The following piece was written by Carla Bozulich and is published in this month's Ben Is Dead magazine. It's handwritten in the magazine as a photo of a notebook page (with a note in the margin: "Darby. This is some things from my notebook. Love Carla B"). I've kept the original punctuation and spelling. The *emphasized* words are underlined in the original.
Fuck You 1-16-96 I'm starting at the end Never bleeding never bend over your eyes like apples taste sour sometimes I look at myself like a bell that rings incessantly inside Don't wander about the insides -- they're greedy they want so much Your touch who are you a lizard, a beautiful brilliant dog, a buck -- running over rocks and sad days. Your touches are completely satisfying if wrong was encouraged Id be home now but I sit flinching at imagined bugs - of coarse Something is going to make me pay -- around every corner. The felt hat pulled down -- collapsed over his ears he takes his filthy fingers to my throat - my soft skin pulls like a fire alarm -- tearing slightly. I have been anticipating this damaged freak for so long. Things like this don't happen to me anymore. Back then I deserved it. This man doesn't know me, yet he takes every permission I have granted all life-long and rolls them into one giant Christmas present to himself from On High. He feels his newly aquired doll -- what facial expressions - what a realistic fighting girl she is -- thank you for the excellent Christmas gift -- the best ever. And I know that he is ultimately correct. I am the best -- right out of the box -- I snapped to attention before I could spell my name I was ready -- I was built to please this fucking prick and every other. I am the best. I'll love you *any way you want*. 10 bucks. No bucks. *I'll pay you*. Use your strength. Use your smarts. Break out the heavy artillery. Hold me. Stop me. Try to hold me. I want you. But in the end, I always get away.
Back to the articles page
Back to thee shrine