FRAGMENTS OF A TEXTUAL BODY

Great news. I've got 25 complete sets of chapbooks that I'm going to punch holes in and bind tomorrow and Friday. It's great to have an industrial purpose for the creation of art.

The cover has a picture of my pocket book shrine, and it says "Sold on Cosmetics," and at the bottom right corner, "Poems by CIndy CHildress."
I scanned a pic of myself and wrote a short bio for the back cover. Exciting stuff, but halfway through the production I starting thinking how mediocre my poetry is and that I should be ashamed for trying to sell it when I keep getting rejected by actual publishers. I would've quit, but I had put so much work and $$ into the project that I told myself I had to finish them. So I kept working.

Geoff called tonight and I called Michelle and saw how her first day of school went.

Geoff said to me I was the best thing that happened to him since he moved here. Oh dear. He needs something, and I'd like to help him if i can, but (as I may've said on here before) older men do tend to want me to DO more. I am not sure what I mean by that, but he said he wants to quit smoking for me.

See I have a fear of being the anchor that holds a ship in place that would otherwise rock away with the waves in a storm; first of all because I'm not one (although I'm commonly mistaken for it, because I seem to be able to talk them through anything from aborted offspring to alcoholism to DUI's I don't turn away from thier wounds, but I help clean them--those examples aren't all Geoff by the way--)and secondly because I am actually just another boat helpess to save myself. The best I do is make them ok with drowning, because everyone does that eventually.

Everything is temporary, even the permanent arrangments.

I was thinking today in the library (where I scanned the pictures for my book cover) that older guys appreciate me better than the ones my age, because I am the girl you want to ask out, but never do when you have other less intellectual choices who'll feed your ego and bat mascara coated eyelashes like you're the epicenter of thier universe.

(I am ranting because of personal experience and a conversation I overheard today when this very intelligent Philosophy grad student was saying he goes for dumb underclassman girls who'll be wowed with his brain. Grow up, Jr.)

Only later after all those cute choices go sour do they stop and think maybe someone they can talk to would be nice. I mean someone who understands what you mean, not just a nodding head, but that's only after. I guess I'm just choking on a bitter pill of knowing 2 of my ex's are enjoying relationships with much simpler women. Also I feel abandoned to the needy wolves, though i can save myself if I'd rather be alone nothing's stopping me except the flattery to think that someone thinks I can be an anchor.

Aren't I just an object of desire to be utilized, or do i have a right to desire something as well, and do i have the right to chase him down and demand that he care about this possiblity like I am so often caring?

Yes, you can do something for me. Look back into what I am, and let's reflect ourselves to each other and be ok with that. Thomas is that guy.

I am emotionally unavailable to geoff.

I was thinking lately I want to call David and tell him I was stupid, because he offered me a life with a purpose. My whole focus could've been benevolence (preacher's wife), but instead my mom influenced me to go chase my secular goals, so here i am knee deep in a swamp.

no telling what will come out in free writing, eh?

A bit more embelishment

The guy in the library was saying he has to train his dates before they can be trusted to meet his friends. Good grief. I don't require amending, but maybe that's why he'd rather not bother with me.

What a narcissist I am, though, especially since I've gained a little weight and I still expect them all to desire me. Let's be honest. It's my breasts that are signaling the older men. (they've grown with the rest of me)

Ok, time for bed. I was feeling the b-p urge, thus the very long entry (I didn't stop for fear I'd go find something else to do--)

What I meant about being worse off than if I'd married David was that in my Mom's eyes, the fact that I am not going to church would be worse than being married to a preacher. I will never understand why she didn't want me to. We die no matter what we do when we're alive. I'm just pissed because my societal role would've been helping people, whereas now it's "Do as thou wilt"

when i don't will anything

Today I used all the bindings that Melissa lent me, so I'll have to buy some more tomorrow. The chapbooks are turning out really nice. I sold one tonight at Holiday Cafe to a girl I just met.

At Holiday Cafe I saw Matt, the guy who drives a HArley that I went home with one time. We hugged and everything was cool except that he and Rob both came and sat at my table, and they even both walked me to my car when the place closed.

I used to like Rob (has an MA in Humanities) but then Shay (only African AMerican I've dated) asked me out. Rob mentioned 3 times in the evening that the two of us should get together so he can tell me about things or show me things. That's a sign. Matt's going to England in 5 weeks, and he'll be there until February; he gave me his number, so I'll probably call him, because as you know, I like to date guys on a time limit.

Unless Rob asserts himself. He's got long curly hair he keeps in a pony tail, and he has several earrings. Tonight he wore plain front khaki pants and a button up shirt with leather shoes, no socks. He writes Haiku, and he's been translating poetry by a Spanish guy whose last name is Marti (I think).

Matt (formerly in the Navy) has tons of tattoes, a funky earlobe stretching earring, and he has a BA in Sociology pursuing an MA in Art/music. He let me read a song he wrote. He arranged some computer generated music to fit his lyrics. It was industrial punk crossed by goth. I would probably steer clear of him if he wasn't leaving in 5 weeks anyway. He was talking about reading Play Boy, and I find it intimidating to think guys (especially ones attracted to me) get off on those bodies. All sexism aside, it just makes me personally feel like punishing my body for existing.

Geoff sent me an e-greeting card tonight, which was nice. I think he's taking me too seriously, so when we talk Friday I'm going to be as frank as I can that I have other irons in the fire, because I don't want there to be any misunderstandings that'll leave him hurt and me guilty.

I am excited about going to Miami Saturday, though, for the slam poetry exposition type thing. I need to get in touch with Melissa about it.

Sunday I'm the featured reader at Joffrey's, which is nice. The girl who bought my book is getting a ride with me over there. Geoff will be with us, too. What could be more interesting? I think she's dealing with eating disorders, because her favorite poem was "Keats and Cosmo Clash on Beauty/Truth Issue," which my writer's group friends know is clearly about body image problems.

I'll help her if I can, or at least I'll speak openly about my problems, which might help her.

Tomorrow morning I'm taking Miss Quilla to the vet, and that afternoon Rebecca and I are getting manicures (I like to be confident of my hands when I'm performing).

I really felt like binging and purging, and I am amazed that I didn't stop and get something like ice cream to come home and torture myself with, but I made it home to this entry. I ate an apple. I guess the reason would be that Daniel and I had a religious/cultural studies debate that somehow lead to French feminism. This wasn't a bad conversation because he knows his theories, but I couldn't show him a picture of feminist thought that he would agree with, which left me incomplete. Of course we all have freedom to choose what to believe, but I thought I presented a more true reality, which he refused to legitimate.

Anyway, so that makes me want to hurt myself, which makes little sense, but patriarchy is so big and ugly that if I can't deconstruct it, then I want to deconstruct myself.

I am going to bed now before I get in my car. I can see myself now buying all the stuff. It'd be pillsbury confetti cake batter, some of that new Edy's strawberry shortcake ice cream (I haven't tried it) and probably Reeses PB cups. The big pack of 8. I'd eat all of this and spend 3 hours retching it up. I would do this because in that space and time I would be able to escape my ownership of my body, because I would be doing something to myself, which is entirely different from doing things for or with the body. I would be acting out proof that I hate the body, and also during this time I wouldn't be able to think really. Maybe I need to get drunk.

I want to step outside myself and quit being. The act of denying myself the energy that I consume, and making me expend energy in order to give it back up is not coincidental. It re-balances my electrolytes. PErhaps I could just go touch an electric fence. It's interesting that often when I feel this way it rains. I mean my fingers are swollen, and my body is telling me I need to get something out. Like maybe my body is manifesting my unconscious's reaction to my conversation.

I feel much better having said all this so plainly. I might be crazy, but seeing precisely how I feel makes actually doing the motions inconsequential to the end, which I've already realized. I don't think I'll do it now.

thanks