Sunday, May 06, 2007

six double agents

There was a message from the prophet last night. I called her back through a haze of drunken indecision. I mostly questioned myself and how weak I was, and why no was such an unacceptable answer so often and so repeatedly. My favourite marmalade got hold of me later and we together fished for answers. The mermaid said it's okay girls. We'll get there. We'll be who we are at some future point. We need to survive this and forgive ourselves for those trespasses we subject ourselves to. I am the lord my god. And I will have no one above me.

The girls all had a rough night. All of us are products of insanity, fuckedupedness that spans provinces and lifetimes. The end result is something I come back to when my pond gets drained and smelly: the fuckedupedness reproduces itself to make you an agent of your own ruination. The people around you who are supposed to teach you how to be and who to be and what a person is can easily ruin you themselves. But the healing can't begin until you leave them and realize that as a result of the extensive nonsense education you got from the ones who hit you or abandoned you or used you as entertainment is in fact action. You become the most reliable cause of ruining your own life. Bad decisions are made and even when you see it happen it seems perfectly normal, if a little sad. And any attempt to correct it feels twisted and shameful. We jog on our fault lines and stumble often, but it doesn't appear reasonable to run down another road because this craggy pit is so familiar and so sane. The dean of Virginia Tech said to go where you get the best hugs, to be with the people who love you and want you. When those are the people who will destroy you, when it's safer under the gunfire, we call each other.

Why is it so reasonable to not save ourselves? Why is this world so in love with the helpless and tuburcural woman? Why do I need to need to be saved? And why isn't no understood?

I have hope that things will be better with them. An orange can be replanted in this safer grove, the prophet will go full circle to her dusty family, on her terms, and in her own way. I'll keep swimming in circles until I figure things out. If it makes a whirlpool, well, I have gills and I'm no stranger to a downward spiral.

The soothsayer, the citrus, the city-dwelling mermaid. My girls and I were on the grill last night. It's morning now and time to forgive ourselves.

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