak in that visual--

forgiving david was the best thing to do. excuse my french.

florence fabricated it better than i could, and she was only talking to her booze!

Florence and the Machine (not Dan the Man...)

shake it out

regrets collect like old friends
here to relive your darkest moments
i can see no way, i can see no way
and all of the ghouls come out to play

and every demon wants his pound of flesh
but i like to keep some things to myself
i like to keep my issues strong
it's always darkest before the dawn

and i've been a fool and i have been blind
i can never leave the past behind
i can see no way, i can see no way
i'm always dragging that horse around

all of these questions, such a mournful sound
tonight i'm gonna bury that horse in the ground
so i like to keep my issues strong
but it's always darkest before the dawn

shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh, whoooa--
shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh, whoooa--

and it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
so shake him off, oh, whoa!

i am done with my graceless heart
so tonight i'm gonna cut it out and then restart
cause i like to keep my issues strong
it's always darkest before the dawn

shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh, whoooa--
shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh, whoooa--

and it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
so shake him off, oh, whoa!

and given half the chance would i take any of it back
it's a fine romance but it's left me so undone
it's always darkest before the dawn

Oh, whoa, oh, whoa...

and i'm damned if i do and i'm damned if i don't
so here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road
and i'm ready to suffer and i'm ready to hope
it's a shot in the dark and right at my throat
'cause you're looking for heaven, for the devil in me
looking for heaven, for the devil in me
well, what the hell; i'm gonna let it happen to me

shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh, whoooa--
shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh, whoooa--

and it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
so shake him off, oh, whoa!

shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh, whoooa--
shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh, whoooa--

and it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
so shake him off, oh, whoa!