just returned from a hectic trip to los angeles.
asian kitties speeding down the interstate 5
in a gold convertible, blaring hip hop through the
wee hours of the night.

i was a different girl again this weekend.
one girl was the girl I grew up with.
the one with the parents and the sisters and the family.
someone you would never recognize.

the other girl is who I become when I run with these ladies.
predatory and ruthless.
without feeling. without emotion.

smoking smoking smoking is bad for me!

I wrote all weekend but now I don't feel safe to write here.
My multiplicity will be held against me.
My chickenshit will be held against me.
All my indecisive competing desires,
everything.

I am now accountable.

Do I want to be accountable, to anyone, right now?
Do I want to be required to explain or defend my thoughts, my actions?
Is that what I want?

Something reckless and self-destructive is loose within me.
It's her. The inner freak.

So ravenous and malnourished she is a black hole of desire.
And meanwhile a confused inner self is not sure whether to
wake up again, to lift her weary head to fall headlong into another rabbit hole;
or to take arms against a sea of troubles, oppose them,
end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks. . .

Been whirling giddily and recklessly in the maelstrom.
Now I feel external forces wanting to exert Order onto me.

I need to burn myself down to the ground.
I need to walk through the heat of Chaos again;
watch my spirit take shape, defining itself from the meltdown.

and now I shall crash from our speedy trip with the help of yet
another chemical friend.

and i shall awake, so early in the morning.
to get to work at 7.

somehow I will summon my presence.
right now I feel like a scraped and empty shell.

the edge has set to my jaw.
i need to crash.