I was faking it all along November 6, 2009

i think i’m going to start telling people what i really think of them

[breathe, uh...uh...]

you wanna hear the truth? the truth is

[breathe, uh...huh...uh...sigh...]

i will never be your girl

[breathe...uh...uh...lust...sigh...sigh...]

the truth is: you’re a really great friend. one of the best. but you kind of smell. you are one of the best friends. but you are really bad at keeping in touch. you are the best friend. but you’re kind of bitchy.

[sigh...sigh...]

the truth is: i kinda wanna be a whore, but i guess i already was, and now i should probably be something classier. like a call girl.

[breathe...in...out...breathe...i can't...breathe...uh...]

or maybe i will be again. you’re only 29 once. and then you’re old…and then…

[uhhhh...breathe...sigh...uh...uh...in...out...]

truth: you are not very bright. truth: you were mildly good-looking, and a fairly good fuck. truth: i’d totally hit that shit again.

[breathe...in...out...in...out...breathe...sweat...uh...uhhh...sweat...reach for one more...you'll do...breathe...uh...breath...]

in a very low voice, i will breathe into your ear, my mouth covered with you and sweat and saliva and sordidness and surprise. your dick was better than i expected. and all the eyeliner was sorta hot.

[guitar solo]

do the leaves still fall all amber and red in texas? or is that just some new england myth?

[sigh...uh...sigh...uh...]

i have a headache. i have seen some russian army. i have a headache, apparently, and will never be your girl, according to her. my mystery stays locked inside of me, or at least inside of a skateboard shop on pacific avenue in santa cruz. or the gap. take your pick. you can take me home, but i will never be your girl.

[BREATHE...SIGH...UHH...BREATHE...SIGH...UHHH...IN...OUT...]

like we’re standing on a pier or something. like we’re costumed or something. or like we’re other people, and i’m not me and you’re not you. and for one night, we’re just people breathing into each other’s ears, desperate and lustful and luscious. and i don’t care.

[sigh. sigh. sigh.]

i think i just found the crux of my problem. when i met “him” i was not myself. i was “jennifer” or someone like that, someone different. i lied from the very beginning, pretending to be someone else, pretending to be a beautiful whore, when really, i was just a pretty slut.

[breathe. kiss. sigh. uh.]

and he pretended to be an engineer, with a college degree and all. he pretended to be hardcore. he pretended to be strong. but all he was was some random mister with a mohawk and piercings. i pierced my own nose without medication, and i’ll do it again. i will tattoo myself and not feel pain.
all he really was was a whisper of what he wanted to be; but all he was was a fraud.
truth: show me your college degree. show me that you finished something you started. show me your marine medals. show me real pain, not some shaved head.
i’ll show you the scars i placed deliberately on my body with a razor blade, if you show me some sort of evidence that you are capable of absorbing pain.

[breathe. in. out. in. out.]

i never saw any evidence of being able to absorb true pain. you were just faking it. just like all the times i

[uh...breathe...sigh...uh...in...out...lust...breathe...in...out...oh...that's right...]

meanwhile

i have a favor owed. and in the meantime, i have me, and my

[uh...that's right...breathe...in...out...uh...sigh...breathe...brad...
...pitt...]

So what is your goal November 16, 2007

Twirl around with your parasol on your stage in a cage and hike your skirt up a little more so we’ll up sit up straight and pay attention, darling. Lovely. Sweetheart.

Your memory skips a crooked pace around my place and you’re just one of many bitter pills to wash down with whiskey and wishes of a way to wipe you from wakefulness.

Let’s think about the differences between you and me, the dances we’ve been dependant on and disengaged from, the deceptions we’ve denied and demanded, and the disenchantment and despair dislodged in the darkest depths of desire.

And then there’s that picture of you, invasive and vile, your hollow smile that’s haunted me for miles and even your name makes me ill with contempt and curiosity—were you a better fuck than me?

Flitter little firefly filled with flame and flash, and continue to flush out any feasibility of fulfilling anything more than fantasy. Just flutter away from me.

And the audience is captivated. Let me be the ringleader in my top hat, perched on a head crammed with images and insecurities and insanity, let me retell this tale from the beginning. I knew her name, I just never expected you to forget mine. I knew her faults, I just didn’t expect them to invade my life. I knew her lack of propriety and respect and I gleaned the effect that it’s had on you. And the effect it has on me.

Sometimes, just once in awhile, I wish I was dangerous, too. Sometimes, I act up in an effort to show you that I can. Sometimes, I can sleep at night remembering who I am and forgetting about who she was. Sometimes, I think about how I could be her, and would you like me more? I could crawl into my cage and put a fancier label on something weary. Sometimes, I don’t think about the possibility that maybe there is no difference.

Ladies and Gentlemen, what we have here is the beautiful, eloquent, fantastic display of self-destruction and self-loathing that only a girl capable of hating herself could ever admit.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I bring you the only thing I have to offer: myself.