notes to ryan commerson

i don't plan on changing your name. commie butt is where it's at. wazzup! ya dig!? cuz, like, if all you did was act like a fucking asshole a few times and have a lot going on with me most of the rest of the time, and if you were one of the people who got me so set on leaving clif no matter what that i have done most of my shit morally correct--

--then i figure you shouldn't be ashamed of yourself or what you've done. i will know, though, if you think y/our friends are worth demanding that i not draw my story BECAUSE MOST PEOPLE HAVE STORIES and i know i'm not the only one guys smack down and get it up for...and whose family says she better stay right where she is because she's already ruined at 16.

life is big and the Deaf world needs to accommodate that. we can only have pride in ourselves if we become the best we have room for or die trying. right? audism is our common enemy and can fracture healthy self-images...the Deaf and deaf worlds carry the weight of everything the hearing culture does on a more concentrated scale.

anyway, right, my approach has been interesting. the assholes who don't even acknowledge my rape when they are notorious for 13, 30, 300--so big with all the stories wrapped papier mâché around their cocks--oh, they walked it all right--and blame me after apologizing for being bad to me cuz i really am marriageable and a catch, right, and want me as a friend--they don't get their names used but their reputations and my time at gally will weed out the usual suspects.

because i may not want to forgive someone but life has its time and mistakes. so it's the best thing to do if someone really has stopped being a shit directly to me and agrees that other women need better. but, really, who WILLINGLY wakes up during sex with the guy who's now Indian Corn Teeth of Quasimodo? and goes OMFG YES I MASTURBATE TO THAT EVERY TIME I SEE A PROACTIV AD TOO THANK U MMMMMMMMMM CUTE BABY

anyway. note two is simply that I really do like audism. it just  isn't that ugly anymore. i also see that no one is going to combine the forces of audism and racism even though it would make a bigger, stronger one for everyone...be an awesome national party...so i have worked on myself and my view of history and what people want and why, and why audism and racism really have to be separate causes despite causing the same hurt and classlessness, hehe, and etc et al eg ie and all

note "reason i'm blogging in the tub and wasting my morning before fucking classes AUGH"...

rimshot

not pancakes yet. 4 stretch marks per up from 1. over the shoulder view still fantastic. head on the 99% of guys who don't hit me for having the stretch marks talk about them a lot. my last FWB decided to marry me over them (and my brain)...but i turned him down twice.

he's almost the right guy--the sex and cooking were incessant and so yummy--the last two months i'd have to tell him it was great that he was still fucking me for an hour after he got too tired to keep it hard but after 100 more orgasms i knew it was a little selfish of me to keep going. i'd lamented that we no longer had as much sex because of his new schedule so i was not having as many intense, releasing orgasms and was getting short with people because of how irritable i was. masturbation doesn't give me the same kind of orgasms.

like, almost perfect. who doesn't want a good 20 hours of great sex a week? but i burned that bridge to hell. i'm not dealing with his wife ever again, and leaving her for me is lacing my coffee with arsenic. if i don't like your orgasm faces now that you've decided to show me how much you CARE ABOUT ME and would marry me but haven't turned down any sex you better quit while you're head, boyo!

man, i deliberately and cruelly burned that bridge. i may miss him but now he'll really live in a prison or learn how to rely on himself.  but, you remember, rycola, i never let a guy tell me what to do. except in dark sad corners, after they had to hurt me to get me scared. fuck that noise, you audist!

squabbling with scrabble

so, heh, true story.

i told therapist lady about a third of what happened with floyd and it's not so bad to live. i'm still dealing ugh a few really bad anniversaries this summer and right now it's all the break-ups with joe last august. all the violence and me just sighing and trying to pry his hands off, then remarking occasionally that loving him was really the reason i had to be so rational and detached: if anything got to me he'd use it for more violence and oppression. not my bag.

never been my bag. since i was young i've been observant and knew from a single-digit age that girls look like fodder and that girls wear pants, and that my pants only get paid for with a sassy mouth. employing it is, she has said, which is what i've been saying is true, and everyone's been assuring me is a stack of lies i need for manipulation--

--why all this rape and beating has been going down. and that since it's what i've chosen, to face the onslaught and stand strong...all that's left is figuring out ways to stand strong no matter how many people turn against me and break my heart.

and she understood why i found the whole thing with floyd funny, why i think it's hilarious, why it really did go down the way i say it did. being new to me again and kinda freaked out and scared and still tachy from being raped and all--and being told by my therapist that i couldn't choose the healthier option because it wasn't good for him...

she knows he's not seeing it how my past led up to it and that it's still okay that i did what i did.

so everything's calming down. he's not on my mind at all, until just now, as i was processing the last month of sessions. i'm glad we're untangled enough for her to put together all the pieces.

she's saying everything i thought was true and people were trying to threaten and push and beat and rape me out of my convictions about. so it's okay--

--and we have to go back to fatso. i hate calling him that but the years i spent cutting--some of the cuts were his name, to forget it for weeks on end, to see it in my mind as a slur of sljnkied coils. what he did to me was torture and make me eat and eat and eat myself fat. so what do i have to sling back? his reason when he started abusing me back when we were teens...he was sad that he'd been picked on: "fat!"

and that isn't really the reason you beat and yank and push and lob heavy objects at and steal from and make fun of and rape and enjoy raping, enjoy it with a drooling smile, your "first love."

toothpick thorns: soothsayer swarms

finally we have a good tempo, finally i'm remembering enough that i jot down to mention it in sessions. finally i'm starting to feel like myself, and marci is a little like me, not wanting to believe people can say and do such shitty things.

it's the only way to become a good psychiatrist, anyway--but now nurses need a PhD to practice psychiatry...and nursing has so many other options i'm curious! still...marci agrees that what is key is to focus on my ultimate goals, and she doesn't want me committing to nursing until we know it's the best way to do what i'm passionate about. she isn't seeing the passion and isn't keen on me doing something that really could take time away from my art.

but, ha, today she said something that i've been waiting to hear from another flesh&blooder: it's probably because my memory is so exacting and so long, just so fucking good, that i'm so easily retraumatized. i told her that i had to do whatever it took to forget after floyd and i had our song&dancd of dissonance, forget forget forget, but that it's all muddled and stuck in my body instead.

so i like my original idea of being a radiology technician. no need to worry about not getting a well-paying job because nurses need to communicate with their patients, and i see myself working a normal, integrated job. BECAUSE ALL I GOTTA DO IS POINT&SHOOT

which is not true

because i see details so quickly and so clearly when other people say AIN'T NOTHIN' THAR

but i don't see why i shouldn't do what feels best

we are, after all, possibly no longer cocooned by glitz. we might get some fucking action like every lost soul--gaza isn't the only warrior in town--across the sea.

and i really wish my pussy rings would sell

and

and

and

but i really like living a quarter of a block

from one of the most beautiful parks and

i even think i don't just have an amazing idea for a novel

i have more than just a few fleshed-out characters and a plotline

i have a better knowledge of the history surrounding this thing

the other idea is so badass but it eludes me, the setting, so I can research--

--NYC, huh? it does seem the only city in this country willing to overlook a deaf person working a normal job prior to the last half-century. *cough*chicago*cough

and whatever clint does in life

hopefully in mine

i'm on a bookshelf.

Everybody's Love, Love, Love

Everybody's Love

When a pair of lips murders

Some old song

On its way out, the handle

Laden in your hand out of politeness

And you police your thoughts

Lest they become haughty

Or haunted with the harsh light 

In the corner dim

Every nanosecond, like a cockroach

It just keeps twitching 

The eternal dying, like a champ...

...it is then, you find, that compassion

Has a reel: the way it unwinds

Each cool weight drags

Out a bicycle chain without a pocket.

Concerts roil in you

Despite not wearing sunglasses

On your way

Into the slippery grip

Of this white tile linoleum 

(To buy a pop.)

Manufactured to endure billions of toddlers

The scrape is shallow.