It makes sense and it makes no sense.

One of her notebooks was completely filled with

the beginning is the end and the end is the beginning. the beginning is the end and the end is the beginning. the beginning is the end and the end is the beginning. the beginning is the end and the end is the beginning. the beginning is the end and the end is the beginning. the beginning is the end and the end is the beginning. the beginning is the end and the end is the beginning. the beginning is the end and the end is the beginning. the beginning is the end and the end is the beginning. the beginning is the end and the end is the beginning. the beginning is the end and the end is the beginning. the beginning is the end and the end is the beginning…

It was a warning not an oracle. I didn’t know that back then.

Despite what has happened, I do credit him with telling me the truth that one time.  He had cooked one of his lavish dinners and we sat down to eat. He said, “I’m a sinner who doesn’t give one fuck about forgiveness. The world ends when you’re dead. Let’s toast.”  We lifted our glasses of red wine. “To the night of our love,” he said.  We drank. I waited. And he didn’t kiss me.

So I chose to continue even with this knowledge but now it must end so that I can go back to the beginning. My heart reminds me that I should cry for lost time but I refuse. I’ve never been the crying type.


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The Ghosts in the Wall

I finally had time to read more entries today. Most of them were quite boring except for these two.

March 24, 1999

I was working on a patch of soil for tomato plants when something fell from the sky, barely missing me.  It was a severed foot.  A man’s foot.  Well, I assumed it was a man’s foot because it was hairy and the toenails were long and dirty and the sole was calloused.  It’s quite large and ugly.  I stared at it for a while, trying to decide how to proceed.  I started to dial the police but hung up.  I felt silly calling about this incident when there were probably hundreds of people calling with legitimate emergencies.  What was I supposed to say?

Hello.  I’m calling to report a severed foot in my back yard.  Has anyone filed a missing foot report?  Hello, yes, there’s a severed foot in my back yard.  Can I describe the foot?  Yes, it’s probably a size 12 and it’s in great need of a pedicure.  Hello? Police? There’s a fucking, bloody foot in my vegetable garden.  No, I do not know this foot.

The whole situation was ridiculous.  I stared at the foot for about 20 minutes.  Then, I heard someone sobbing on the other side of the fence.  I asked who it was.  No answer, just sobbing.  It got louder and louder and finally he spoke.

Please give me my foot back.
This is your foot?
Can you throw it over the fence? Please.
All right. I’ll try.

I picked up the foot.  It was heavy and hard to handle with my gardening gloves.  I grabbed it by the toes with both hands and swung, aiming high.  The foot didn’t go very far and fell into the bushes.

What are you doing?
I’m sorry, I’m just not very athletic.
Please, give me my foot back.

I really did not want this man on my property and I had to figure out how to get the foot over the fence.  I picked up the foot,  faced the fence, squatted, and launched it with both arms.  It barely cleared the fence and I heard a loud thump.  The sobbing stopped.

Did you get it? Do you have it?

March 30, 1999

The evening news reported on a local man who cut off his foot and then ate it to make sure it wouldn’t be reattached.  He did it to continue collecting unemployment and disability benefits.

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I found him inside a red tent on skid row.  I didn’t have to talk to him to know that he was right for the job.  He was the right size and fucked up just enough.  When I explained how easy it would be, he didn’t believe me.  I laughed. It was funny that someone coming down from a high had the capacity to be skeptical. I told him that when I need strong men for difficult jobs I find them at the parking lot of Home Depot.  He got the joke and laughed.  Yes, he was the right one and it turned out we got along really well.

Your name is Stanley and you’re my cousin. Got it?

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no wishes, no affections, a mere heart of stone

I was five and I remember hating him because of his face.  I could tell he was weak and I loathed him before I was old enough to know that we’re all animals and that our survival depends on how we manipulate our own and others’ weaknesses.  I don’t recall leaving my house and how I found myself walking alone down the path that led to my preschool. In my memory we were the only ones there that morning. He stood several yards away.  He was waiting for me.  I dreaded that I would have to look at his face up close when I reached him. He probably thought we could be friends. The frail boy didn’t know that I was born thinking no one was good enough to be my friend.  Maybe my aloofness made him crave my attention even more.  I wouldn’t even allow him to attempt to vie for my approval.

Poor little frail pathetic boy, that’s impossible.  It will always be impossible.

I just wanted to get to class and my plan was to ignore him.  Just like any day.  But when I got close his expression caused me to feel a brand new emotion.  I know now it was contempt. The kind that makes you inflict pain.  His face made me want to hurt him. I didn’t even think.  I stopped, put my hand on the back of his neck and threw him against the ground with as much force as I could manage.

There was no blood and no crying.  He remained on the floor face down and I walked away. He was my first suitor and that’s all I remember about him.

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You’re not like me, God didn’t make you out of flesh and bone.

In my late twenties I suffered from anxiety attacks and when I told my grandmother she told me not to worry.  She said the anxiety would go away as soon as I turned 30.

The complex things are eventually forgotten, devoured by time and their inherent difficulty.  You won’t remember why you are unhappy. 

She told me that it was the simple things that hurt the most because they stayed with you forever.  Like your grandfather asking for beans even though he knew I’d drop the goddam plate on his head.  She was right. She was also right about my anxiety.  When I turned 30 I felt as if I would be happy forever.

It was hard not to think about the simple things while I worked on his disappearance.  If I had been able to focus on my planning and not think about what was exceptional about him, I would have finished the job much sooner. While I debated my options I’d catch myself smiling remembering his charm and his hands.  I’m not good at making stuff like he was.  If he had seen me struggling with the rope and fucking up the knots he would have laughed at me and taken over.  He built things and it seemed there wasn’t one manual skill he didn’t possess.  I wonder if all people who come from the earth are the same.  I will ask the Lama if I ever find him.

I hear the scream in the distance.  It’s the loop of my dreams.  The wind is his friend and ally and together they torment me.  No one ever tells you love is a prison.  The yay-sayers swear the world is driven by love. It’s true, but it’s not the good, imaginary kind. It’s the kind that has already been spoiled by reality; the kind that makes you want to claw out your heart.  I miss looking at his hands while he worked the most.

If you ask for justice, you’ll never get it.  You have to make your own.


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Not even the red sky answers when I ask about you.

We had a fight after he found out I made an appointment with my doctor.  He tried to make me feel guilty for not trusting that he could take care of me; for doubting that he was committed to making me happy and protecting me.  He said I wasn’t feeling well because I wasn’t eating properly.  He said he would feed me delicious and nutritious food and that I would get better soon.  He said doctors were killers. He said he was the only one that knew what was best for me.

I agreed not to go to the doctor and we made up by fucking in every corner of the house.  The pleasure did not mask the pain growing inside me, it heightened it. But I liked it

That afternoon, while I napped, he went out and returned with the things he needed to secure my jail.

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Madness Rules This Land

I suspected it was petty to want romantic love when men with guns walk around shooting children in the head.  I also suspected the man in my house was like those men outside.  Still, I wanted it. Stupidity trumps everything.

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