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heart heart
star sweat
gun good god

Scrapbook, Sunroom, and Red
Ghosts (Heart, Heart, Star, Sweat,
Gun, Good, God)

table of contents
thots, my diary, & women’s material culture..............4-17, 36-41
many gallons of water.........................................................18-32
pearls & diamonds..............................................................42-49
emails to myself, since i want to be emailed......................50-65
red ghosts.........................................................................92-111


2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3
star (glyph) star (glyph) star (glyph)

2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3
2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3
2,3 2,3

star (glyph) star (glyph) star (glyph) star (glyph)

2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3 2,3
star (glyph) star (glyph) star (glyph) star (glyph)


how diaries are marketed to be extremely feminine...
how we are taught to lock everything away even as
children...i remember i really wanted the My Password Journal “Now girls can safely protect their
private thoughts and special mementos in a super
stylish electronic journal! The voice-activated lock
only opens to your voice!” it is still at 5th
grade i tried to write a novel in my diary it was called
“5th Grade” also in 5th grade i wrote a lot of scary
chain emails and sent them to my dad.



we should clean up after ourselves, he thinks, we should clean
up after ourselves, he says out loud
before we get into trouble, you see a 20 something year old
man’s morality is rarely developed beyond law and order, in
most cases he will do something because he believes he is being nice and will therefore gain, or because he does not want
to be punished and consequently lose. only concerned with
power, which is a finite thing...if you gain power you take it from
somebody else,
stepping on the heads of those other than you yes,
it’s all about winning, maybe your throat is itchy. maybe you
are not a person yet. many men become people by robbing
others of their humanity, wearing the skin of those they rob it
from like robes, and the game is to steal the skin and the game
is to live your life fully without being tattered and stolen from.
you participate or you die. albeit, you die with every part of you,
but most of us die, conditionless and stolen from.
life is cruel because we are all born with great big gaping
holes, and nothing with which to fill them, he thinks, so he
steals. and he walks around, looking violently. he thinks, we’d
rather feel pain than be itchy.
there are no diamonds here so
if you were smart you would just collapse in on yourself. many
people who never become people are not able to recognize
other people’s humanity. they become patterns, they become
what they leave in their wake.
the only way you will see me as human is if you realize i am
something not worth loving anymore, she thinks over and over
again, and he realizes, and so he leaves. she talks to god.

she says god, i am tired of talking about how things feel. i want
to talk about the way it is. she says god, all i ever wanted was
for somebody to love me...looking up,
please don’t groom me to feel safe when you are there. and
if you derive pleasure from deliberate and repeated cruelty,
then please stay away from me. and it’s hard to move on when
somebody has stolen all the good things from me.
pious addendum: my core festering, septic, it burst and now
i am filled with poison. god, let me tell you how nobody ever
taught me how to heal before. when you are bitten by a snake
you are supposed to suck the poison out with your mouth.
(he asks, preventative measures?) god, let me tell you how
the only safety mechanism i’ve been taught how to use is the
lock and chain given to me by my mother. god, let me tell you
how we live inside prisons. beauty, hetereosexuality...i look
at my limbs unattached to my body and i remember that i am
trapped. god, let me tell you why there is no justice. let me tell
you why i love a girl with a gun.
god, let me tell you that if i am selfish, it’s just because many
men have unearthed me, and now i am angry feel my fucking
like a chain link fence to the back like a door to the back that
shakes the whole house when it slams shut.
and god, if i am a megalomaniac, obsessed with my own power, it’s just because i have none.



my hair is like putty it
sticks to where it’s spoken to
in ways that don’t matter, matted down
and full of i birth myself whenever i walk into a
room. covered in red, my head read and full of it.
there is nobody to feel me with the back of their
hand to make sure i don’t have a fever, nobody to
make sure because sureness doesn’t matter.
whatever happens inside a fenced in area was
supposed to. i want you to touch yourself, he
says. i wish i was watching this right now, he
says. in a dream i collapse in a field of green,
fenced in only by perpendicular roads. my father
saves me from tall grass because he is unable
to believe that an infantile creature can do something without the action created by a man to spur
it. there is no such thing as a cherry with two pits
until there is one. nothing is real until you find it.
dolly parton says, here you are, looking better
than a body has a right to. the glass counter in a
jewelry store, a bathroom mirror. in the night you
are afraid to put your hands out. maybe if i go to
bed clean, i will wake up one day even cleaner.










there are no real reasons, suddenly it’s going to
dawn on you...who are you to other people? in
my dreams i am always a neutral figure or a man
like water on the groundwhich cannot be gathered
it’s been brutal, we all died from being told “no”
too many time
as the twig is bent, so grows the tree



sometimes you have to invent your
own closure, i made mine and served it
at 2am.
watching one red light blink in the distance...wearing a pyrite chip on a pink
string around my wrist. amethyst helps
to heal alcoholism, if you put it under your pillow it soothes insomnia.
if i could back in time i would be less
scared, more honest. when you asked
me if i would bathe you in the bathtub i
would have said yes instead of no.
two or three months pass and i no longer care or see things in hindsight.
lately everyday i realize i love myself...i
just miss the sun.






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