not betty draper

I got three emails from a couple of the old men in my life about smoking betty draper. i had forgotten the way my old men always like smoking protowasp blondes.

also, here's that story about the lady library and e.b. white.

also. you know i dont usually do memes, but i like this one. Leave a comment here and I will:

a) Tell you why I friended you.

b) Associate you with something -- a song, color, photo, etc.

c) Tell you something I like about you.

d) Tell you a memory I have of you.

e) Ask you something I've wanted to know about you.

f) Tell you my favorite userpic from your list.

g) In return, you need to post this on your own Livejournal.

speaking of my old men

i just received an email from the first boy i ever loved. this may explain me to you a bit.

here goes:

Crediting the Franks and Lombards adn the wild passes between the alps with the American species of V is for.. it's not for Vulnavia.

Writing since I quit a factory jobbie and spen three hundred fifty dinero bringing a library with me to here, IS Corvallis ORegon. So, this is abrupt, but words are funny razors and I enjoy to... you know Whaqt. Send me and tell me how to<> send to you one of the novels. They were: about staying downtown, on Superior by the Greek fest: Was: two: That Cokearoma, apolpgies to everyone, and underlined Never Pay in Advance.

After I arrived to here they were: Who That; HIm? and recently There Has Never Been A tattoo Good Enough, What Is On the Disappearing Knife; with a list of the contents of the ivory drawings n the handle, right, right. Hardbroiled Stories, imaginary trip to NY, would you kindly please send an email, so that I can, they are only 45 and 60 pages. Swimming For Water, I don't Rememeber what that one was about. MIght have been and edit of That Cokearoma, I don't think.

More about myself becasue thye are the best letters. I have letter writers and no friends as always, so that I should know. POeople are smarr. Smart. And then living in a tent, with! typewriter, happily cooking everything on a grate over a dish of alcohol. Belong to always have rubbing isopropyl if you are travelling, no reason to starve becasue this sends up a 6 inch little controlled flame.

I mean, about myself, that I am happy. Pause, comma, huff of pain from my gutsoes. THis ws 2009, do you have glue, or barring that glue sticks. I am still in glitter territory, true, no, true. Ah, here! Been plannign to say to you that I am in touch. Tavv, did he tell you that I instructed him to make a round of stock footage, not knowing that he had, it makes you want to add mysteries of what is in Toledo a heroic statue, say, empty clothes personified. Oh, I like you. BE easier if you knew I wasn't stalling. That might be i would be easier, yes, Oh, if you knew that I was not stalling, in Life! Talk to me, photogenie, I am starting not to blush, I am losing my grabitude, eating like a grub, either all the time or birdly, help! Talk to me, and then, address me, I love you for not driving. All right. MEans, if you know what it means, you are prepared to start work. All right. In American female mind there are a little man inside of them just being ( this is short) and Willim S Burroughsing, from Vandal to Goth to senior citizen turning into hers and his opposite without for any reason ceasing to be being. And then I will make sad noises about where this means a grown adult male has to flatter himself fortune is burning a candle for the mini exaggeratedly specific choices of ropemaking his is dedicated to, this all goes to the most recent, one called there is no tattoo that fits. So, far, away,well, Oh. Hah.

reply

I've stopped thinking of it as stalling. For some of us, living is enough. I have a small subset of people I keep for the way they remind me that grand or epic or intriguing aren't necessarily connected to the output or the actual. perhaps it's an excuse, but it doesn't feel so and I have always believed deeply in my own intuitions, rare as they are.

tav didn't make mention, as we've both been quite distracted, as you have no doubt heard. talk about output and actual.

one of my good friends from college grew up not far from corvalis, with her house abutting the sea (so long as her parents were together, at any rate). she was the last person you'd expect to be from there, and her token birkenstocks lasted maybe two months before she became reformed smith. her folks saw it coming, they said. i can believe it, she was some sort of champion drooling debater.

Strangely, my favorite cookware is the cookware of campers. the dutch oven is a beauty, and nearly as good as a tagine for slow-cooking. im guessing not much slow-roasting happens with alcohol involved, but im glad to hear youre managing to keep the more corporeal aspects of life happening. i have turned to cooking myself, in a shocking reversal, to keep from going mad. there are only little moments of your old mariah anymore, as I am eeking through a long tiresome few years of service to others. i am not it turns out a giving person. i repeat over and over "for the greater good" "immortality" "long-term plan" and such things. and i cook, because it's the one way to pretend i am not where i am and who i am. i dont expect this will last forever, but i cnat pretend to like it now. i was not built to serve. i am comfortable with my self-involvement. more than ever, i feel condemned by my body. so i cook lamb stew, chicken tagine, oranges in wine, bastilla, gespacho, kebab, appeasing myself with totems to my former life.

your goddamned right about little men inside, and i dont like it. it's been a giant betrayal, this whole being female business. im thankfully absent of the male voice or eye in my brain, but the little boy in my gut is bad enough to make up for it and more. i think maybe if id had that male eye all these years, i wouldnt mind the boy so much. it isn't his fault, but ive realized years ago now that it's almost worse when there's no one to blame. anger as they say is easier than sadness. so i trudge along being sad all the time and counting the days until i can become like i was at 9 or 10, when my physical self again becomes beside the point. who looks forward to the big change? i guess once you stop being young, might as well be old.

it's good to hear from you. ive never been able to describe to myself how you and i communicate, but i have always been surprised and impressed that it was possible. someday i'd like to know what your experience of it is, maybe it's not as unusual as i think. even after years and years. it still surprises me.