Know Thysituations

"It isn't heartache, babe, it's lust. There never was emotion to it. "
oh
"Didn't you know that?"

Memory Loss

I forgot the revenge part. That's always the best part.

So, after the fight, I get a call from a boy (of course) and he's mad I went to this party because I was supposed to hang out with him and he doesn't party. I'm much to tactful to say it, but he doesn't party, what's he expect from me?
Anyway, one word leads to another and now I'm being lectured about being 'one of those girls'. Really? Are we going there? I, above all things, am decidedly not one of those girls. I inform him of this. He disagrees, I hang up.

So, so, so

I see this boy last night. He tells me about his week, his work, his brother's hurt ear, and eventaully nicely inquires about my arm.

I tell him. In detail. Excruciating detail, about the night his big brother drunkenly ripped open my arm. Poor, misled, lied to baby brother. He thought his elder got hurt at work. That's what he told him. Baby brother questions everything.

Shattering fragile worlds is fun. Baby brother asked me if I 'even know' who I am. I do. I'm not one of them, but I am terribly vindictive. I hope his home life isn't too tense.

Sasha's sweet Revenge

So, look, I know there are certain things you don't say or do to (or around) certain people, we all know that. But it's only a rule because it's so fun to break.

I got in a fight. Well, I got in the middle of a fight because alcohol makes my heart bleed for the innocent.

I went to a party. It was fun, all is going well, and then two meat-head, dead weight of society types start pushing each other around. Okay, look, this isn't Sasha's party scene. This is a garage full of 'tough guys' wearing their best (and probably only) Affliction t's. The girls are, well, you know the type. So we're in the garage, music blasting from the lifted super duty ridiculous whatever truck and these two kids start fighting. The smaller (but still quite large) one has an earring. Yes, it's those people. I swear my attendance was endorsed and re-embursed in one way or another.

Okay, Earring takes a punch to the side of the face and suddenly he's not wearing an earring anymore. Ouch. And hilarious.

Huge guy goes after notearring again, but this time Earring's very, very small girlfriend decides it's a good idea to break them up. Of course, the liquor in me is not about to see this small thing get destroyed. Sasha stands up, Sasha joins the fight, Sasha realizes she's not that much bigger than the little girl. Sasha looks for an exit.

I grab the little one and at this point the beer in the spectators starts pumping and they decide to give me a hand. Who knows, maybe it wasn't the alcohol so much as the sight of two very little, very lost girls in the middle of the mess that got them going. Either way, next thing I know Petite One and I are concentrating all of our powers on moving her boyfriend up the stairs and into the house while the boys hold back the Monster.

One problem: Earring is a boy. Boy's are proud. Boy's don't run from fights. So what does he do? He spins around, grabs my arm to get leverage and rockets himself down the stairs again. Taking of course, a large chunk of my forearm with him.

I left shortly after that.

Why she stays

Bruises like tattoos
fade but never dissolve.
A Body broken, broken, and broken
with a Spirit to match.
Heart abandoned long ago.
The Mind is all that remains
but with disuse it too fades.

She is not one of those
weeping doe-eyed girls
staying out of some duty,
some desperation to save man
from his own nature.

She is not one of those
accepting this narrow field
as the world in whole.

And yet she stays.

Love deserved, accepted;
and what right has she to earn?

She eats and eats and eats
to feed the soul
starving the body.
What use is one lacking other?
False matrydom, this life.

Only girl in the boy's club

I think this should be archived for posterity.
(verbatim texts, spanning from saturday night, the 18th to sunday morning, 19th)

WB: Are you going to drink?
J: Your plan sounds brilliant.
(after a long night)
WB: Have fun at work.
J: Oh god. I just dropped Landon off. Time to clean Sarah's house. Did momma call you?
WB: Oh no, you must now dropped him off?! Guess no hunting. No, she hasn't called.
J: Okay, I haven't heard from anyone either. I tried to wake Lan earlier, but he was having none of it.
WB: hahah, yeah he was totally gone
J:Probably best he doesn't have a gun. Poor thing is hung the fuck over. Deadly combo.
WB: What time do you get home? I want to watch pushing daisies
J: 7. I don't wanna go home.
WB: Ha, you can't avoid it forever. My arm and hand hurt. Did I do anything that would hurt my hand last night?
J: No idea love. You didn't jump in the fight.
WB: Yeah cause I'm a pussy. I was just thinking how much more fun last night would have been if we were 'bad' kids.
J: If we were bad kids I would have gotten stoned and laid last night.

(Hours later)
J: My arm looks like shit by the way. We found more blood on Landon's clothes...when we found Landon's clothes.
WB: Haha, oh yeah, I forgot about that fight.
J: That fight? Wasn't it the only one?
WB: I don't know! I forgot about the fight in general.
J: Oh shit. Found my pants half buried in the couch. What does this mean?!?

Sasha suffers identity crisis

Maybe waning would be better.

Here I sit, oddly obsessing over what I don't even want. What it boils down to, I am confident enough to admit, is that I want the attention, not the boy himself. At least it started that way, it always starts that way. But, attachment to the attention leads to attachment to the boy leads to an awful sense of jealously when he plays to her whims and not my own.

I have too many boys on strings to be staring at this picture so often.

It's odd though, I only want him to want me, I don't actually want him. This makes sense, right?

It's not about the boy, it's just about the boy.

Shit. No, no, no.

What was a dangerous possiblity, a beautiful potential for mistake, will stay that way. It must.

This imagining, this use of Deskey in my art, my work, is too dangerous. The thought of risking the thought is too much an pulls me out of the moment. I will not.

Sasha fights the GossipGirl

Oh, hey now little one, little girl. You are tempting me something fierce. Tempting me to punch your stupid face, for one.

But no, we're a bit more subtle than that aren't we? Females as a whole, I mean.

There's this little one, young girl. It's not my fault that she's terribly insecure. I'm not the one who messed up her last relationship, but if she doesn't cut it out, I'm sure as hell gonna play with this one. Sometimes it's so hard not to become what people seem to want to coax out of you. She's sad that she'll be lonely, and sure, I do have a history with her beau, but really, it's not my fault and I've done nothing to deserve this behavior. Little girl needs to watch her attitude.

Here's the story in full:

I was at a party this weekend past and I know some people who know some people so I'm having a pretty good time. Soaring, soaring around the room. Little girl intercepts me, looking for a share. Well, I'm having none of that but am feeling so so generous. I add that we should be real life buddies or I'll start to get suspicous that I'm being used for my connections. She elevator eyes me and consents to my joke. Grudgingly. Then she wanders back to her boy. Her boy who used to be my boy. Now, I'm feeling good, good enough not to be walked on. So I call her out. One thing leads to another and now Little One is covered in my drink and I'm tottering on chipped heel. Little One.

Little Girl hates that her boy is sleeping with his ex again. Not me. The one before me. I mean, she doesn't know, none of us know, but still. We all know. Now, I've been there before, exactly actually, so I sympathize. But come on, I'm not doing anything wrong, I've done nothing to encourage bad behavior from the boy, but if she keeps this up, I may.

Like I said, it's awfully tempting and showmance is awfully fun. All I'm saying is that (by no choice of our own) the boy and I are going to be spending a lot of time together. If Little Bitch doesn't get her shit together, I may have to indulge. At least then her attitude will be well deserved.

Sasha meets Nature

Went camping for the first time in a year last night. Wonderful, simply gorgeous. No matter how jaded and hard, no matter the number of adaptations on the Deskey conversation, last night made up for it.

I am no fan of cowpies. I don't like spiders. I'm not one to get particularly dirty or enjoy sleeping with sticks in my back.

I got standed in a field on a gasless atv while looking for a cow corpse. I jumped off said atv when the driver took us through a spider web. We spent the next several minutes shrieking and jumping around, checking each other for the rogue arachnid. I slept tentless, under the stars, by the fire and woke covered in ash. We all stink, we all look like hell. But. We all have variances of the same memories. We have smiles in the photographs. We had fun and we had each other. I woke up sooty and cold and damp, but I woke up, my hand in his, surrounded by Beauty and his people.

Sasha gets the last word

Deskey, oh Deskey, how modern of you.

Modern? You mocking me?
Yes.
Why?
It's easy.
You're so sweet.
Now who's mocking?
Me.
Sure enough.
Why're you such a bitch?
Can't say for sure.
So far removed.
So it would seem.
So it would be.
Clever. Turning the words like that.
You would know about that. Turning things.
Tricks, you mean? Yeah.
What? No, words.
Those too.
You're so full of it.
Ouch, love.
True. You act like you don't care, that you're so worldly and experienced and twice-removed, but you're the most involved, thinking, coniving, actor, I know.
Excuse me?
You act like nothing hurts, nothing matters, like it's all some huge joke and you're the only one in on it. It's not true. You hurt, you cry, you do this so no one will see it.
How insightful of you, darling.
How modern of you.
You think you know? Who I am?
Yes! Yes, I do.
You think because you're here now, with me, when no one else is, that because I let you stay, remember your details, that somehow you have this 'in' and you get me?
Yeah, that's what I think.
How arrogant.
You're one to talk about arrogance. You sit there all high and mighty and untouchable, pretending you're better than all of us.
Am I not?
Are you kidding?
Rarely.
Shut up.
There's nothing to be done about it.
You aren't so hard. You know that? You get soft. I've seen you tear up and turn away. I didn't say it, but I've made you cry. It's that much more of a power trip when I do. Because you pretend no one can do it to you.
Shut up.