Monthly Archives: September 2012

This will be a ramble. I don’t know politics or current events so I don’t write politics or current events. I write my life, which is small, invisible and pathetic in many ways. I hid from the census people in 2000 when I was living in a crappy apartment in Bridgeport, Texas. They pounded on the door several times. I refused to answer the door. I hid from the census people in 2010 when I lived in a crappy rent house in Kerens, Texas. I was on the phone with a friend. He asked me what I was doing. I told him I was hiding in the closet because the census people were pounding on the door with their persistent fists and I didn’t want them to peek through the windows and see me. I was naked. I don’t count so why should I be counted? It’s hard to show up and explain myself. It’s hard to show up. I like to hide. I come out with my blogs, my Facebook nonsense, my flickr nonsense, my Twitter nonsense, my YouTube insanity, my Instant Pussy and my radio presence. I come out to play. Yes, I exist, but you cannot prove it and neither can I. I’ve been diagnosed as various things. I’ve been on various meds. I’ve spent time at three different psychiatric hospitals. All the usual labels have been applied and dismissed…crazy, insane, weird, whore, slut, skank, white trash. Blah yada blah. I hide. I come out to play. It might have been two weeks after the cinema massacre in Colorado. I found myself inside a cinema with my four year old son. I cringed at the sounds. I don’t like going to the movies, anyway. I’m very weird that way. I especially didn’t like going to the movies so soon after the massacre. Mitt Romney scares me but a lot of people scare me. I can’t look at him for very long. I change the channel. I don’t watch television often. I watch the internet. I can’t look at Obama for very long. He doesn’t scare me, I just don’t like looking at him and listening to him. I don’t believe in him. He doesn’t offer me any kind of hope or inspiration. I change the channel. There’s an economy, an American economy. Lacking ingenuity, I participate. I receive my disability check each month, pay my ex-husband $300 for the car payment (I am 39 years old and for the first time in my life I am making a car payment), pay much more than the minimum due on my credit card (has a spectacular $300 limit), treat myself to some books at amazon, buy some groceries, pay for the occasional cheap motel room (got a room in Galveston a few weeks ago for a photo shoot that didn’t happen), maybe go out a couple of nights for some Tex-Mex. I’m tired of Tex-Mex. I’d love to eat some Polynesian food for a fucking change. Something is going on in Libya. Yes. People were killed. People are still being killed. Iraq? Afghanistan? Iran? Shit is going on. Shit is going down. People are being raped, killed, terrorized. I have sixty accredited college hours. I have not worked an American job since July 2006. I walked out on a security guard job after a minor nervous breakdown. My second husband told me to stay home and write. He would take care of me. I’m wearing an ICEE t-shirt and pajama pants. It’s 5:36 p.m. in San Antonio, Texas and I haven’t eaten anything. I had some Twizzlers last night. I’ll probably eat something, eventually. I’m a love addict. I’m addicted to falling in love, being in love. I am not a sex addict. I cannot remember the last time I enjoyed my vibrator. I thought I was in love with two different sex addicts but I was probably projecting. Send me a picture of your cock and I’ll get a passport and a plane ticket. I’ll make shit happen. I’m glossing over, I’m lumping a lot of stuff together, I’m creating, I’m telling, I’m writing, I’m rambling. Forgive me. This is my church. This is where I worship. This is where I work shit out. Write a poem about me. Tell me about the songs that remind you of me. I won’t twirl my hair. I won’t giggle. But I’ll probably smile and melt a little and you probably won’t see it. I don’t get out much. Yesterday I got out. I took my son to a nature trail. After about a quarter of a mile I wanted to leave. He didn’t. He screamed. He cried. He threw a fit. People jogged by and whirred by on their bicycles. I grabbed my son’s hand, dug my short, roughly filed nails into his hand. There are still two scratch marks on his hand. Neosporin doesn’t solve everything. My ex-husband has taken our son to see a movie. I’ve spent hours shooting myself with my Flip camera, reading excerpts from FUDGE. I’m not pleased with any of the takes. All the takes have been deleted. What will Obama do for America that has not been done before? Show me your socialism, Obama. I’ve seen your rainbow flags. Thanks. Yes. Gay people should be allowed to get married. I’m interested in prisoners. I’m interested in innocent men and women dying on death row. I’m interested in outsiders, the misfits, the ones who tend to defy and laugh at category, the ones who create their own gods and churches, the ones who burn the map and stumble their own weird route. “This is America. If you don’t like it you can leave it.” Oh, I wish it were that simple, babies. “Well, there’s always suicide.” Yes. There’s always that. Such comfort. “If you don’t vote, don’t complain.” I won’t vote. I will complain. Change the channel. There are so many channels to choose from!

Posted by roxixmas in Uncategorized Tags: america, Amy Goodman, Anderson Cooper, Andrew Jackson, Bobby Kennedy, Captain Kangaroo, channels, comfort, damn, election, fuck, Gore Vidal, insanity, JFK, Kilgore Trout, Marilyn Monroe, Misti Rainwater-Lites, Noam Chomsky, Obama, piss, popcorn, poverty, Romney, shit, socialism, Spider-Man, suicide, Teddy Roosevelt, vote