Tuesday, April 19, 2011

March 3rd, 2626


I took Lucy to the ice-rink today. My new metal bones were wanting for exercise. Ice-skating is my favorite activity of all time, I think. Honestly, of all time. Over sex, even, and I really used to love having sex. I forget sex. But the rush I get when the cold, icy air splits in front of me as I glide across that crystal block is something I can't ever forget. It's peaceful.

It was her first time on the ice. She did great. I don't want to love this kid but I feel myself starting to. I don't want to feel vulnerable. I don't want to feel like something I love is just going to poof! out of existence. Lucy is different, though. Her laugh reaches into the depths of me and pulls my laughter out, too. Her tears become my pain. Her life is inexplicably tied to mine. She isn't even my child. She's not my Domenica. She's Lucy, though, and while I love her differently, she reminds me how in love I was with my daughter. Not how horrible I feel that my daughter no longer is. That I never knew how she died. Or when.

I kept my eyes on Lucy's black curls as she began to get the hang of the right way to glide. She got the hang of it so fast and I felt such pride. I looked around at the ice rink, down over the rails at the green field below, and thought to myself how proud I was of the rest of the world, for getting the hang of it. We fixed so many things, together. I feel such pride about our campaigns. The Under Grounder Movement, that was the one I was thinking of today. We've got everything figured out, it seems. I just can't figure out what happened to Domenica. It will never stop haunting me. Lucy reminds me of her, so very much.

So long as Domenica haunts me is so long as I'll wait it out here to find her. I never stop funding that search. But just like 200 years ago, just like 400 years ago, just like almost 600 years ago, all they know is that Domenica disappeared.


Monday, April 18, 2011

December 3rd, 2036


Here it comes. The fuse on this 9 month stick of TNT has finally been lit. The little monster's coming now. I'm leaving to go to the hospital and I thought to write quickly before I'm tortured by birthing out some screaming little ball of rapid cell division. Dijon's picking me up. My water broke. I feel disgusting. I'm in pain. She'll be here any minute and I'm packing up my stuff to go to the hospital. Which is really just this book, a dog-tag to squeeze through the pain, and a pillow with a shirt tucked in it.

I'll write as soon as this whole giving birth thing is over.

I love you, Eros. I'm scared and I'm all alone. But I'm alone only for a couple more hours. Til the big fucking kaboom! And when this thing blows I'll never be alone again.


July 20th, 2454


If it weren't for Bali, I'd forget the world. I feel my memories slipping out of my grasp every day. And when I remember, it shocks me. It scares me. The life I remember makes me fear not for myself, but of myself.

Dr. Twinn thinks I should read my journals. To jar my memory. The monitor's show my brain is fully functioning. It shows that all of my memories are there, the only problem is turning them back on. He says it looks like a "gray fog" has blanketed that area of my brain, that the fog is sharing the space where my memories are. He says he's never seen a thing quite like it. He says my prefrontal area (whatever the hell that means) is completely enshrouded by a gray fog. He says that the fog shows on the monitors but doesn't exist in any of the scans they print or samples they take and that when they laser through to my brain, there is no fog there. It just vanishes, he says. I wonder if it's my soul, protecting me. From myself.

Today I remembered the day Domenica was born. I remember how lonely it was. No Liam. No Bali. Just Frank and a ghost hand. And almost directly afterwards I remember the day she disappeared. The same day my soul disappeared. I screamed. I cried and cried. I remember not allowing myself to have that memory. It hurts to bad to think about. But I looked down at Bali and remembered and I couldn't stop the onslaught. It was a horrible memory. I never found her. And I remembered Frank's face. I remember the news. I remember how angry he looked at me. There was nothing I could do. And then I remembered Liam's pain. His fear. And I remembered when he forgot. How jealous I was, that I couldn't forget. That we couldn't die together.

And when I remembered again that I never found her, I called in Dr. Twinn, told him I was in too much pain, and took drugs to sleep through my day. My dreams were awful. I dreamt of when I was a small child, memories I have forgotten for so very very long. It was almost like a flashback. It was the day I woke up from my coma. I flashed back to when my eyes began to flicker open. In real life I remember seeing Frank's face above mine. I remember feeling fear because he seemed so evil in that moment, but I recognized it was just my own fear to wake up. In the drug-dream today, Frank was evil. It was Frank and I knew it, but there he stood over me while my eyes flicked awake with the head of a wolf, howling into the open moonlit sky. Howling out the name "Domenica". And I never woke up from that coma. I just watched him howl her name, in this dream.

Its closer to midnight now and I'm waiting for new drugs to kick in so I can sleep away these memories. I specifically asked for ones that would turn off my brain's ability to dream. I don't want to dream like that again. I told Twinn I felt less rested having had those nightmares and that I felt almost like the nightmares were replacing the actual memories. My brain, I hope, will forget the memories and the nightmares by the time I was up. For good. I hope this fog infects my prefrontal area and purges me from everything.


June 13th, 2030


I should be feeling alot more awful than I do. We had our very first fight last night. Numero Uno. I thought I'd feel alot worse about it. But the fact that we got through it without a shout, a curse, or someone feeling hurt makes me feel like this thing I have is the most special thing in the world. Our ability to communicate is remarkable. The fact that now it's afterwords and neither of us feels the slightest bit perturbed is even more remarkable.

It was my fault, Eros. I'm a dumb idiot. I'm the most obliviously blonde woman I've ever known. I just don't seem to get things, sometimes. We were in the bar. I'd been off to the side of the bar in a booth talking with my cousin Ryan who came into town for the weekend. Liam met us after work and approached us with a smile. We did some brief introductions before Liam left and made his way into the mass of people dancing around the bar. I didn't follow him. I lost Liam in the crowd for about an hour, losing myself as well in a catch-up conversation about my crazy family with Ryan. The two of us laughed alot, drank alot, and enjoyed our small reunion to the best of our ability. I assumed Liam was giving us family time and himself socializing. I didn't feel uncomfortable about the distance in the bar, figuring it didn't really matter if we were doing our own seperate thing. I was mildly curious why I didn't see his face for something over an hour, but I wasn't nervous or bothered by it. When he resurfaced, his face popping out in the thinning crowd, I noticed he was sitting at the bar alone. And I didn't go sit with him, assuming he was still doing his own thing. About twenty minutes later Ryan began to say his goodbyes and I was a little bit sad he hadn't had the opportunity to get to know Liam. I dragged him to the bar, hoping Liam would at least attempt to converse with him for a minute or so. But instead he said "It was nice to meet ya, man. See you around" and he got up and walked away. This irritated me and Ryan together and I failed to explain that this wasn't Liam's normal character. When I went back inside, Liam was gone.

I searched for him for closer to an hour. I walked around outside the bar. I checked the surrounding blocks. I called him. I checked the bathrooms, even. Then I went home. Sitting on my doorstep, apparently having skateboarded to my house, was Liam. He was angry at me because he had asked me if Ryan and I wanted to talk. Neither Ryan or myself realized he'd asked the question meaning did we want to talk with Liam, at the bar, and neither of us realized he expected our company and expected we pursue him through the crowd. And so we just sat and continued what we'd been doing. Talking. Liam thought we were ignoring him. That I was unwanting of him and his company. That I'd purposefully wanted him to go away. He was nervous because he thought I was ashamed in front of my family. He thought I cared whether Ryan would approve.

I feel happy this happened. I had the chance to assure him of me. Of how PROUD I am of him. Of my intentions. My dispositions. Ultimately, I had the chance to assure myself that we can calmly handle whatever misunderstanding may come our way. So I don't feel awful. I feel thrilled. I'm so fucking lucky. We didn't shout. No curses. No hard feelings afterwards. The only thing that was left when the dust from this little skirmish settled was two people looking at one another with alot of love in their eyes. Recognizing luck. And joy. And a reason to make doubly sure that nothing can ever come between us. A reason to follow a person to the ends of the Earth.


April 4th, 2030


I know once in a lifetime when I see it. I'm feeling almost sick about it. I'm not this lucky. I've never been. My life self-destructs far more often than it works out in my favor.

I feel like I'm gonna lose him. You know? Eros, we finish one another's sentences. We're on the same plane. At least thats how it seems. But I've been a sucker before.

I'm just waiting, now. For the bomb to go off.


Tuesday, April 5, 2011

November 20th, 2036


I really love Dijon. That woman is such an inspiration to me. I haven't thought much about naming a Godmother for this kid, but I'm going to ask her. Today, Frank got called in by a hospital two towns over. They needed all hands on deck because there was a bombing in the Brightside Commons mall. Apparently there are hundreds injured (huge mall) and the whole thing blew apart so Frank had to go be an actual doctor to people who actually need him. Dijon, upon finding out I'd be alone at my birthing practice today (which led to her finding out that I'd be alone in the birthing minus Frank whose actually delivering the kid) volunteered to be my birthing partner. Maybe its all these extra cocksucker horomones that course through my damned veins, but whatever, it made me cry. I was so touched. I was considering not going to the practice, but with only two weeks left before this kid comes, it doesn't really matter how much pain I'm in, I've gotta be prepared. Frank says I'm fine anyway, and that I don't need to be resting so much anymore. My boobs don't really hurt hurt, anyway, they just ache. And my back feels a great deal better. Dijon is saving me by coming, though, because that fucking practice is normally dreadfully boring. And she's saving this kid. And Frank. And my life. I can't thank her enough, really, for being there. For knowing me during this time of my life.

While we were in the gym, me on my back on my little purple yoga mat resting my head in Dijon's lap, we whispered over the "soothing Earth sounds" to one another, cracking jokes about our flamboyantly gay birthing instructor. I mean, the flamboyant gay thing is fine. In this day and age, gay and flamboyant is just as normal as happily married and Catholic. But the fact that a flamboyant gay man is trying to teach me how to shoot a fetus out of my uterus with a spandex shirt and poncho pants on, well thats fucking funny. Then we started cracking jokes about the couple next to us, two of the most wildly obese mongoloids I've ever seen in my life. We felt horrible making fun of them so much, but I mean come on. The woman farted. And throughout the room her fresh ass odor permeated and infested all of our noses and Dijon and I, at that point, lost our shit and just couldn't stop laughing. Those poor people. It was one of the most soothing of all the sessions I've ever gone to simply because I soothed all the pent up douchebagginess I've been harboring in my soul. Without Liam to joke with, I've felt so pent up. Frank can't joke so much with me. He's so serious all the time, about my health and my sanity and about the little monster, that he forgets that I'm his friend. Dijon gave me such relief today. If for that alone, I'm eternally grateful.

After the practice ended I asked if she'd allow me to take her to lunch. We went to C'est La Vie, this little bar on the outskirts of Santa Fe that I discovered the other night during one of my moonlight walks. Of course I'm not drinking, but I went in for an apple juice because I needed the atmosphere. It is much cooler of a place in the daytime. I led her to a booth in the corner and we talked over the gentle sounds, actually soothing sounds, of a little mexi man playing a bitty guitar. I swear, Spanish guitar does to me what nothing else in the world can do. Santa Fe has taught me one thing, at least. I love the guitar. We got some virgin cocktails (I know, how gay?) and I listened to Dijon tell me the most inspirational of stories. She comes from San Diego. When she was three years old she moved there from Connecticut with her drug addict mother who was fleeing from her abusive father. She's never met him. Once in San Diego, her mom found that the escape she had wanted, from the drugs and the abuse, was only doubly bad on the West Coast. Drugs are harder there, easier to come by, and everyone who lives there is trying to escape from something. So they're all crazy. They're all on drugs. They're all struggling and poor. Of course her mother got mixed up in the wrong crowd, almost right away, until she was freebasing two or three heroin pills every couple of hours. Dijon was left on her own most of the day while her mom was busy being high. And then her mom met Wiley. Wiley the fucking coyote. Thats what he called himself. Wiley Coyote. His real name was Wiley Marlou, but that fucker thought himself Wiley Coyote and thats how Dijon remembers him. He supported Dijon and her mom, they all moved into an apartment together, and while Wiley and Marjorie (the mom) got high and banged one another in the bathroom, Dijon grew up largely fending for herself. She remembers a lot of loneliness from those days, she says. Anyway, Dijon was eight the first time Wiley raped her. He raped her a hundred more times, she said, than she can remember. Those were her words. "Over and over, he'd rape me. While my mom was out scoring drugs, he'd tie me down and mouth rape me. Or he'd hold me against the wall and stick his dirty cock in my vagina". Her anger about the whole thing is so obvious in her words, and rightfully so. A year went by before he'd started to do things that would mark her. He'd sometimes hit her, or pinch her, and finally he ass raped her. And for two days she couldn't walk or move. The toilet water was bloody and so Marjorie freaked out and thought Dijon was starting her period. Bought her pads and tampons and all the like. Little did she know, the stupid cunt. Wiley fucking Coyote.

The situation came to a head when Dijon killed him. I'm not joking. She stabbed him to death. One day when Dijon was twelve years old, Marjorie (who was now a working drug addict instead of just a drug addict) was gone for the evening and Wiley started his, what Dijon calls "new sadistic rape ritual". He would tie up her arms and tie up her legs so that she hung from the kitchen ceiling in a U shape. And he'd rape her in the butt while she hung like that. So sickening. And he left the kitchen to take a shit. Thinking Dijon was tied up tightly, that fucking asshole. But as he stopped supporting her weight the knots in the ropes slackened instead of tightened up. Dijon recalls the moment lucidly, describing how the unraveling of the ropes was almost magical, almost like she was willing it so, until she had her hands freed. She says the hardest thing in the world was trying to stay bent in that U shape with no support, untying her feet. But she got herself free. She didn't describe her killing him in detail, for which I'm grateful. I'd surely have had a panic attack. Anxiety. But she told me that she calmly walked to the drawer, took out the sharpest and biggest knife she could find and attacked him while he sat there, vulnerable and shitting. After that she went directly to the police, obvious evidence of the rape on her rope-burned hands and with all his genetics on the places he'd touched her. She sued her mother for negligent parenting by the time she was sixteen. She was put into the custody of her Godmother after her mother's swift arrest and placement in county. And she has never spoken with her mother since. Marjorie is dead, now, but before she died she would send Dijon a letter every single day. I don't think that Dijon ever read a single one. She says she just put them into a box and left them untouched.

I have never been more sure of a person in my entire life. I haven't wanted a Godmother for my kid. But if there is one person in this whole world I trust with my little monster's life, its her. I've got so much respect for her I feel like I'm overflowing with it. And I think when we left the bar she knew that. So tomorrow I'm gonna take her to dinner, I think, and ask her if she'd do me the honor. I hope that Frank is not offended that I don't ask him to be the Godfather. I love Frank, he's my best friend, but something tells me he wouldn't be up for the job. Anyway, I'll write again tomorrow with details of whether I go through with it. For now, I'm exhausted. Love you, Eros. Sorry I've been so aloof lately. I'm just...hurting more than normal.


Thursday, March 31, 2011

November 26th, 2015

Hey Eros,

So I guess that Dr. McCord thought that my brain was damaged and thats why they kept me all of those days in that hospital but finally some tests came back or something and they say that my brain is okay. I was really happy when I found out this news because who really wants to have a bad brain? But my brain is okay, they say, besides that I have some really bad "anxiety disorders" and now instead they want to take me into the hospital for another lot of days so that they can test my heart. They think that because my brain isn't bad my heart is bad. So now I have to go and sit in that boring hospital all over again and I found out and started to cry because I can't go to school then and thats not fair. I know, right? What kid wants to go to school so bad they cry? Maybe I'm just so afraid of the hospital and doctors that I don't want to go but I don't know and I don't care I just really wish this weren't happening to me at all. Watch I go and stay there all those days and it turns out there isn't anything wrong with my heart at all and instead they think now there is something wrong with my stomach. So they keep me in the hospital forever. Its all a plot to try and keep me in a hospital that they disguise as a hospital but really its just a place to stick all the crazy kids like me to keep them away from all the normal kids like Chelsea. I wish so bad I were normal. They'll give me all that medicine that made me feel funny again and I don't like that because I have bad dreams when that happens.

I wonder if Dr. McCord will even be my doctor this time? Maybe some other weird old man will be? I hope it's Dr. McCord.


September 27th, 2100


Today I found out that there is no hope. My hands have got to get chopped off. I've been putting it off, the inevitable, but they've gotta go. No more skin grafts. No more botox to make them look younger. My ashy hands need to be removed. They are too old to survive eternity with me.

I think that these are the hardest things for me to give up. How many hours have I spent with a pen between these fingers, writing to you? These hands were the ones that held Liam's, before he died. And Domenica's. They are me. I've begged and begged to put this off. Doctors, so pretentious. They know everything.

They don't know how much these hands mean to me.

Shit, take my right hand. Who am I kidding? Lying to you, Eros, is lying to myself. I don't give a damn about my hands. I don't. I don't give a damn about any of these body parts. Take them all, Father Time! I don't want them.

My ring finger, though. That is not yours to take. It'll be a bitter fight, Mr. Time, if you try to take that fucking finger from me.

I've tried to reason this one out, Eros. I knew it was coming at some point. The day they'd say, hey Lynn you gotta get rid of those hands. I knew it would happen. All the limbs will go eventually. All the organs will get switched out. All the skin will be regrown. My hair, my face, everything I was born with will be reborn from the donations of someone dead or the happy gifts of science. But none of them will be my own. I CANNOT give up my ring finger though. I don't know what to do about it, but this finger is my truth. Its that bond. I made that bond with a man and I don't intend to break it. Ever. Marriage is a sanctum and I will not defy it. Never. I can't let them cut me off from that tattoo. My faded black feather. I've never gotten it touched up for a reason. Its timeless. But I can't live with a dead finger on my hand. It would wither and crumble to bits. I'm not stupid. I know it has to go. But what the fuck can I do to keep it? Besides die with it?


Tuesday, March 29, 2011

November 17th, 2036


Recovery. I'm throbby. My body is throbbing. I just came out of an extensive surgery. I should feel throbby. I'm calm, though, and not feeling that much pain. Its numb pain, if that makes any sense at all. Medication is my friend. A good friend. It feels so comforting to know that I am in recovery. No more stress about the impending surgery, for starts. And no more hatred at myself, or self-consciousness. More importantly, there is no more fear. Bless you, surgery, for delivering me from that fear.

If he came here, now, I'd still hide. This lump in my stomach, a kicking reminder of why I'm still detached from the man I love, keeps me from thinking that I could ever face him. But with new breasts, better breasts, in fact, I feel as if it isn't a total impossibility to look at him face to face, one more time. I'll never try to find him, but if he found me (after this little thing is born) I wouldn't run away. I'd talk to him, and explain, and maybe try to reason it out for myself.

Cancer free. Fresh boobs. A kid whose less than a month from existing. Recovery. One more trial until I can recover for good, pick up the pieces, and start somewhere new. Because Lord fucking knows that I need to be free from Santa Fe. I love this city. My friends are wonderful. I'll miss Dijon and Rolando especially. Those little fuckers have been so nice to me. Frank and I are thinking to keep West for a new home. I'm particularly fond of the idea of Portland, but Frank is desperately trying to convince me that Alaska would suit us well. He thinks that teaching this new kid some resilience would be great for it.

I wonder if it'll be a boy or a girl. My gut tells me its a girl. I fucking hate little girls. But I love this little monster inside of me, regardless of whether its a boy or a girl or really an actual monster. I hope it never knows that its father hated it. I'm so so sure he'd hate it. If it were ever made known to him. But I'll run forever to spare him ever knowing. I hope he isn't drinking too much. I'm sure he is. Maybe at this point he's over it. I hope so. It's been so long. Eight months. I never thought I could make it this long without him. I should have taken a picture with me. It would help me in this recovery, I think, to know his face again. I can't bring myself to go onto the internet because I know I'll see his face. I've eliminated all evidence of him from my phone and I've blocked myself from his number, his mailbox, and his Facebook. I'm certain he hasn't tried to find me. I know, though, that he's been keeping tabs on my bank account. Every so often the almost impossible to drain amount of money I have in my account increases into an even less impossible amount to drain. You know how much I worried at first that the spending would put him on my trail. He hasn't been, though, which makes me feel relieved. I half wish he would try to find me, but logic reminds me that I don't actually wish for that at all. Maybe less logic and more fear. I dunno. I just wonder what his thought will be when he sees this price leave my account. The name of the facility is listed there, clearly, with Dr. Frank's name. I hate this law. Requiring me to give hints as to where I am. If he finds me from anything, it will be from this. Fuck you, government. You're gonna blow my spot and I'm gonna be PISSED. I wonder what he'll think I've been spending money on.

Shit, Eros, it feels so nice just to sit here and let my brain think. I've avoided thinking. It feels nice to be able to recover. To think it all out. The only thing that helped me was these new boobs. They are my savior. This little kid'll appreciate a mom with boobs. They feel nice, too. Well done, Frank, my friend. Well done. You've saved me.


Monday, March 28, 2011

August 14th, 2036


They're gone. My breasts have been removed. I'm flat-chested. I'm mannish. I'm incomplete.

An essential part of my being, the me I was born as and born to be, has been removed. I'm not a woman anymore. I can never see Liam again. Never. I always half hoped that I could maybe get rid of this kid and run home to Liam. Then I saw a mirror.

Frank came in, humble and supportive as ever, to ask me how I was feeling and if I'd like to learn to check the bandages. It's the first time I've seen him. He didn't have to say "Everything went well, Lynnie". Thats fucking obvious. Blatantly, boldly obvious that I am boobless. Anyway, I just kind of nodded and he began showing me what to do in a mirror and as we together unraveled me so I could learn how to care for the hole in my chest it became stunningly apparent how wrong my chest looks physically, let alone feels. I am a horror to behold. Liam could have never loved me if this is how I looked that day at the golf club.

I immediately started to cry. Huge, fat fucking tears came pouring out of me when I saw myself. It was the confirmation that leaving Liam was the right thing. Until now, it never felt like the right thing. I thought I could somehow find my way home. But nope. I'll likely never see Liam again. So I cry.

Three craters in my chest.

August 2nd, 2113


Dreaming is not a good thing. My dreams were riddled with things last night. I saw a city burn. I watched Liam love another woman. I was beaten until my vision was blurry. I remember feeling incredulous that in a dream, one's vision can blur. I remember crying. I cried and cried, standing on a balcony watching people jumping from burning buildings. I remember trying to kill myself, too, but being stopped over and over because Liam was there, holding me back. But then he'd beat me. He beat me and beat me and beat me and I remember how much that pain wracked my body. He nearly killed me. But then when I tried to die, he said no. And I just watched as this fire raged throughout the city and all the people jumped to their deaths and I knew I was trying to kill myself because when I died, they would all stop dying. The fire would stop blazing and everyone would be free. But Liam kept me there, alive, and I couldn't break free from his grasp. And he would beat me, then run away and touch heads with another woman, a fierce lion of a woman, and I hated everything. And in my pain I broke free and drowned myself in a pool of water.

I'm on medication, to help me sleep, after the surgery I just had. I needed some new phalanges. New fingers and maybe I can play the guitar! But, for some reason, this surgery has left me unable to sleep. Not for some reason. For a reason. New fingers. A reminder of the one piece of me I didn't burn. Who fucking taxidermies their own fucking finger? Me. So they gave me sleeping pills and pain killers and here I am, recovering, and I can't stop having this fucking dream.

I miss you, my Liam.

August 2nd, 2075


Liam died.


February 14th, 2626

Happy Valentines Day, Eros!

Its your day! I wish you were real and could celebrate with me. You know? That would be nice. To see you. You're so real to me. Maybe that makes me insane, that the invisible person I write to seems more real to me than most of the people that I encounter in a day. But you've been here so much longer than they have. I wish you could have a physical form, because I'd love to go out to dinner with someone tonight.

I'm stuck babysitting. I hate children. They make me lonlier.

I'm so fucking lonely, Eros. Today, I am lonely. I want to love again. I have feelings still, but I can't love anymore.

Sadeem and Joelle wanted to go out to La Piedra Que Canta tonight and I'm a stupid idiot and decided to offer to watch Lucy. I like Joelle. She seems a good fit for Sadeem. I just can't imagine the pain he'll suffer when she passes. And Lucy. I mean, I can remember. I just can't imagine it again. Makes me shiver. Lucy's a cute kid, too. She's got Joelle's eyes, surprisingly. Big pretty green eyes, and long long curly locks of beautiful black hair. She'll land herself a very good looking man, someday. For now, she's content to hang with me, bake cookies, and play in the D.O.M.E. I love to do these things. But its making me remember things I shouldn't. And that makes me nervous. Because when I remember things I shouldn't, I do things I shouldn't. Dr. Gresh will not be happy if I continue to remember.

Ah, Eros, I wish it were you and I at La Piedra Que Canta, eating a romantic dinner together. Candle lit. Cozy. I wish you were here. I'm sad, Eros. I wish Liam never left me alone.


March 28th, 2499


I came across an old song today. I'd like to write down the lyrics.

Blackbird signing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly.
All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these sunken eyes and learn to see.
All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free.
Blackbird, fly.
Blackbird, fly, into the light of a dark, black night.
Blackbird, fly.
Blackbird, fly, into the light of a dark, black night.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly.
All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise.
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.


Thursday, March 24, 2011

April 16th, 3024


I've been thinking about it. Again.

I've also been thinking about the bubbles. Our cities. Our little bubble atmospheres. And the moon. I'd like to go again, before I really go. You know?

Since, I've been thinking about it. I know, Eros, I shouldn't. Life is precious and mine is particularly important. I know that. The world likes to see someone immortal. If only Jasper hadn't of offed himself, there'd be us two. I'm the only one, though. After Sadeem killed himself, I thought for sure Jasper'd make it through. I'm the only one of us left. I wonder, you know, when I meditate, whether their souls are still alive. I think mine died. Definitely. My soul. I'm not me. I'm just an organism existing unnaturally, against the will of some higher power. I know I'll be punished, if there is a heaven or a hell. Maybe my soul is already being punished in hell somewhere. Since it's not in me anymore. It was so long ago when I had a soul. I remember it, I think. It might once have been a pretty yellow soul. Maybe even gold. But its dead. The only part of me I couldn't ever capture in a little glass vial, to display on my shelf like a fucking trophy. So everyone can see how much of a fucking freak I am. A genuine freak of nature.

According to nature, I am not real.

I'm not real, anyway. I barely feel. I'm just a collection of coiled up data, being rewritten on repeat even as we speak. I'm a library of amino acids. Thats all. I forget my memories.

Eros. I'm thinking I'm going to kill myself, soon. Dead. D.E.A.D. Dead.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

July 2nd, 2579


I'm going to get an organic regenerative heart! Thats the best news I've gotten in a long time!

So, I've been speaking to alot of the other board members and we've all agreed that moving the Universal Library underground is a really wretched idea. Who knows how the humididy or pressure below the surface will effect the pages? Those are sacred. To risk damage in any way to those pages would be lunacy. They are the last.

I'm helping the urban designers tomorrow to plan out the New Worldwide Library system. We'll all have universal access. What a great thing! I predict that membership renewals will skyrocket. Annual fees may rise, but so will our member rates. We'll have reqruited the entire world as our members, soon enough. Its access to everything! At all times! In all places! Any book that has entered the stream will be available to anyone, anytime, anywhere, so long as they pay their dues. Its an incredible feat of political manuevering on the board's part.

Worldwide access. Equality in books. I suppose the rightful place for the first truly equal system worldwide should exist among books. The existence of intelligent thought wouldn't exist without them. I'm proud of this, Eros. I am. I feel good, I think.


October 3rd, 2070


Dr. Samsel told me that my new heart is beating slightly irregularly, but that in time, with exercise, it will pace itself. I suppose it's only fitting, that my new heart beats off key. Liam can't remember me and no amount of money can bring him back from this. My heart, the dead one, used to beat in tune with his. We were a single melody strumming forever long within the acoustic chambers of our breasts, where our hearts pumped life to the rest of us. Me and Liam. A single beating cell. But he can't remember me, and he's gonna die soon. And my heart is charred into ashes. So this new one beats of key. Makes sense.

You'd figure they'd have cured alzheimers by now, wouldn't you Eros? What the fuck, technology? Get your head in the game.

Of course I'm miserable. Everything I love is dead. My heart is gone. Literally. Its cremated. Sitting right next to my old tits in a tiny vial. Bits of collected, burned up pieces of me. One day I'll see myself dead, in vials.

Of course I'm depressed, Eros. I can't shake this. My life, that one I lived already, is over. I'm starting a new one now. Who knows what will happen. My life with Domenica and Liam and Bali, that happiness has been spent. I lived it. I probably deserve the depression, you know, because of all the shit I've pulled. Especially since Domenica. And you know me, Eros. As soon as I don't have Liam to live for anymore, I'm gonna do it all over again. Rampage. The classier version of a rampage. Trouble, trouble, trouble. I feel it brewing. Each irregular beat of this new heart is one more notch on the belt of trouble I feel myself about to cause. Sorry, Dr. S. No, theres no pacing myself.


August 10th, 2036

Eros, today will break me.

I'm starting to show a little bit. A little over 4 months pregnant. You know, it strikes me as fucking ridiculous that a pregnant lady is not gonna have the most important of body parts after this kid is born. Her boobs. After I found out that Dr. Frank thought both needed to go, to be safe, I rescheduled my surgery. 3 days away and my womanhood will only show through this mutant growth protruding from within my uterus. I'm getting the chills just thinking about the rapid cell division happening inside me. I feel like a freak show already. Boobless and pregnant. Sounds like a bad, weird tranny porno or something. So bye bye boobies in 3 days. I can't wait...not.

I can't help but be bitter today. Its fucking hot out. The water ration is fucking annoying me. Frank is being extra attentive, knowing what today is, and thats annoying me, too. I want to drink a lot of alcohol and this little baby in my stomach is preventing me from doing that. "Please Mommy, I don't want Fetal Alcohol Syndrome! So please don't drink that whiskey". But I'm staring really hard at that whiskey. I love this little fucknugget too much to drink it. But I want it. And thats annoying me.

I wonder what he's doing with himself. If I weren't pregnant I'd be drinking myself into an oblivion. I imagine thats exactly what he's doing. He deserves it. I can't even think what other things he might be doing to forget this pain, but if I were him I'd grab me some prostitutes and get laid, drunk, and maybe high. But I'm pregnant. So I can't do that. I can get laid, but I'm pregnant and that just makes me not feel like it. WHICH IS ANNOYING ME. It's not Liam, anyway. Sex with anyone else is an incredulous thought. But I figure for him, at this point, he hates me so much that sex with everyone else is a way to get revenge. He deserves it. I can't even be mad in my imagination, because I know that even with all these imaginary hookers, Liam deserves whatever outlet he can find to feel better. Because I know he feels bad. And I know I did it. I want him to feel better, whatever it takes. Especially today.

6 years. 6 years we're married, today. He hasn't sent me divorce papers yet. I'm leaving that to him, though, because I figure if it were me I'd want to process, get angry, and mail those papers as a declaration. "You're a fucking bitch, Lynn. I hate you, you ruined everything. Die! Die! Die!". And I think he deserves that, too.

I just WISH so so much that he were here, today. More than any other day. Today I need my Liam. Who I guess is no longer mine. But I'm still his. And I really really really miss him. So much that I can feel it inside of me. Like a little bundle in the back of my head, pulsing.


June 12th, 2029


I guess it's really happening. Today we bought our plane tickets. To Vegas we go. We're leaving on August 5th and coming home on August 11th. Liam wants to book a chapel in advance. I think we should just wing it when we get there. The right place, I think, will illuminate itself for us amidst the lights of the most illuminated city in the world. I think.

I know how crazy this is. When I look back on my life, future me, I'm going to tell myself how crazy this all was. But my life without Liam seems not a life at all. We're connected. I know that its insane. Fuck, we haven't even tried to move in together yet. And I doubt we will, when all this is said and done, until other things in both of our lives pan out. Like finishing school. And securing a career. Or something. I don't know. I'm gonna ride my parent's coattails until there are none left to ride. So moving in isn't really something I think about as serious, anyway.

But getting married, somehow, is serious. And real. And insane. But not really insane at all. The only insane thing about it is that I feel any fear to begin with. This is something special. Once in a lifetime. True beyond the truest of things. If I allow myself to do what I do, be anxious and fearful at this thing I don't understand, that would be insanity. I won't do that, though, so long as I've got Liam's hand in mine. A 98.6 degree reminder that this warmth I feel isn't going to burn out or die away. So long as there is a pulse, every beat of me will sing with Liam's rhythm.

So. August. What's up, married life?

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

February 22, 2777


I took of my eye bandages today. No more headaches. Blessed doctors, who take away my pain. I have another set of perfect blue eyes. My vision is clear. I feel like I can go outside, tomorrow, and engage in healthy activity. I will bring Bali. I ate my nuts for breakfast and drank my milk, like the doctors have ordered I do to make sure I have healthy amounts of natural protein and calcium. I like this diet. It makes me feel healthy. Increased chances of survival, with good health. Not that that matters anymore.

Today I spent reading. I read the first two acts of King Lear. I think that of the Shakespeares, this is my favorite of his works. I think it is his greatest accomplishment. They've, through the Loooking Glass, been able to see him at his work. I wish I could have known him, he seems like an interesting fellow.

Eros. I wish I had more to write. I don't. My eyes are healthy. Thats all.