I WALLOW YOU SWALLOW

 

 

Hey hi, letís do some work ok?

Youíre still here, wow, Iím impressed. Let this mean dick to you or you havenít learned anything.

 

What did you think of Sar, our angel in heaven? Sweet girl huh, no trouble. 

A fraction of her soul worth 20 million times what passes for entire modern womanhood, yup, she was waiting too, waited and waited just like me til she gave up and waited no more.

Iím here to tell the world you were worth waiting for, whattaya make of that, lover?

Too much responsibility for a dope smoking moron such as yourself huh.

Donít make me snore.

Letís rock:

 

Feeling your way Ďround

losing your hold

I may be tangled but Iím catching on

to you 

watch us like a movie

as if you could freeze 

a shot 

above, a 

shot below 

and analyze each scene

for me

for me

you make it a crime

you make it a crime

so, patience is a virtue?

well i've done my time

you took it further

you made it a crime

patience is a virtue, well

i've done my time

you took it so much further

you made it a crime

you made it a crime.

 

(You Make It A Crime, 

SCRAWL, from Nature Film

1998 Marcy Mays, BMI)

 

Well said, thanks Scrawl, more Columbus Ohio girl genius guitar-driven (i.e. real, i.e. male) rock-n-roll, yíall come back now ya hear?

 

The people you see every day are training you in how much to want. 

Why is no one listening? Rebellious student, over-estimating your worth. Learn to chant: 

It doesnít matter, it doesnít matter, diminished expectations, where do they come from? This is what matters. I think too much.

 

By the way, Iím now official carrier of moderate-to-severe carpal tunnel syndrome, wearing splints as I sit here, you know me, the hurtin makes it all worthwhile, no matter what follows am finally in my own pantheon, the only one that matters, handsplints from non-stop typing, fuck you robin-stoppers and would-be john gardners, this is art.

 

You, reader have a role in my life, you know what it is yet?

Itís all here, there is not one obscurity that isnít doubly rewarded in a succeeding post, once I myself figure the shit out. 

You can stay fairly dim-bulb-stupid and still get something out of troublewaits.For you.You got that much down, right, please say yes 

to at least this much.

 

Fuckin straight itís mostly for me, but everything would stay in my diary if I didnít want to give myself back to you, before you steal it all, I mean.

Sar said much the same huh, though she herself didnít stick around long enough to understand the meaning of her words. Girls are funny that way.

 

You are all done doing what you want with me. 

What are you supposed to do here?

Take it.

As it is, not as you want it to be.

No more crazy lady world-class prick-tease acting out, demanding attention end of story.

Is that a gun in your pocket or are you totally glad to see me 

leave?

Ha ha, you already tried that, remember?

 

New take on old script: Me. I am the Divine Plan.

Yo world, look her over, I dare ya, nothing new there, but dig deep simpleton, the art of the obvious, get wiggy with it:

I provoke your attention until I gain it, then I demand that it stops.

This is odd. The deliberate indifference to what you think of the persona is odd in a woman. Thatís because everyday women are whores, classic whores, weíll cover that next, ha ha, like Iíve been so mute so far, but sorry, they, women, or, whores, are one-trick-tricksters, which, uh-oh, is all they need: you really got a hold on me sisterhood, by the throat, but I am not your packaged gift, untie the bow, wimmin, or visit my mama, ambassador of hell.

Sorry. Where were we, oh right, yippee, I have alerted your moronic curiosity, now do stop lookin at me.

(imbecile: shakes head, rolls eyes, shrugs)

Not so fast, blind inspector, step into the zoot suit please, acknowledge your question, Whatís The Deal, McNeil?

Donít look at me, ha ha ha!!!!

Look at you, goddamn you, look at yourself, your reaction to me, which is a conception, not a perception, it is a self-generated conception, two different words, think about the difference for once, now, wherever you are, look around you, now look inside, try it, thanx, ok!

Just take it all, itís all you anyway, you are the problem, but still, itís just a taste I offer, the flavor of the day, donít spit it out, please, roll it around in your mouth, it wonít kill you, come on, work with me, I wallow, you swallow, big fuckin deal. No one dies this way.

 

I have suffered more than most people you know. I want you to learn all about this. The more you know the better you treat me.

The better you treat me the better I treat myself. 

The harder I blame you the easier it becomes to stop blaming you. I am emptying a very deep reservoir of seemingly endless accusation, or, to be kind, false accurasations, more or less.

 

What did I just tell you? I am not your ideas of me, any more than you are my ideas about you, lousy wreckin peckerwood, but I am very pleased that you are prone to guilt and you are handy. 

Incidentally, I'd trade you the size of my guilt for yours in a minute.

 

Your generosity is not lost on me, I am a polite, stolid and classy lady with sluttish (burnt orange) undertones, I wasnít born with them but they exist, I have no shame, I will in fact, cost you double.

 

Your unconditional positive regard is good for me, itís like food, Iím hungry, I need feeding, you throw me a bone, nope, not good enough, nourish me, ah, yes, suddenly you meet my exacting standards, you

rise in my estimation.

 

So what? 

Please. Donít care about this, really.

Care about rising in your own estimation, ok?

 

Love, trouble

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Home.

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright 2002 Robin Plan and troublewaits.com.All rights reserved.