Thursday, September 13, 2007

"Baby, this’s my heart, you can cut it. I love you, forever."

I had an emotional injury earlier this year. That’s why I’ve been cognitively paralyzed for quite a while and in recovery. What happened? Well, metaphorically speaking, a Chevron truck of the biggest tank of gas that you’d even shiver in your cheap Japanese coupe when it got so close on the 710 crashed into my Hello Kitty Honda Accord and blew my brain up. Ever since then, what I do everyday are just work and write.

Of course, I’m not gonna write screenplay. That’s too provincial for a disturbed, crazy woman like me. Everybody in L.A. writes screenplay. So what. Instead, I only write stuff that get men that broke my heart in trouble. So now I’m writing a kick-ass x-rated love story about Grass-eater as my top-priority project every night. I stare at the street where he kissed me, his trees, his lamp poles, his open lots, right in front of his home, sip some cheap beer with almost no food, and write. You think Bukowski is tragic-cool? Not even close. That dude’s just a drunk fuck. Wait until you see how a mentally disabled woman on her $8 Ikea folding chair with Miller beer in hand writes, THEN publishes it. As much as I know nothing I write is libel or invasion of privacy and Grass-eater will have no case, I have asked my lawyer friends, read about them and am prepared that not even until next life, but just soon after I publish it, I may see his lawyer’s letter in my mailbox and meet him again in court. Woo! I’m gonna see my used-to-be knight in shining armor again in the U.S. Supreme Court! How new! I’ve never been sued before. :-D

Why do I have to do that instead of let it go? Cuz I’m sick of being silenced. How many times have mom and dad and these men tried to drive me out of my nut head so they can take over it? Since the moment I sat on the couch in the model unit in this building, read through the terms and signed the lease of this apartment in Downtown and my own head after Grass-eater scorned me, I make no deal with anybody that shuts me off again. I have my own place, and my own head, and they are both under rent control either in the sense of the City of L.A. or my emotional security, so no one can kick me out as long as I pay rent. Ever heard of the story of Echo and Narcissus in Greek mythology? She was punished for talking too much. Know what? I’m SO going to talk about grass eating all out aloud! Instead of repeating the last few words others say like how Echo is cursed to, I fuck that narcissist dude’s brains out AND write about him. He may only see his own reflection on the river. He may only run away from me as far as he can because he is frightened of the burning flame in me, but I know so well that he is going to remember how it was like when my beautiful naked body was in his bed every morning he wakes up hard and the intense writing I do that he dares not even read. This’s not even feminism. This’s simply hysteria.

11 comments:

Bob said...

I actually think it’s a good idea to write about it….and publish it….so do it….

Bob said...

Dear dear dear Downtownchick....

I wonder if you should give your prospective suitors a "quiz" before you invite them to "enter" [yes, I intend the double entendre] your life…like this [it can be "open book" and there will be a little math]:

1. How many times does Downtownchick mention "Grass-eater" in her blogs?

a. Lots
b. Never
c. 121 times
d. A number equivalent to the cube root of 125 minus the number of tusks on the normal male narwhale.
e. I am Grass-eater!!

2. There is a striking similarity between Downtownchick's obsession with Grass-eater and the obsession of her Chinese admirerer.

a. True
b. Oh yes
c. Very true
d. All too true
e. Could it be truer? [rhetorical]

3. What do the think the question was that Grass-eater asked her?

[short answer]

4. Why do you want to become the "BF" of someone who can, at best, give her body to you -- but not her heart, her mind and her soul?

[long answer]

THEN....you "grade" it and send it back to them....

Bob said...

[big smile…bigger hug…even bigger goblet of wine]

Bob said...

Maybe it’s time I bring over a bottle of wine….to provide the lubrication for some conversation.

Downtown Chick said...

Bob, I know you meant it well, but this's insulting: "There is a striking similarity between Downtownchick’s obsession with Grass-eater and the obsession of her Chinese admirerer".

Bob said...

Not the content of the obsession…but the form of being obsessed…Not all obsessions have the same form.

Most of us have obsessions. I know I do! To distinguish the similarities and differences among types is maybe a bit obsessive itself…

[Didn’t mean to insult in any way shape or form…]

Downtown Chick said...

That's almost as pointless as saying all humans have issues. I don't see any significance of such hypothetical association of two completely unrelated occurances at all.

Bob said...

“Issues” can manifest themselves in many ways from something like nail-biting and a love of fried foods to drug-addiction. In other words they can be innocuous or dangerous or anything in between.

An “obsession” takes over a person’s consciousness to one extent or another. And, in so doing, it becomes the dominant force in a person’s life. That’s dangerous, and that’s the similarity I see. Sure, the catalyst for you obsession was a betrayal — someone else, and the catlayst for your admirer’s obsession comes from himself.

But the result is the same — neither one of you are your “own person” — you’re owned by your obsession.

Ok…I know…now you probably hate my guts…but…I’m not going to lie to you. That’s what I see….and, while I don’t give a shit about your Chinese Admirer….I do give a shit about you…

Downtown Chick said...

Bob, I can't have issues, because I'm not a real person; I'm a persona, if you happen to have forgotten. There's a reason why things're written in different projects. I think you're mixing them up, especially when you repeat same comments in different places LOL...

Bob said...

Ahhh….yes…I do wonder about where the reality ends and the fiction begins…



The double posting?…why that was just the Pinot Noir “talking” that night!

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