patriarchy & incest ; or; on life with daddy

This Aries time started off with a Manic Rush, a burst of feeling, a reeling, sun kissed delight. Perhaps I feel even more, with this Aries New Moon. Work – has been absolutely intense. I got swamped up in nothing all day and could have been working, but dealing with that later.

I’ve been assailing myself with sound. I am testing radio like app for work and am hesitant to even begin because I’m afraid I won’t stop talking. I’m even worse in person.

 

I think I fucked up and bought a car. But I think I can explain that. It’s Angela Carter’s fault. Making me think I can do it. Iris, Iris Murdoch too. And all the wild words. All of these narratives I’m reading. Stealing feminist theory papers from European libraries. This is an extreme reaction to what is happening in the world. But I can still get up and eat and bathe regularly and I am always on time for work. So whatever needs to be done.

 

The text below is taken before anything else happened, before The Tower happened.

 

 


today [3/22/17] I worked with an un ending amount of noise – harsh noise at that. But no, this has to start somewhere else.

yesterday. [3/21/17] ostara, Aries time my time. I spent the day with _, drinking, smoking cigarettes, talking about comic books. And he’s so naive and so handsome and some sort of distillation of what america thinks it is in some way or another.

His joy came easy, and being with _ is never stressful or dull, even when we are reduced to things like I just can’t explain it. It’s always there and always winning.

The day was so perfect. So stark and brilliant the sky was almost white with pleasure. I wore a skirt and a white shirt, and let the sun flow through me. What a day.

The tarot cards for that day were Knight of Cups and 4 of cups. (Double check that but I think I am right)

Today, my weekly card was The Devil, reversed, and this morning, I pulled The High Priestess up right. But no, I’m still skipping things here.

I left _’s around 5:30. I ate so much food when I got home, I nearly made myself throw up for the sheer misery of it all but it wasn’t misery because the bed was cool and the Florida water felt great against my skin and the sky was pink and I said it was all healthy looking. A heat storm moved through, lighting shooting around the sky and wind snapping limbs.

No, it starts even before that. It really starts on Monday, when I’m listening to Diane Arbus’ biography at the office. I had to turn it off because there was so much discussion of incest, in the first few chapters! I’m a libertine and all but it’s easier to play Leftover Crack in the office than Diane Arbus fucking her brother. It started me down a rabbit hole, the whole psychic weirdness of it all.

I found out that The Voyage Out was a super edited version of another book, she had written when she was in her early twenties. She being Virginia, She being Virginia. I fell into research papers and dizzying search term requests like /incest / female narrative/ historical/ and saving them along with a convoluted string of thoughts that had to do with Lana Del Rey and Maleficent being a rape revenge film and that song  [Once Upon a Dream] and all kinds of other things about life with daddy. but I didn’t, because I’m almost on my period, and my energies flux like mad, I haven’t felt this manic in years.

The Storm wrecked me. I had over filled myself with food and sun, I felt like I was about to burst like a seed into the ground. I drank soda.

I woke up at 1 in the morning and we had sex in the slowly dying after.

And now I am caught up. And now my body is in the correct standing. But I mean now, I am at today. Wednesday. I think I’m dyslexic. I cannot give directions. I cannot do left and right correctly. It must be my problem, it happens so frequently. I’m not good in cars. Trains, even buses are most calming to me. I let Margaret drive me because she’s an angel on earth and a divine creature. If I should die in a car, be it that one, with her. Fuzzy steering wheel cover on and talking about T.L.C.

But. I prefer trains. I use the exact same route for everything. I never waver. Am I OCD or just realistic?

I put different sized coins in each of my shoes to tell me which direction is which.

I got a security key. Am I paranoid at work? I suddenly feel that in my professional life I’m not dealing with enough security and I doubt anyone else is. This is a real fear. I will not waver on that.

But we’ll see if it keeps going at work. Hopefully not. The sun is out and I want to catch some more of it. More of it more of it more of it. My time in the sun. It’s not Diane. I wish I knew it wasn’t Diane. It was D-ann, with a sort of bastard French spread on top. But it makes it sound more intimate. More cat like. More….odd, strange, marked for some sort of realization. Some sort of real expression of the human spirit, even in the triumph of being broken in love, as people have always died in that splendor.

Yes, catching some more sun. Then I’ll reorganize this mess of a job.

My brain is stretched in so many ways, I haven’t even gotten to the story and I doubt I ever will.

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