From: Isabella [mailto:[email protected]]
Sent: Thursday, June 24, 2004 1:43 AM
To:
Subject: Stuff, redux
>>I still would like to carpool. Or meet somewhere afterward. Or meet
>>tonight (Wednesday), if you like.
Well, obviously Wednesday isn't happening. And I can't imagine what I would say to H, anyway. I'm taking the dog for a really long walk? Running down to the store for cigarettes?
Maybe we can talk tomorrow. I will be there early, or I'm going to try to be. A couple of my friends may be there too.
>> You mean with bats and Samoans and lizard people? Whee!
>No, I mean with creative debauchery and optional clothing. But you
>knew that.
I'm disappointed. I was hoping for Samoans. Judging from the tenor of our last few e-mails, I'm sure you were too.
>> To want things and yet be so conflicted that you won't even allow >
>> yourself to envision what it is you want is a >>>feeling I have known
>> for > a long time. Until a few years ago, I was mostly numb. Now,
>> after > several years of >>>>>>>therapy, I am confident enough to be
>> agonized.
>That sounds intense.
>You need an icebreaker. Any ideas?
No, but I'm sure you have enough for both of us. Maybe you should tell me what they are. Or maybe not.
In general, I am not a lighthearted person. Sometimes I have my moments--they often take me by surprise--but I'm pretty intense, I guess. Or maybe just self-absorbed. I'm prone to angry blue funks (If I ever decide to start a band, that's what I will call it--The Angry Blue Funks). They're pretty ugly. Like most people I carry my dirt with me. I don't know if I have that much more of it than most, but I know that sometimes I just can't keep it hidden. And then I stalk and seethe and swallow bile, and weep inside. Did I mention that the whole fucking world is against me? A mutual revulsion society.
Lighthearted is not something that comes easily to me.
I don't know how much you may want to hear about this side of me. It may not be of any interest. It might make you pull away. It's probably best not to go there.
>That is not scut work. That is important. John was supposed to show
>me how to do it but we never connected. And >now I've been sucked away
>to other stuff. I think you'd be good at it -- sort of like the
>publisher of a newspaper.
I think you are trying to boost my ego a little bit. Thank you.
>>We are headed to San Antonio this Sunday, I think. Most of us in the
>>"inner circle" -- five or six all told -- haven't met face to face.
Sounds fun. What time are you going?
By the way, I'd love to hear what you think about indyvote.org. You mention precincts--I'll admit that I don't know how they work. Can you explain?
>I'm sure eventually I would have fessed up had you not guessed it was
>me (and were dying to know who). But it is >sort of presumptuous of me
>to put myself up with "real" poets. I guess I wanted to present the
>poem as a poem and not me. I also didn't want it to seem like a cheap
>come-on. I wanted to try to impress you with looking pathetic.
What to say? It wasn't pathetic, it didn't seem cheap, and I think you are a poet. Isn't presumption a prerequisite for writing, anyway?
Are those poems ones you wrote recently? I'm egocentric enough to wonder if either of them were written with me in mind.
>They recently updated that site I mentioned. Want the link?
No, you sent it already. I like the couples section, but I have to say that it's probably not a site I'll visit often. For one, pics don't do that much for me. For another though, I don't like picking up cookies labeled "sextracker, etc." At one point, Glenn and I were living separately but still seeing each other (that's a long story in itself). Anyway, I went on a sort of obsessive pornography tear that lasted several days. It never occurred to me that all those nasty little cookies were building up on my hard drive. I had difficulty with my computer, he came over to look at it, and somehow he ended up in my cache folder, which was stuffed with all these files clearly labeled sex, porn, hot juicy whatever, etc. He was really disturbed and upset.
Now, I have a folder within a folder within a folder in my favorites list with a small stash of story sites. I think he knows they're there, or he knows that I read erotica (to use the polite misnomer), but he rarely says anything. Sex is not something we talk about often. It frustrates me sometimes.
I'll be up for a little while--not much longer--if you feel like writing back.
I
-----Original Message-----
From:
Sent: Wednesday, June 23, 2004 4:16 AM
To: Isabella
Subject: out of order
I have created for myself a Yahoo! grouplist. I am the only member. I send myself messages that I need to respond to. I upload files that I need to access from a number of locations. That way, whether I am at work or home, I can find what I need. My home hard drive is not accessible from work, so I find that I am missing this phone number or that file, etc.
Great system. But the downside is this week I have no time due to work craziness. So I found this message from yesterday that I never responded to.
> I'm supposed to help update the
> website after John leaves and maintain the database, but those seem to
> be my only duties so far. Scut work.
That is not scut work. That is important. M was supposed to show me how to do it but we never connected. And now I've been sucked away to other stuff. I think you'd be good at it -- sort of like the publisher of a newspaper.
> I should say that I'm taking the quote to mean the things he wants to
> do are things that could only be accomplished by him, or perhaps
> they're simply ideas that no one else has thought of yet.
>
> Anyway, that's my twitch and always has been. And it's a terrible
> twitch to have. It's driving me mad.
It seems liberating at first, but once you get into it it can be paralyzing. As I'm sure you well know.
> So I don't think
> you wanted to disguise your hand too much.
>
> But why do you wish that you had?
I'm sure eventually I would have fessed up had you not guessed it was me (and were dying to know who). But it is sort of presumptuous of me to put myself up with "real" poets.
I guess I wanted to present the poem as a poem and not me. I also didn't want it to seem like a cheap come-on.
I wanted to try to impress you with looking pathetic.
> Hmmm. No, I think the car should be okay. If it isn't, I'll let you
> know. Thanks for the offer (not that I regard it as totally
> selfless). But I would like to hear more about the campaign.
I still would like to carpool. Or meet somewhere afterward. Or meet tonight (Wednesday), if you like.
>> I am tempted to suggest a private reading that
>> honors the full blush of the Hunter Thompson glory days.
>
> You mean with bats and Samoans and lizard people? Whee!
No, I mean with creative debauchery and optional clothing. But you knew that.
> To want things and yet be so conflicted that you won't even allow
> yourself to envision what it is you want is a feeling I have known for
> a long time. Until a few years ago, I was mostly numb. Now, after
> several years of therapy, I am confident enough to be agonized.
That sounds intense.
You need an icebreaker. Any ideas?