05 10 / 2012
It sucks when someone you have feelings for doesn’t share those feelings; it happens to women all the time, too. We hear “I just want to be friends” and “you’re like one of the guys” and “you’re like a sister to me” just as often. But you’ll never hear a woman complain that guys just don’t appreciate a Nice Girl because we’re taught it’s our own fucking fault when we’re rejected—we aren’t pretty enough or thin enough or sexy enough, we weren’t sexual enough or were too sexual, we put out too much or too little or too soon or not soon enough, we didn’t wear our hair the right way or our skirt the right length, we’re “too tomboyish” or “too butch” or “too feminine”, or we’re “not their type”, or we’re otherwise not good enough in various ways to entice the man to grace us with his affection.
But when we’re not interested in someone, we’re vilified. We’re the bitch that lead them on, the bitch who let them buy us dinner but didn’t want to date them, the bitch who doesn’t appreciate a nice guy, the bitch they were nice to and then got nothing in return from.
And, frankly, fuck those people. Showing interest in me, being friendly with me, getting close to me, or eating a meal with me (even if they paid for it) doesn’t obligate me to open my heart or my legs. And anyone who doesn’t appreciate my friendship sure as hell doesn’t deserve my love or my pussy."
05 10 / 2012
"He threw himself out of the window and impaled himself on the railings. Up flashed the ground and through him… blundering and bruising went the rusty spikes … and there he lay with a tut… tut! tut! in his brain. And then a suffocation of blackness.
Why? Why did he do it? Why did the Bradshaws talked of it at my party? He’s thrown it all away. His life. Just like that. I once throw a shelling into the serpentine. But his thrown his life away.
But then he will always stay young. We’ve grown old. We’ll grow older… Have I lost the thing that mattered? Let it get obscured, gradually… every day in corruption, lies and chatter?
Your parents just handed to you, life… to be lived right through to the end. We must walk it serenely. But in the depths of my heart, there’s been an awful fear… sometimes that I couldn’t go on … without Richard, sitting there calmly reading the Times… while I crouched like a bird and gradually revived. I might have perished.
What makes us go on? What sends roaring up in us … that immeasurable delight to surprise us? Than nothing can be slow enough… nothing lasts to long. You want to say to each moment: “Stay!” “Stay!” “Stay!”
I must go back to my party. To Sally and Peter.
That young man killed himself, but I don’t pity him. I’m somehow glad he could do it, throw it away. It’s made me feel the beauty, somehow feel … very like him, less afraid."