I.

One night at the Troubadour I spotted this extraordinary girl.

So I asked who she was.

‘A professional,’

That was my introduction that on a scale of one to ten

there were women who were fifteens—beautiful, bright, witty, and

oh, by the way, they worked.

Once I became aware,

I saw these women everywhere.

And I came to learn that most of them were connected to Alex



II.

She had a printer engrave a calling card

that featured a bird of paradise

borrowed from a Tiffany silver pattern

and,
under it,

Alex’s Aviary,

Beautiful and Exotic birds.



A few were women you’d see lunching at Le Dôme:

pampered arm pieces with expensive tastes

and a hint of a delicious but remote sexuality.

Many more were fresh-faced, athletic, tanned, freckled

the quintessential California girl

That you’d take for sorority queens or future BMW owners.





III.

The mechanism of Alex’s sudden notoriety is byzantine,

as these things always are.

One of her girls took up with a rotter,

the couple had a fight,

he went to the police,

the police had an undercover detective visit

(who just happened to be an attractive woman)

and ask to work for her,

she all but embraced her

—and by April of 1988 the district attorney had enough evidence

to charge her with two counts of pandering

and one of pimping.

For Alex, who is fifty-six

and has a heart condition and diabetes,

the stakes may be high.

A conviction carries the guarantee of incarceration.

For the forces of law and order,

the stakes may be higher.

Alex has let it be known that she will subpoena

every cop she’s ever met to testify at her trial.

And the revelations this might produce

—perhaps that Alex compromised policemen

by making girls available to them,

—perhaps that Alex had a deal with the police to provide information

in exchange for their blind eye to her activities

—could be hugely embarrassing to the police and the district attorney.

For Alex’s socially correct clients and friends,

for the socially correct wives of her clients and friends

and for a handful of movie and television executives

who have no idea they are dating or

married to former Alex girls,

the stakes are highest of all.



IV.

Alex’s black book is said to be a catalogue of
Le Tout Los Angeles.

In her head are the ****** secrets

of many of the city’s most important men,

to say nothing of visiting businessmen and Arab princes.

If she decides to warble,

either at her trial or in a book,

her song will shatter more than glass.





V.

A decade ago, I went to lunch at Ma Maison,

There were supposed to have been ten people there,

but only four came.

One of them was a short woman

who called me a few days later and invited me to lunch.

When I arrived, the table was set for two.

I didn’t know who Alex was or what she did,

but she knew the important facts of my situation:

I was getting divorced from a very wealthy man

and doing the legal work myself

to avail lawyers who wanted to get a big settlement for me.


Occasionally, she said, I get a call for a tall, dark-haired,

slender, flat-chested woman

—and I don’t have any.

It wouldn’t be a frequent thing.

There’d be weekends away, sometimes in Palm Springs,

sometimes in Europe.

The men will be elegant,

you’ll have your own room

—there would be no outward signs of impropriety.

And you’d get $10,000 to $20,000 for a weekend.





VI.

The tall, slender, flat-chested brunette

didn’t think it was right for her.

Alex handed her a business card

and suggested that she think about it.

To her surprise, she did

—for an entire week.

This was 1978, and $20,000 then

was like $40,000 now,

I knew it was hooking,

but Alex had never mentioned ***.



Our whole conversation seemed to be about something else.



VII.

I was born in Manila

to a Spanish-Filipina mother and German father,

and when I was twelve

a Japanese soldier came into our house

with his bayonet pointed at us,

ready to do us in.

He locked us in and set the house on fire.

I haven’t been scared by much since that.



My mother always struck me as goofy,

so I jumped on a bus and ran away,

I got off in Oakland,

saw a help-wanted sign on a parish house,

and went in.

I got $200 a month for taking care of four priests.

I spent all the money on pastries for the parish house.

But I didn’t care.

It felt safe.

And the priests sparked my interest in the domestic arts

—in linen, in crystal.



A new priest arrived.

He was unpleasant,

so on a vacation in Los Angeles I took a pedestrian job,

still a teenager,

married a scientist.

We separated eight years later,

he took our two sons to another state

threatened to keep them if I didn’t agree to a divorce.

Keep them I said and hung up.

It’s not that I don’t have a maternal instinct

—though I don’t,

I just hate to be manipulated.



My second husband,

an alcoholic,

had Frank Sinatra blue eyes, and possibly

—I never knew for sure—

had a big career in the underworld

as a contract killer.

Years before we got serious,

he was going out with a famous L.A. ******,

She and her friends were so elegant

that I started spending time with them in beauty salons.

They were so fancy,

so smart

—and they knew incredible people,

like the millionaire who sat in his suite all day

just writing $5,000 checks to girls.



VIII.

I was a florist.

We got to talking.

She was a madam from England

who wanted to sell her book and go home.

I bought it for $5,000.

My husband thought it was cute.

Now you’re getting your feet wet.

Three months later,

he died.

After eleven years of marriage,

just like that.

And of the names in the book

it turned out

that half of the men were also dead.

When I began the men were old and the women were ugly.



IX.

It was like a lunch party you or I would give,

Great food Alex had cooked herself.

Major giggles with old pals.

And then,

instead of chocolate After Eight,

she served three women After Three



This man has seen a bit of life

beyond Los Angeles,

so I asked him how Alex’s stable

compared with that of Madam Claude,

the legendary Parisian procuress.

Oh, these aren’t at all like Claude’s girls,

A Claude girl was perfectly dressed and multilingual

—you could take her to the opera

and she’d understand it.





He told me that when she was 40

she looked at herself in the mirror

and said

Disgusting.

People over 40

should not have ***.

But She Was Clear That She Never Liked It

even when she was young.

Besides, she saw all the street business

go to the tall,

beautiful girls.

She thought that she never had a chance

competing against them.

Instead,

she would take their money by managing them.





X.

Going to a ****** was not looked down upon then.

It was before the pill;

Girls weren’t giving it away.

Claude specialized in

failed models and actresses,

ones who just missed the cut.

But just because they failed

in those impossible professions

didn’t mean they weren’t beautiful,

fabulous.



Like Avis

in those days,

those girls tried harder.

Her place was off the Champs,

just above a branch of the Rothschild bank, where I had an account.

Once I met her,

I was constantly making withdrawals and heading upstairs.





XI.

We took the lift

and Claude greeted us at the door.

My impression was that of the director

of an haute couture house,

very subdued,

beige and gray, very little makeup.

She took us into a lounge and made us drinks,

Whiskey,

Cognac.

There was no maid.

We made small talk for 15 minutes.

How was the weekend?

What’s the weather like in Deauville?

Then she made the segue. ‘I understand you’d like to see some jeunes filles?’

She always used ‘jeunes filles.’

This was Claude’s polite way of saying 18 to 25.

She left and soon returned

with two very tall

jeunes filles,

One was blonde.

This is Eva from Austria.

She’s here studying painting.

And a brunette,

very different,

but also very fine.

This is Claudia from Germany.

She’s a dancer.

She took the girls back into the apartment and returned by herself.

I gave my English guest first choice.

He picked the blonde.

And wasn’t disappointed.

Each bedroom had its own bidet.

There was some nice

polite conversation, and then



It was slightly formal,

but it was high-quality.

He paid Claude

200 francs,

not to the girls

In 1965, 200 francs was about $40.

Pretty girls on Rue Saint-Denis

could be had for 40 francs

so you can see the premium.

Still, it wasn’t out of reach for mere mortals.

You didn’t have to be J. Paul Getty.





XII.

A lot of them

were models at

Christian Dior

or other couture houses.

She liked Scandinavians.

That was the look then

—cold, tall, perfect.

It was cheap for the quality.

They all used her.

The best people wanted

the best women.

Elementary supply and demand.



XIII.

She had a camp number tattooed on her wrist. I saw it.

She showed it to me and Rubi.

She was proud she had survived.

We talked about the camp for hours.

It was even more fascinating than the girls.



She was Jewish

I’m certain of that.

She was horrified at the Jewish collaborators

at the camp who herded

their fellow Jews

into the gas chambers.

That was the greatest betrayal in her life.



XIV.

She was this sad,

lonely little woman.

Later, Patrick told me who she was.

I was bowled over.

It was like meeting Al Capone.

I met two of the girls

who worked for her.

One was what you would expect

Tall

Blonde

Model.

But the other looked like a Rat

Then one night

she came out

all dressed up,

I didn’t even recognize her.

She was even better than the first girl.

Claude liked to transform women like that.

That was her art.

It was very odd,

my cousin told me.

There was not much furniture

and an awful lot of telephones.

“Allô oui,”



XV.

I had so many lunches

with Claude at Ma Maison

She was vicious.

One day,

Margaux Hemingway,

at the height of her beauty, walked by.

Une bonne

—the French for maid

was how Claude cut her dead.

She reduced

the entire world

to rich men wanting *** and

poor women wanting money.

She’d love to page through Vogue and see someone

and say,

When I met her

she was called

Marlene

and she had a hideous nose

and now she’s a princess.

Or she’d see someone and say

Let’s see if she kisses me or not.

It was like

I made her,

and I can destroy her.

She was obsessed

with “fixing” people

—with Saint Laurent clothes,

with Cartier watches,

with Winston jewels,

with Vuitton luggage,

with plastic surgeons.



XVI.

Her prison number was

888

which was good luck in China

but not in California.

‘Ocho ocho ocho,’ she liked to repeat

Even in jail, she was always working,

always recruiting stunning women.

She had a beautiful Mexican cellmate

and gave her Robert Evans’s number

as the first person she should call

when she was released.



XVII.

Never have *** on the first date.



XVIII.

There will always be prostitution,

The prostitution of misery.

And the prostitution of bourgeois luxury.

They will both go on forever.



“Allô oui,”



It was so exciting to hear a millionaire

or a head of state ask,

in a little boy’s voice,

for the one thing

that only you could provide

It's not how beautiful you are, it's how you relate

--it's mostly dialogue.



She was tiny, blond, perfectly coiffed and Chanel-clad.

The French Woman: The Arab Prince, the Japanese Diplomat, the Greek Tycoon, the C.I.A. Bureau Chief — She Possessed Them All!



XIX.

She was like a slave driver in the American South

Once she took a *******,

the makeover put the girl in debt,

because Claude paid all the bills to

Dior,

Vuitton,

to the hairdressers,

to the doctors,

and the girls had to work to pay them off.

It was ****** indentured servitude.



My Swans.



It reached the point

where if you walked into a room

in London

or Rome

as much as Paris

because the girls were transportable,

and saw a girl who was

better-dressed,

better-looking,

and more distinguished than the others

you presumed

it was a girl from Claude.

It was, without doubt,

the finest *** operation ever run in the history of mankind.



**.

The girl had to be

exactly what was needed

so I had to teach her everything she didn’t know.

I played a little the role of Pygmalion.

There were basic things that absolutely had to be done.

It consisted

at the start

of the physical aspect

“surgical intervention”

to give this way of being

that was different from other girls.

Often they had to be transformed

into dream creatures

because at the start

they were not at all



Often I had to teach them how to dress.

Often they needed help

to repair

what nature had given them

which was not so beautiful.

At first they had to be tall,

with pretty gestures,

good manners.

I had lots of noses done,

chins,

teeth,

*******.

There was a lot to do.



Eight times out of ten

I had to teach them how to behave in society.

There were official dinners, suppers, weekends,

and they needed to have conversation.

I insisted they learn to speak English,

read

certain books.

I interrogated them on what they read.

It wasn’t easy.

Each time something wasn’t working,

I was obliged to say so.



You were very demanding?

I was ferocious.



It’s difficult

to teach a girl how to walk into Maxim’s

without looking

ill at ease

when they’ve never been there,

to go into an airport,

to go to the Ritz,

or the Crillon

or the Dorchester.

To find yourself

in front of a king,

three princes,

four ministers,

and five ambassadors at an official dinner.

There were the wives of those people!

Day after day

one had to explain,

explain again,

start again.

It took about two years.

There would always be a man

who would then say of her,

‘But she’s absolutely exceptional. What is that girl doing here?’ ”





XXI.

A New York publisher who visited

the Palace Hotel

in Saint Moritz

in the early seventies told me,

I met a whole bunch of them there.

They were lovely.

The johns wanted everyone to know who they were.

I remember it being said

Giovanni’s Madame Claude girl is going to be there.

You asked them where they came from and they all said

Neuilly.

Claude liked girls from good families.

More to the point she had invented their backgrounds.



I have known,

because of what I did,

some exceptional and fascinating men.

I’ve known some exceptional women too,

but that was less interesting

because I made them myself.



Ah, this question of the handbag.

You would be amazed by how much dust accumulates.

Or how often women’s shoe heels are scuffed.





XXII.

She would examine their teeth and finally she would make them undress.



That was a difficult moment

When they arrived they were very shy,

a bit frightened.

At the beginning when I take a look,

it’s a question of seeing if the silhouette

and the gestures are pretty.

Then there was a disagreeable moment.

I said,

I’m sorry about this unpleasantness,

but I have to ask you to get undressed,

because I can’t talk about you unless I see you.

Believe me, I was embarrassed,

just as they were,

but it had to be done,

not out of voyeurism, not at all

—I don’t like les dames horizontales.



It was very funny

because there were always two reactions.

A young girl,

very sure of herself,

very beautiful,

très bien,

would say

Yes,

Get up, and get undressed.

There was nothing to hide, everything was perfect.



There were those who

would start timidly

to take off their dress

and I would say

I knew already.

The rest is not sadism, but nearly.

I knew what I was going to find.

I would say,

Maybe you should take off your bra,

and I knew it wasn’t going to be

beautiful.

Because otherwise she would have taken it off easily.

No problem.

There were damages that could be mended.

There were some ******* that could be redone,

some not

Sometimes it can be deceptive,

you know,

you see a pretty girl,

a pretty face,

all elegant and slim,

well dressed,

and when you see her naked

it is a catastrophe.



I could judge their physical qualities,

I could judge if she was pretty, intelligent, and cultivated,

but I didn’t know how she was in bed.

So I had some boys,

good friends,

who told me exactly.

I would ring them up and say,

There’s a new one.

And afterwards they’d ring back and say,

Not bad,

Could be better, or

Nulle.



Or,

on the contrary,

She’s perfect.

And I would sometimes have to tell the girls

what they didn’t know.

A pleasant assignment?

No.

They paid.



XXIII.

Often at the beginning

they had an ami de coeur

in other words,

oh,

a journalist, a photographer, a type like that,

someone in the cinema,

an actor, not very well known.

As time went by

It became difficult

because they didn’t have a lot of time for him.

The fact of physically changing,

becoming prettier,

changing mentally to live with millionaires,

produced a certain imbalance

between them

and the little boyfriend

who had not evolved

and had stayed in his milieu.

At the end of a certain time

she would say,

I’m so much better than him. Why am I with this boy?

And they would break up by themselves.



Remember,

this was instant elevation.

For most of them it was a dream existence,

provided they liked the ***,

and those that didn’t never lasted long.

A lot of the clients were young,

and didn’t treat them like tarts but like someone from their own class.

They would buy you presents,

take you on trips.



XXIV.

For me, *** was something very accessoire

I think after a certain age

there are certain spectacles one should not give to others

Now I have a penchant for solitude.

Love, it’s a complete destroyer,

It’s impossible,

a horror,

l’angoisse.

It’s the only time in my life I was jealous.

I’m not a jealous person, but I was épouvantable.

He was jealous too.

We broke plates over each other’s heads;

we became jealous about each other’s pasts.

I said one day

It’s finished.

Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and say:

Break my legs,

give me scarlet fever,

an attack of TB, but never that.

Not that.



XXV.

I called her into my office

Let us not exaggerate,

I sent her away.

She came back looking for employment,

but was fired again, this time for drugs.

She made menacing phone calls.

Then she arrived at the Rue de Boulainvilliers with a gun.

She shot three bullets

I was dressed in the fashion of Courrèges at this moment

He did very padded things.

I had a padded dress with a little jacket on top.

The bullet

—merci, Monsieur Courrèges

—stuck in the padding.

I was thrown forward onto the telephone.

I had one thought which went through my head:

I will die like Kennedy.

I turned round and put my hand up in a reflex.

The second bullet went through my hand.

I have two dead fingers.

It’s most useful for removing bottle tops.

In the corridor I was saved from the third bullet

because she was very tall

and I am quite petite, so it passed over my head.



XXVI.

There were men

who could decapitate,

****, and bomb their rivals

who would be frightened of me.

I would ask them how was the girl,

and they’d say

Not bad

and then

But I’m not complaining.

I was a little sadistic to them sometimes.

Some women have known powerful men because they’re their lover.

But I’ve known them all.

I had them all

here.



She will take many state secrets with her.



XXVI.

I don’t like ugly people

probably because when I was young

I wasn’t beautiful at all.

I was ugly and I suffered for it,

although not to the point of obsession.

Now that I’m an old woman,

I’m not so bad.

And that’s why

I’ve always been surrounded by people

Who

were

beautiful.

And the best way to have beautiful people around me

was to make them.

I made them very pretty.





XXVII.

I wouldn’t call what Alex gives you

‘advice,’

She spares you Nothing.

She makes a list of what she wants done,

and she really gets into it

I mean, she wants you to get your arms waxed.

She gives you names of people who do good facials.

She tells you what to buy at Neiman Marcus.

She’s put off by anything flashy,

and if you don’t dress conservatively, she’s got no problem telling you,

in front of an audience,

You look like a cheap *****!

I used to wear what I wanted when I went out

then change in the car into a frumpy sweater

when I went to give her the money she’d always go,

Oh, you look beautiful!



Marry your boyfriend,

It’s better than going to prison.

When you go out with her,

she’ll buy you a present; she’s incredibly generous that way.

And she’ll always tell you to save money and get out.

It’s frustrating to her when girls call at the end of the month

and say they need rent money.

She wants to see you do well.





We had a schedule, with cards that indicated a client’s name,

what he liked,

the names of the girls he’d seen,

and how long he’d been with them.

And I only hired girls who had another career

—if my clients had a choice between drop-dead-gorgeous

and beautiful-and-interesting,

they’d tend to take beautiful-and-interesting.

These men wanted to talk.

If they spent two hours with a girl,

they usually spent only five or ten minutes in bed.



I get the feeling that in Los Angeles, men are more concerned with looks.



XXVIII.

That was my big idea

Not to expand the book by aggressive marketing

but to make sure that nobody

mistook my girls for run-of-the-mill hookers.

And I kept my roster fresh.

This was not a business where you peddle your ***,

get exploited,

and then are cast off.

I screen clients. I’ve never sent girls to weirdos.

I let the men know:

no violence,

no costumes,

no fudge-packing.

And I talked to my girls. I’d tell them:

Two and a half years and you’re burned out.

Save your money.

This is like a hangar

—you come in, refuel, and take off.

It’s not a vacation, it’s not a goof.

This buys the singing lessons,

the dancing lessons,

the glossies.

This is to help you pay for what your parents couldn’t provide.

It’s an honorable way station—a lot of stars did this.



XXIX.

To say someone was a Claude girl is an honour, not a slur.



Une femme terrible.

She despised men and women alike.

Men were wallets. Women were holes.



By the 80s,

if you were a brunette,

the sky was the limit.

The Saudis

They’d call for half a dozen of Alex’s finest,

ignore them all evening while they

chatted,

ate,

and played cards,

and then, around midnight,

take the women inside for a fast few minutes of ***.



They’d order women up like pizza.



Since my second husband died,

I only met one man who was right for me,

He was a sheikh.

I visited him in Europe

twenty-eight times

in the five years I knew him

and I never slept with him.

He’d say

I think you fly all the way here just to tease me,

but he introduced me

by phone

to all his powerful friends.

When I was in Los Angeles, he called me twice a day.

That’s why I never went out

he would have been disappointed.



***.

Listen to me

This is a woman’s business.

When a woman does it, it’s fun

there’s a giggle in it

when a man’s involved,

he’s ******,

he’s a ****.

He may know how to keep girls in line,

and he may make money,

but he doesn’t know what I do.

I tell guys: You’re getting a nice girl.

She’s young,

She’s pleasant,

She can do things

she can certainly make love.

She’s not a rocket scientist, but she’s everything else.



The world’s richest and most powerful men, the announcer teased.

An income “in the millions,” said the arresting officer.

Pina Colapinto

A petite call girl,

who once slid between the sheets of royalty,

a green-eyed blonde helped the police get the indictment.

They really dolled her up

She looks great.

Never!

What I told her was: ‘Wash that ******.’





XXXI.

Madam Alex died at 7 p.m.

Saturday at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center,

where she had been in intensive care after recent open heart surgery

We all held her hand when they took her off the life support

This was the passing of a legend.

Because she was the mother superior of prostitution.

She was one of the richest women on earth.

The world came to her.

She never had to leave the house.

She was like Hugh Hefner in that way.


It's like losing a friend

In all the years we played cat and mouse,

she never once tried to corrupt me.

We had a lot of fun.


To those who knew her

she was as constant

as she was colorful

always ready with a good tidbit of gossip

and a gourmet lunch for two.

She entertained, even after her conviction on pandering charges,

from the comfy depths of her blue four-poster bed at her home near Doheny Drive,

surrounded by knickknacks and meowing cats,

which she fed fresh shrimp from blue china plates.



XXXII.

She stole my business,

my books,

my girls,

my guys.

I had a good run.

My creatures.

Make Mommy happy

Oh! He is the most enchanting cat that I have ever known.



She was, how can I say it,

classy.

When she first hired me

she thought I was too young to take her case.

I was 43.

I'm going to give you some gray hairs by the time this is over.

She was right.





XXXIII.

I was fond of Heidi

But she has a streak that is so vindictive.



If there is pure evil, it is Madame Alex.





XXXIV.

I was born and raised in L.A.

My dad was a famous pediatrician.

When he died, they donated a bench to him at the Griffith Park Observatory.



I think that Heidi wanted to try her wings

pretty early,

and I think that she met some people

who sort of took all her potential

and gave it a sharp turn



She knew nothing.

She was like a little parrot who repeated what she was supposed to say.



Alex and I had a very intense relationship;

I was kind of like the daughter she loved and hated,

so she was abusive and loving at the same time.



Look, I know Madam Alex was great at what she did

but it's like this:

What took her years to build,

I built in one.

The high end is the high end,

and no one has a higher end than me.

In this business, no one steals clients.

There's just better service.



XXXV.

You were not allowed to have long hair

You were not allowed to be too pretty

You were not allowed to wear too much makeup or be too glamorous

Because someone would fall in love with you and take you away.

And then she loses the business



XXXVI.

I was pursued because

come on

in our lifetime,

we will never see another girl of my age

who lived the way I did,

who did what I did so quickly,

I made so many enemies.

Some people had been in this line of business

for their whole lives, 30 or 40 years,

and I came in and cornered the market.

Men don't like that.

Women don't like that.

No one liked it.



I had this spiritual awakening watching an Oprah Winfrey video.

I was doing this 500-hour drug class

and one day the teacher showed us this video,

called something like Make It Happen.

Usually in class I would bring a notebook

and write a letter to my brother or my journal,

but all of a sudden this grabbed my attention

and I understood everything she said.

It hit me and it changed me a lot.

It made me feel,

Accept yourself for who you are.

I saw a deeper meaning in it

but who knows, I might have just been getting my period that day!



XXXVII.

Hello, Gina!

You movie star!

Yes you are!

Gina G!

Hello my friend,

Hello my friend,

Hello my movie star,

Ruby! Ruby Boobie!

Braaawk!

Except so many women say,

Come on, Heidi

you gotta do the brothel for us; don't let us down.

It would be kind of fun opening up an exclusive resort,

and I'll make it really nice,

like the Beverly Hills Hotel

It'll feel private; you'll have your own bungalow.

The only problem out here is the climate—it's so brutal.

Charles Manson was captured a half hour from Pahrump.



I said, Joe! What are you doing?

You gotta get, like,

a garter belt and encase it in something

and write,

This belonged to Suzette Whatever,

who entertained the Flying Tigers during World War II.

Get, like, some weird tools and write,

These were the first abortion tools in the brothel,

you know what I mean?

Just make some **** up!

So I came out here to do some research

And then I realized,

What am I doing?

I'm Heidi Fleiss. I don't need anyone.

I can do this.

When I was doing my research, in three months

I saw land go from 30 thousand an acre

to 50 thousand an acre,

and then it was going for 70K!

It's urban sprawl

—we're only one hour from Las Vegas.

Out here the casinos are only going to get bigger,

prostitution is legal, it's only getting better.





XXXVIII.

The truth is

deep down inside,

I just can't do business with him

He's the type of guy who buys Cup o' Noodles soup for three cents

and makes his hookers buy it back from him for $5.

It's not my style at all.

Who wants to be 75 and facing federal charges?

It was different at my age when I

at least...come on, I lived really well.

I was 22,

25 at the time?

It was fun then, but now I wouldn't want

to deal with all that *******

—the girls and blah blah blah.

But the money was really good.



I would've told someone they were out of their ******* mind

if they'd said in five years I'd be living with all these animals like this.

It's hard-core; how I live;

It's totally a nonfunctional atmosphere for me

It's hard to get anything done because

It’s so time-consuming.

I feel like they're good luck though....

I do feel that if I ever get rid of them,

I will be jinxed and cursed the rest of my life

and nothing I do will ever work again.



Guys kind of are a hindrance to me

Certainly I have no problem getting laid or anything.

But a man is not a priority in my life.

I mean, it's crazy, but I really have fun with my parrots.



XXXIX.

I started a babysitting circle when I wasn't much older than 9

And soon all the parents in the neighborhood

wanted me to watch over their children.

Even then I had an innate business sense.

I started farming out my friends

to meet the demand.

My mother showered me with love and my father,

a pediatrician,

would ask me at the dinner table,

What did you learn today?

I ran my neighborhood.

I just pick up a hustle really easily,

I was a waitress and I met an older guy who looked like Santa Claus.



Alex was a 5' 3" bald-headed Filipina

in a transparent muu muu.

We hit it off.

I didn't know at the time that I was there to pay off the guy's gambling debt.

It's in and out,

over and out.

Do you think some big-time producer

or actor is going to go to the clubs and hustle?



Columbia Pictures executive says:

I haven’t done anything that should cause any concern.

Jeez, it's like the Nixon enemies list.

I hope I'm on it.

If I'm not, it means I must not be big enough

for people to gossip about me.



That's right ladies and gentlemen.

I am an alleged madam and that is a $25 *****!

If you live out here,

you've got to hate people.

You've got to be pretty antisocial

How you gonna come out here with only 86 people?

That's Fred.

He's digging to China.

You look good.

Yeah, you too.

It's coming along here.

Yeah, it is.

I wanted to buy that lot there, but I guess it's gone?

That's mine, man! That's all me.

Really?

I thought there was a lot between us.

No. We're neighbors.



He's a cute guy

He's entertaining.

See, I kind of did do something shady to him.

I thought my property went all the way back

and butted up against his.

But there was one lot between us right there.

He said he was buying it,

but I saw the 'For Sale' sign still up there,

So I went and called the broker and said,

I'm an all-cash buyer.

So I really bought it out from under him.

But he's got plenty of room, and I need the space for my parrots.

Pahrump will always be Pahrump, but Crystal is going to be nice

All you need are four or five fancy houses and it'll flush everyone out

and it'll be a nice area.

They're all kind of weird here, but these people will go.

Like this guy here,

someone needs to **** him.

I was just saying to my dad that these parrots are born to a really ******-up world

He goes, Heidi, no, no; the world is a beautiful garden.

It's just, people are destroying it.

I’m looking into green building options

I don't want anything polluting,

I want a huge auditorium,

but it'll be like a jungle where my birds can really fly!

Where they can really do what they're supposed to do.

There were over 300 birds in there!

That lady,

She ran the exotic-birds department for the Tropicana Hotel,

which is a huge job.

She called me once at 3:30 in the morning

Come over here and help me feed this baby!

Some baby parrot.

And I ran over there in my pajamas

—I knew there was something else wrong

and she was like

Get me my oxygen!

Get me this, get me that.

I called my dad; he was like,

I don't know, honey, you better call the paramedics.

They ended up getting a helicopter.

And they were taking her away

in the wind with her IV and blood and everything

and she goes, Heidi, you take care of my birds.

And she dies the next day.

She was just a super-duper person.



XL.

I relate to the lifestyle she had before,

Now, I'm just a citizen.

I'm clean,

I'm sober,

I'm married,

I work at Wal-Mart.

I'm proud to say I know her. I look into her eyes

and we relate.





I got out in 2000,

so I've been sending her money for seven years

She was…whatever.

Girlfriend?

Yeah, maybe.

But ***, I tried like two times,

and I'm just not gay.

She gets out in about eight or nine months

and I told her I would get her a house.

But nowhere near me.

I didn't touch her,

but I'd be, like...

a funny story:

I told her,

Don't you ever ******* think

about contacting me in the real world.

I'm not a lesbian.

Then about two years ago, I got an e-mail from her,

or she called me and said, 'Google my name.'

So I Googled her name,

and she has this huge company.

Huge!

She won, like, Woman of the Year awards.

So I called her and I go,

Not bad.

She goes, 'Well, I did all that because you called me a loser.'

I go, '****, I should've called you more names

you probably would've found the cure for cancer by now.



XLI.

No person shall be employed by the licensee

who has ever been convicted of

a felony involving moral turpitude

But I qualify,

I mean, big deal, so I'm a convicted felon.

Being in the *** industry, you can't be so squeaky-clean.

You've got to be hustling.

Nighttime is really enchanting here

It's like a whole 'nother world out here, it really is

I’m so far removed from my social life and old surroundings.

Who was it, Oscar Wilde, I think, who said

people can adjust to anything.

I was perfectly adjusted in the penitentiary,

and I was perfectly adjusted to living in a château in France.



We had done those drug addiction shows together

Dr. Drew.

Afterward we were friendly

and he'd call me every now and then.

He'd act like he had his stuff together.

But it was all a lie.

Everything is a lie.

I brought him to a Humane Society event at Paramount Studios last year.

He was just such a mess.

So out of it.

He stole money from my purse.

He's such a drug addict because he's so afraid of being fat.

He liked horse ****, though. He did like horse ****.

This one woman that would have *** with a horse on the internet,

He told me that’s his favorite actress.

Better than Meryl Streep.



XLII.

The cops could see

why these women were taking over trade.

Girls with these looks charged upwards of $500 an hour.

The Russians had undercut them with a bargain rate of $150 an hour.

One thing they are not is lazy.

In the USSR

they grew up with no religion, no morality.

Prostitution is not considered a bad thing.

In fact, it’s considered a great way to make money.

That’s why it’s exploding here.

What we saw was just a tip of the iceberg.

These girls didn’t come over here expecting to be nannies.

They knew exactly what they wanted and what they were getting into.

The madam who organized this raid

was making $4 million a year,

laundered through Russian-owned banks in New York City

These are brutal people.

They are all backstabbers.

They’re entrepreneurs.

They’re looking at $10,000 a month for turning tricks.

For them, that’s the American dream.



XLIII.

If you’re not into something,

don’t be into it

But,

if you want to take some whipped cream,

put it between your toes,

have your dog licking it up and,

at the same time,

have your girlfriend poke you in the eye,

then that’s fine.

That’s a little weird but we shouldn’t judge.



She was my best friend then

and I consider her one of my best friends now,

because when I was going through Riker’s

and everyone abandoned me,

including my boyfriend,

I was hysterical,

crying,

and she was the one that was there.

And, when somebody needed to step up to the plate,

that’s who did, and I have an immense amount of

loyalty, respect, and love for her.

And if she’s going to prison for eight years

—that’s what she’s sentenced for

—I’ll go there,

and I’ll go there every week,

for eight years.

That’s the type of person I am.

Anonymous camaraderie,
New friends pour from cyberspace.
Tweets flutter rampantly,
In this most ambiguous place.
Strangers in passing,
Or is it kismet?
Can’t you tell what I am saying?
Innuendo among keystrokes.
And you thought I was playing.
LOL

My world is all digital,
Evocatively simple,
Demanding your principle,
Ingrained as symbol,
A**ll in code.

1/6/2016

"god, i hate everyone. i cant stand being around people"
"same here, they repulse me. lets hang out some time"
seems...contradictory
why would i want to better know someone who hates people
when i hate people?
isnt that a recipe for disaster?
sure its a commonality but...

i still dont know what the allure is
i feel like an audience member
my voice drowned out by the crowd around
is it lonliness?
cant be.
when im around people i look for that.
but when im alone i search for company
not even sure what i want anymore
bouncing around from different states of mind
wants and needs constantly changing...
accepting that i can never have a normal relationship or interaction with other people
acceptance is much easier than fighting
the makings of an antisocial

Sometimes we reach our limits,
Sometimes we crack under pressure,
Sometimes we can't stay to bare the pain'
We lose the power to fight it.
Consequences of holding your thought on the inside.

In a house full of family, We don't belong
In a school full of friends we can't relate,
In a world full of people choose to be alone,
Consequences of being antisocial

                                                     ­                             Jonesy 2016 ©

Distant, Detached, Unfriendly, Unapproachable, Unsympathetic, Withdrawn, Antisocial....

I keep my distance for fear of being hurt by those I let my walls down for.

I am detached from worldly possessions because they cause pain when lost.

I am unfriendly due to my inability to smile through the bad times.

I am unapproachable to those with judging eyes.

I am unsympathetic to those that have their needs met.

I am withdrawn so that no one can see my past.

I am antisocial due to my observant nature

I am aloof

it's not that I'm antisocial
that I want to be alone
or friends are an intrusion
to my fragile state of mind
it's just that I'm protecting you
from the madness behind
my eyes

Ruler of water
Walking on air
Antisocial Alien
She'll tell you to grow a pair

Not of this planet
She's ready to leave
Bored with human nature
Atmosphere hard to breath

Extraterrestrial
Don't touch her, she's cold
Unresponsive emotions
Can't fit in your mould

Ruler of water
Floating on air
Riddled with anxiety
Life just isn't fair

A Queen, individual
Heart racing, can't breathe
She knows what she can be
She just wants to leave

Anxious Aquarius
Lady of air
Can't breath your atmosphere
And you can't reach her
Hemosphere

I hate social events,
but I'm in the club,
Where they're filling cups,
and throwing up,
Picking up,
and throwing love.
               Who had enough?

While I'm just sitting
talking to nobody,
Feeling like nobody,
drinking until I can't
feel my body,
My eyes are looking
for somebody,
to make me feel like
something,
When I'm feeling nothing.
              Small talk, has me rushing.

Everyone feels like a model,
holding an empty bottle,
With gas in their lungs,
about to hit the throttle,
Kissing their friends,
and fighting couples.
                      I'm about to *****.

I'm feeling extra single,
don't know how to mingle,
with sharp words at the,
Tip of my tongue like a needle.
                  Turned off by a lot of people.

Smiling for my friends,
the one's who misbehave,
Going on a rave,
wanting to go to jail,
Drinking below our age.
                   We're not the same.

Lord forgive us,
for one night stands,
Breaking heart shells
like these peanuts,
We know a lot of those girls,
might actually deceive us,
It won't matter when she's
getting the business.
               Just to feed a *****.

I'm still antisocial for the event,
dragged in by my friends,
When the party began,
God, I wish it would just end,
Spending our weekday bread,
I just want to go home to eat,
and watch some series on my bed.
                      But I'm out here instead.

So if you see the tear
in my red eye,
I'm sad and really tired,
waiting for someone to,
bring up their violence.

Conversation,
are my greatest fear,
I seem to know how,
to only sigh,
Just as,
I've always been wired,
Quietly,
watching you,
Driving the night crazy,
without a licence.

                               And I'm just antisocial.

I've had enough people to last a lifetime

She sat across me
in Starbucks
for 10 minutes.
I smiled shyly.
She said nothing.
Held a black plastic bag close.
No coffee.
I wanted to say:
Hey, how you doin?
But I thought such electricity
might shock the plugged round us.
I wanted to say:
Hey you ok?
Cause she wasnt
Looking at a phone
Sittin alone.
She didnt drink anything.
Where was she before?
Looking up at an
Angle like her bun
Weary like
Military fatigues.
I wanted to ask
Where she come from.
I pretended to read.
And everytime I
Looked up she was
Lookin at me.
Black eyes waiting
Expectantly
To hear a salute
To humanity.
My lips parted
But my thumbs
Texted: Hey how
You doing? to an
Acquaintence in England
With the same brown skin.
In front of me she sat
Time to waste and
I feared wasting her time.
So after 10 minutes
With no glance back she rose and left
Three bags she shouldered.
Must have been a traveler.
I wished I had heard her story.

Hey
I’m sorry if I interrupted your class with text messages
because you hate putting your phone on silent
it’s just that I should be there with you
laughing at your confused faces during Calculus I and
staring at your look of sheer concentration during Creative Writing
You were always the poet, not me
But it’s 1pm and I’m stuck in Calculus with someone else as my partner
who doesn't get nearly as confused as you and puts me to shame
which ****** me off because you would never correct me in Calculus
and so I can’t help but wonder who your new partner is
Is she smarter
Is she funnier
Do you quote Shakespeare to her like you did to me?
Is she better than me?
There’s no doubt that a. I ******* it all up and that b. you’ll move on from me
because you were always the popular one, I was the antisocial outcast that most people barely
tolerated
For some unknown reason you decided to become my friend that faithful day in
Calculus I
and ever since then you became my 3am conversations and midnight laugh

I depended on you much more than you did on me
I cared so much more
and maybe that was my fatal flaw
because if I hadn't cared so much
then maybe I wouldn't feel like screaming and throwing my partner’s textbook
at the teacher
but I did
I cared too much; against all warnings not to and now I’m wrecked
then again, I always was in a way
I just didn't know it

You told me that it didn't matter
that they couldn't separate us; no matter what
that you would never let me go
and you kept your promise
but I can’t keep mine

The words “I’m sorry”
come to my head
but those aren't the right words
because I’m more than sorry
I’m bleeding
I’m crying
I’m devastated
I’m torn
I’m broken
and perhaps that’s why I can’t keep my
Okay?Okay promise to you
because no, I am not okay
and you deserve so much more
and this is not okay
me lying to you through a computer screen is
not okay
me putting my gashes of regret on my arm is
not okay
me making you wait only for you to find a fraction of the girl I was is
not okay

and that is why
today during Calculus I
I will finish this ****** poem
and excuse myself and go to the girls’ bathroom
and cry my eyes out after sending this to you

I should end this with a ‘goodbye’
because there’s no use giving you false hope
but I can’t bring myself to end there
so I’ll just say something
and hope that you still remember what it means

P.S. I’ll always love you

(h.l.)

it's so hard for me to start conversations because i'm hopelessly picky.
if i talk to you, i want to talk about something that will keep the conversation going.
i hate when there's silence, and i hate when i struggle to find something to reply with.
i hate when you send "yeah" or "okay" because that means this conversation is over and i have to struggle to start a new one.
i don't want to bore you with my weak attempts at keeping you close.
i want you to talk to me, i want you to want to talk to me.
i want enthusiasm and i don't want to have to rattle my brain to keep it up, because it was never like that.
but it's not as easy as it used to be.
i revel in the rare days that we talk nonstop for hours.
the days where conversation is so simple and never wears out.
but i know that after a day like that
there's only silence until one of us figures out something else to say.

i am getting close to hopeless
my emotions are out of focus
soaking in the frozen coldness
poison potion, no open closeness

no hand to hold or chosen motions
coping with a social corrosion
broken soul of eroded notions
lowly tows of imploding oceans

I’m not broken
I’m a puzzle not to be solved
I’m a bird of…
Preying on rain…
But the clouds elude my webs
I’m the underside of an antisocial umbrella
What with the moisture-averse lovers nowadays
I shoo them off and twist my spokes
And finally I’m no longer pretending completeness for the sake of my surroundings
Because She comes clad timeless
Comes with the thunder
And She tastes like all or nothing

When you hear about it, you just shake it off
Shake it off like it’s nothing
You know about it, then shrug and go on
But have you ever thought about how they felt
How they felt when they swallowed the pills
Overdosing
When they ate and gave it up again
Over and over
When they went through bottle after bottle
Slipping farther away
When they took the blade, and dragged it over their wrist
Slitting the veins
Have you never thought about what it is like
To pick up a blade, to drag it over your skin
Letting the sting register
Watching, with a sick fascination, as the beads
The beads of crimson blood drip down your arm
Mixing with the tears pouring
Pouring, as you know, you know you’re not good enough
When you realize that you don’t belong
When you realize that you shouldn’t be alive
And you slit the veins
Repeatedly, hoping for it to happen, wanting to leave
Knowing that no one will care
That no one will miss you
Then you come to the prison
The prison called school
Where all you feel is everyone staring at you
Still thinking that you’re just some ******
Some creep that doesn't belong
They don’t know how hurt you are inside
They don’t know how much their words have pierced you
They don’t know that you want them to notice
That you want them to care
You just tug at the sleeves of your sweater
Even though it’s a hot summer day
Just tell yourself that it must stay on
That they can’t know
But they must know
And they might ask you about it
Why you’re different
Why you’re changed
Antisocial
And you want to tell them
You want someone to care
But you lie through your teeth
You lie as you feel the pain start to come
And you know that the lies are the only way to make it out
To make it out without more taunts
And before you regret anything, you go
You go and blend with the crowd
Already wishing you had said something
Anything
Just to keep someone there
Hoping that maybe someone would come
That someone wouldn’t want you to go
But the day drags on
And you just get more side glances
Snickers behind your back
And you finally run home
And burst into the bathroom
Where they wait, shining
Whispering your name
And you know that someone
Someone needs you there
And, already feeling the rush of emotion
You throw off the sweater, the armband
And you pick up the little blade
So much malice
So much relief, in something so small
And just push it into the soft flesh on your arm
Then drag it slowly
Letting yourself feel it
Make it be a punishment
For not being enough
For being a failure
For not being wanted
And you think back, back to the start of the day
When you just wanted to ask a simple question
When they told you to shut up
When they told you they didn’t care
When they told you to jump off a bridge
To just end your life
And as you sit there, hair falling over your face
You just see the earlier scars
Some thin and white
Some thicker, like little knots in your skin
And you go over them, over and over
Until your arm is covered in blood
And you just watch it
Letting it smear
Get on your shirt
Your shorts
And with every slice
You tell yourself not to be such a coward
To just face it
To do it
Because this is the relief
This is what you wait for all day
This is all that goes through your mind all day
Every day
The relief, once you’re alone
When you can hurt yourself, as much as you can
Because you hate yourself so much
Because you just want to leave
And it’s a relief, it really is
No one will understand
When you were younger
And you read about it
You heard about it
You thought how hard it must be
To hurt yourself knowingly, on purpose
But once you start
You can’t stop
Because it’s an addiction
And you can’t break free of its iron grip
And nothing anyone ever says will change it
We all say things we might not mean
We tell people that they are losers
That they are useless
That they should die
But there are people, sensitive, that will take it
The wrong way
Or maybe the right way
You don’t know their power
Their kindness
Until you experience it yourself
As you sit shaking, shuddering, wanting it to end
And they stay with you
Keeping you under control
Changing your mind
Saving a life
Just remember that everyone is hiding something
Whether it be a dark past
Or the loss of someone to suicide
Or the saving of a life
Or the want to slit yourself over and over
Everyone hides something
And in this room
There are doubtlessly several dark secrets
We all say it
We regret it
Or we don’t
I say it so many times
I regret it so many times
I don’t mean it
And you may have noticed
Or maybe you haven’t
Maybe you have and just didn’t bother saying anything
But I hide something
And I’m tired of lies
I’m tired of not having the truth out
I’m tired of having to hide it from everyone
Even my own family
Even the ones that I am supposed to trust the most
I can’t trust them
I can’t trust anyone
I’m too scared
But I’m tired of cowardice
I’m going to break soon
And keeping it in is too much strain
I can’t keep living like this
Maybe I’ll just let the world know
Or maybe it will never know
But some day….I’ll break
And maybe someone will come
And someone will regret something they said
But it’ll be too late
So just think about it
Suicide isn’t funny
Suicide isn’t a joke
Suicide isn’t romantic
Suicide isn’t attention seeking
Suicide isn’t something you just read on the news
It’s something that should be taken seriously
Suicide is real.

follow me.
please. i have no friends.
i work go home and get tense.
please. talk to me.
i have no chance at survival
this downward spiral
under wave that's tidal
there's gotta be another way that's viral
just rhyme on stage and become an idol.
follow me. follow me.
i promise light and night
and flames and ice
and whatever you need to keep the harrowing shrieks at bay
[little do they know it's he who press play]
controversial contraception
better cover your mouth if ya get to guessing
what's coming next - never gonna happen
- even I can't do it.

Stop describing your terrible ****** encounters
I know you've had other women since I ended things with you
You're acting like you don't have magazines stashed under your bed
What, when I was with you your hand was your secret lover
And now it's not enough?

I'm so cold. I just want the affirmation of another soul's proximity
Is anyone out there?
The spinning feeling increases its tempo
The awful silence crescendos
Bring me back, bring me back
I miss the Saturday night I spent on mushrooms.
Everything was alright in the world
Anonymous carefree the world was ablaze
I convinced myself I was a fire spirit and you were a deer
I'm not addicted: I only tried it once.


All I want is a cigarette and to go back to sleep.
The world will turn without me
Your heart will be cold either way
Why and I vying for your attentions?
I tell myself I'm too antisocial
Until I have asked every single last one of my faceless friends to come get me
I guess it's alright to take some time for yourself
Is this a manifestation of grief or depression?
Is anyone out there?
I prefer the company of strangers to those who I've already become disillusioned with
Will anyone feel my gentle tugging and lend me a hand?
Just a coffee
Just a smoke
Just a walk through the warming days
Spring cleaning
I've successfully ignored your texts for long enough
I think I'll sleep with you
Not because I think that's all I'm good for.

Is it really "being used" if you're aware of it?
Am I not using you as well?
I can't decide if this will turn out well.



To you: Help.

WITH CONTRIBUTIONS FROM MULTIPLE POETS

You don't cut, your wrists are fine.
          If I was dumb enough to cut my wrists I'd have been caught by now.
You're not anorexic, I've seen you eat.
          How much, really?
You're not depressed, you smile all the time.
          Yeah, because acting and lying aren't things.
     ~WickedHope

You can't have anxiety, you talk to so many people.
          Its funny how you see me talking, but don't see the panic attacks.
     ~aesha nisar

You have a good life. There's no reason to be sad.
          You're part of the reason why I'm depressed.
     ~Phoenix

You're not angry, you haven't raised your voice or yelled.
          Maybe the voices yelling in my head are so loud I can't do anything
          but focus on keeping them quiet.
You're not scarred from your past, you act normal.
          If normal is crying for hours at night till tears can't come anymore
          and apathy sets in, then yes I'm quite normal.
     ~Stardust

You are so lucky, it's so easy for you to be good at what you do.
          You don't see the intensity of doubt and countless hours of anxiety to
          get things to the point they're not too embarrassing to show someone.
     ~PrttyBrd

You're fine. You aren't depressed, just really sad.
          If I'm not depressed, just sad, then why am I here everyday?
          Why am I here crying to you when I should be out, living?
     ~Tiffany Smith

God I swear every guy you meet online just wants to bone you.
          You say that like its a good thing. All I want is someone I can trust,
          someone I can rely on, not someone who wants to bone me.
You have boyfriends from everywhere, india, japan, china...
          I have none. These are only friends, the only one I want is you.
Your so strong.
          Yea, 'cause going home to cry in a corner, then stuffing my face with ice
          cream while watching sad anime is totally legit.
Are you okay?
          No I'm not ok. I just want to punch both your eyes out, then cuddle with
          you and make out with your face. Then maybe I'll just take a long break
          to bawl my eyes out and get rid of all evidence, all but the telltale clue of
          how swollen my eyes are
     ~Creep that Loved You

Come on. You can go to school. You're not sick.
          Physically, no. Now mentally...
Why are you so good at everything?
          That's because you don't bother to look deeper.
You look fine.
          Oh yeah, the red eyes and dark circles just add to my beauty.
I love you.
          Yeah, it looked like it when you were 'out' with your 'friends.'
     ~maha salman

You're so resilient. You've been through so much pain, yet here you are living strong.
          That's because every time someone says, are you OK? I just smile and
          say I'm fine. But none of them can hear the screaming in my brain saying
          I should just die.
You're so beautiful.
          No.... The smile is fake, powder covers the circles under my eyes,
          mascara makes my eyes look bright and lip stick covers the bite marks
          on my lips from where I chew through them when I'm anxious, or
          panicking, or being asked questions. You would be repulsed by the
          beast underneath.
You're such a talented poet.
          If writing down my deepest darkest dreams, nightmares, fantasies and
          memories, make me a good poet, then yes. But all I write is the thoughts
          that scream to come out or my head will explode.
     ~The Girl Who Loved You

You have never felt real pain, you are a man not a wuss.
          The worst pain hits you in the heart not in the head... Whats a man
          without pride, whats a man without a name?
Get over her bro, shes just one girl.
          One girl that I chose to love out of the 7 billion other people in the
          world.
Open up your heart to new people new things.
          What's the point in meeting people, when in the end they all just leave?
You aren't alone.
          I'm not alone? You lie through your teeth, where where you when I sold
          my soul to the devil and condemned myself to the abyss?
We are proud of you always, son.
          Words I've never heard, just the echoes of my parents inside my head.
You live a great life.
          That's not the message the untouched prescribed sleeping pills and           ecstasy portray.
     ~grld

You're so patient.
          On the outside yes, in the recesses of my mind I'm screaming my
          head off... waiting for something that will never happen.
     ~Julian Pacheco

Who cares about the others? You're not like them you're different.
          What if I don't want to be different? What If I want to curl up into a
          ball and pretend I don't think I'm failing you every moment of the day.
Life's not fair.
          Well maybe it's time it should be. Maybe it's time for us to stop
          thinking that we deserve more because that's all we've ever known.
          Maybe it's our job to MAKE life fair.
Forget it, move on.
          I don't want to. Shouldn't everyone be able to hold onto the things they
          hold close? If they were holding it close it meant something and if it
          meant something good then it's worth fighting for.
Shut up.
          No. This time I won't be quiet because I sit here and I listen to what you
          say every day; you treat whoever you want however you want and that
          is not your right. Everyone has an opinion. I want to share mine.
     ~Forgotten Dreams

You're so confident.
          Only because you do not see the pain and turmoil it causes me
          inside, and the sores inside my cheeks to keep from crying.
Why are you shaking? It's not even cold.
          Because I'm scared, scared of scenarios untrue.
~Makayla

You're not sad, you look so happy.
          Tell that to the guys who keep pointing all my flaws, and laughing
          about it, leaving me speechless because I have nothing to say in return.
You're such a good writer.
          And look how handy that is, won't ever shut them up for good.
You still have so much to live for.
          To keep living like this, might be considered anything but living. You're
          all too perfect for this world, but you know what? My body can't keep
          living in a different place my soul is.
     ~A Sad Sam

Chill out man, it's just a couple people.
          To me, three people is like three thousand people. Their voices circulate
          in my head and drive me crazy until I can't help but break down. You're
          right, I should definitely just chill out because I don't know anything
          about the disorder that brings a constant burden to my days.
Why are you so antisocial? Get off the computer and do something productive for once
          Try the fact that everybody that surrounds me makes me feel like the life
          I live isn't worth living and the comfort of understand people on the
          internet keeps me sane.
You're so lazy.
          Don't you dare start on that, because every ******* day I wake up and
          breathe despite my lungs collapsing in on themselves from all the
          pressure people give me, and every single day I do the work I'm told to
          do and I'm trying my hardest but I'm fighting a war with myself and it
          takes up every ounce of energy I have left. Don't you dare tell me that
          I'm lazy when every day I take all the strength I have to keep on living.
     ~Emma Tauzell

They had never met, didn’t know each other’s name --
          Yet their eyes were already making love.
     ~Deborah

You can't really love someone you've never met.
          He's the first thing on my mind when I open my eyes, the last
          thing I think about before I go to sleep, he's in my thoughts all
          the moments in between, his face takes away the nightmares and
          fills all my dreams. How is this not love?
     ~Just Melz

Just forget about her and move on.
          How am I supposed to do that, when all I see is her and her
          precious qualities I so dearly love in every girl I talk to?
          Forgetting is a lot harder to do than finding.
     ~Neb Dnarts

A gregarious culture
connected to a stream,
an electric herding
of mediocre self esteems.

A network of fringe
for the modern conformity.
A new breed of introverts
plugging antisocial irony.

People say, bookworms are antisocial, quiet, and pretty much unattached.
these are not true, alright? no. bookworms are not like that.
let me enlighten you by telling you about the bookworm I fell for.

1. on meeting her for the first time, I was minding my own business. I was in class and it was the first day of school.
then all of a sudden, she suddenly points out the game I'm holding and screams *** *** ***! that game!! and after that we just talked on and on and on and on pretty much about random things. so no, they are not antisocial.
2. on trips to bookstores I'd always end up walking out of one with ym body hurting. why? Whenever she sees a book that she doesn't have, she'd gasp  point  grab  gasp  point  grab  and repeat. on seeing a book that she can't buy. she'd hit me with it! I mean who does that? on seeing a book that she's been looking for, for a long time, she'd throw a tantrum! so no, they are not quiet.
3. When you look into her eyes, you'd see all the things she's been through, the masks she wore, and the wrinkles in her smiles for faking them so much. It came be from a lot of things, A past lover, a long-term problem, an old friend, or betrayals. whether it's fiction or non-fiction it would pain her no matter how she lies about it. She's been attached to too many for too long a time, that she'd try her best not to get attached. So on a bookwrom being attached or unattached, in the end it's all up to you whether she becomes the first or the latter

The buzzing of the phone
a hand held device
that gets in the way of a hand holding life
and you can lie awake at night with thousands of "friends"
but I have a **** hard time believing
this was what Zuckerberg intends
when he says "what's on your mind?"
but nobody wants to know
unless your thoughts are endorsed
as was your image which was forced

filtering out reality
true colors getting dimmer
and when you're looking in the mirror
but you can't see yourself anymore
without the edits and "corrections"
and the comments "such a *****"
that creep into your subconscious
'til you can't take it anymore

and somewhere in the iCloud
a thing went very wrong
when you were sprawled out in bed naked
in your bra and in your thong
and now the whole world thinks they own you
and you've gone and lost yourself
and that phone has taken everything
forget connection, where's your health
healthy relationship
why's your bed so ******* cold
you've got your hand held device
but where's your real life hand to hold?

Laying down
Spending my time
Reading books
Browsing the internet
Watching the sun
Finally set
As my family
Sits outside
In a proper family circle
While I wait
For the night

I scoffed at my minor cough
Until I was immobile as a sloth
I had to press pause on my life's tale
After I became a beached whale
And my body turned frail
In my illness jail

My stoic resolve tested
My pain threshold crested
The way I act is antisocial
The way I feel is anti-hopeful
For I treat others poorly
When I'm hurting sorely

In sickness for health
I give away my wealth
To feel one hundred percent
That's the physician's intent
To make me experience drainage
But I need the healing medicine
So I can practice the discipline
Of removing my diseased shark's fin

Ramses II, known as Ramesses the Great
Had a permanently fractured finger
And his teeth were significantly rotten
The pharaoh's excruciating pain
Must have effected his reign
A massive amount of men slain
Is discomfort what's to blame?

When there's no pain relief
We give each other grief
And there's a lion with a thorn stuck in its paw
Eventually that simple thorn becomes a claw

Once again, four thirty-seven.
No one else but me.
No one else.

I open my palms upward to study how a reading's done
All I see are roads I have never traveled.
Did anyone ask for their fingerprints?
No one else but me.

Nose to the sky, rainfall and lakes collide
Please take me to the fire.
Locked inside, safe, alive.
No one else but me.

When your mother spits you out, she says the same thing your teachers said:
They say you are a snowflake.
If that's true, how did you end up so much like me (or vice versa; you did come first, after all)?
Life lost momentum when I met you: The world finally stopped screaming past.
So it's given me some time to reflect, and here I sit,
Just entertaining the notion that I would like to die with you.

I think of your eyes in my child, years into the future.
Long evenings by the fire, watching rain hit the windows and explode.
There you are, with your eyes full of tears, and I am just as lost.
Dream weddings, cold champagne...
A dinner table crammed together...they all talk with their mouths full. How cute.
A dark bedroom, those eyes...no lust, just a look.
That smile I wake up to every single day. Her head on my heart.
I do not want this to happen to me, if it can't be you.

You're scared to trust too much, you do it so often.
You think too much, you're anxious.
Sometimes lonely, sometimes for no real reason at all...
Like Sunday morning blues.

Could we be any more exactly the same?
Our differences still excite me. Noticing discrepancies makes my heart weak.
I love finding out new things about you. I could build an entire encyclopedia on you.
And we may be down some, but we're geniuses. Young and talented.
Brilliant and creative. We find pick-me-ups.

Sometimes I consider staying in bed and giving up
And then I just tell myself...
Every day brings me that much closer to you.

I don't know why I am so worried to miss out on the opportunity
That is your compassion.
I keep feeling you slipping away...but probably that's me being antisocial (pause for laughter)...
Well I am not scared anymore.
My soul has been opened and I am glowing inside... I feel ascension.
I have a road to follow...

And know if I am never a musician, or a firefighter, or an electrician, or any of those things I love...
I will be your husband.
And there will be NO divorce.

The snow is falling barely.
Like its indecisive.
I used to be that way, but you beckoned me inside.
No one else but you.

Loneliness is an illusion with you alive,
And let it be known that my soul is yours
Or God strike me down.
No one else but you.

It's warm here, in my arms...
You can barely keep your eyes open...
I carry you to our cold sheets.
No one else.

No one else but you.

(Defying fate; Forging destiny)

We blow ourselves away
Like blades of red grass
Gushing out of a lawnmower
After it's run over a neighbor's leg.

How dare you see if the prior verse
Was misread?

I'll have it be known
That unbeknownst
To you, whom this concerns,
That I'm of undecipherable wit
& pithy
Only known to the likes of
Your mother.

So leave me be,
Lest you'd enjoy a visit
To the infirmary.
I'll be better off without you
By my side,
Just leave me here alone.
Be gone so that I may begone,
As I lie down in tears to cry-
Beating down my fears,
O why won't they die?

Dear boy who I threw my virginity at,

I never expected you to like me,
I purposefully picked you because I thought you were a **** boy.
We'd **** and forget.
I was some random chubby senior
and you were some random ****** sophomore.
But then you didn't let me leave,
even when I tried, you only held me closer.

I liked you because I thought you must honestly like me.
I liked you because I could not see how someone like you
could like someone like me.
You went for the skinny, blonde, dumb ones,
I was not skinny, nor blonde, nor dumb.

And I liked your dumbness, your childish innocence,
even though I was way more innocent than you.
I liked that you defied all my expectations
when you were sweet, and vulnerable, and there.

And I loved when you were ratchet,
when you'd slap my *** in public,
or try to force your hand down my pants while I was driving or on the phone.
I loved it when we'd go to parties and not actually show up because we'd just be ******* in my car.

But I was leaving to college and refused to ever call you my boyfriend but I liked you.
I liked you because nothing about us made sense,
but we did it anyways.

and then I ****** someone else, just to show you have much I didn't care about us, but I did.

Dear man who I played,

You came to me when I was at a low,
low point in my life.
I believed nothing I did was wrong and everything about me was perfect.
I was fine,
even if everyone around me told me I was not.
I was not fine.

And then you came to me,
and you were everything I was supposed to avoid.
You were way older than me, worked for my father and even dated one of his exes, and your life was going nowhere.
You were perfect.

And I didn't like you that way, you never gave me butterflies,
you never made me giggle every time you slapped my ***,
but you made me *** and our relationship made me walk on egg shells.

And I saw you fall for me, I saw you wrap yourself around my finger
saying the whole time you expected nothing of me.
And maybe that was true, but you wanted it all, you wanted all of me
and I craved that.

And now every time I see your name pop up on my phone I feel grimy.
I feel grimy because I can finally feel the weight of how wrong you were for me,
I feel grimy because of the overwhelming guilt I feel for feeling disgusted by you,
someone I never liked but almost made fall in love with me.
because of the overwhelming guilt I have for being such a ****
and the shame of allowing myself to be so cold.

so I stopped responding.

Dear boy with the beautiful eyes,

I liked you, I really liked you.
I thought we fit together so nicely,
and yes, at first you were another that I was not supposed to go for.
You could have been fired and constantly had a gun on you.
You were supposed to be protecting us
and that was ****.

And then you whispered sweet things in my ear in your broken english,
and we spent a whole night only kissing, and I loved every minute,
yearning but not needing more.  
I could have kissed you forever.

then came the staring, you'd look at me and say nothing, and I was mesmerized.
and you'd trace my ****** features and I never felt more special, more wanted, more loved.
and I never wanted you to stop staring at me because I never wanted to stop staring at you.

and then I was at your house,
with your lovely, hippie family.
and you made me breakfast and tea, and we read together on the couch,
each in our own language.

and every time we ******, you'd look into me and I felt like maybe this is what people meant when they said making love.

You'd wrap me in your arms, and I never wanted to leave,
but ever comforted by the fact that in a few weeks I would be leaving
to a different country, to a different life, to somewhere where
I would not have to face my growing feelings for you.

and now I sit with a heavy heart, half way across the world, missing you and your beautiful eyes.

Dear boy who gives me bruises,

I think I like you, and it scares me because you do not live half way across the world.
You live down the hall.

It scares me because you are smart, weird, fun, and someone I could actually date.
And I don't date, I ****.

It scares me because I still have nightmares that your ex/my ex-bestfriend will still ****** me if she ever knew we were *******,
but thats another story.

I like the way you are unapologetically odd,
a slob and sometimes completely antisocial.
I'm always sad when you don't sleep over after ***
but I enjoy how awkwardly you say good night and leave.

But I love how ***** and rough our *** is.
it's not the best *** I've had,
but its *** with you that I always want to have
and its the same *** I fantasized about in high school while watching ****.

it's so twisted
and I twirl in the mirror, admiring the countless bruises covering my *** and spattering my collar bone.

We've boxed ourselves in this drunken corner
of such ****** up *** that I think were scared to do it sober.

I love our drunken after-*** rambles about philosophy and life
but as soon as the ***** runs out and the sun rises,
it's all the same awkward laugh and shifty gazes at the floor.

and I wonder what the **** I'm trying to do with you, this boy who loves memes and rough *** and has such a brilliant mind,
and the answer is I have no ******* idea.

And when I'm honest with myself, I think I like you because you don't like me so all this fear is for nothing.

but I wait for the ***** to flow again and the sun to set, and for us to do it all over again.

Sad, quiet, oddball, rude?
Maybe has a bad attitude?
Narcissist, egotistical, self-absorbed?
Or maybe just unexplored?
All introverted stereotypes, people don't understand how we live life.
Not antisocial, we hang with friends.
We just need a break, once the night ends.
Narcissistic? Now watch yourself.
We just can't handle too much, it effects mental health.
Introverts are special too.
Even though, they might be a little different than you.

peeling off labels is like peeling off skin of a 3rd degree sunburn
i hate how it looks
and it's gonna hurt like hell
but i don't want the evidence there
why do i even care so much?

dear society
rip
i am not "anorexic"
tear
i have metabolism issues

the stickiness gums up
i didn't ask for this
shred
i'm not "antisocial"
strip
but i like being alone

stab
i'm not teen angst
hack
i'm growing up
stop telling me
i have problems
scratch
i know i have problems

i'm not canned vegetables
why do you need to know my contents?
pick
i'm not yours to scrutinize
stop staring at my body
stop trying to get into my head

stop slapping **** on me
and expecting me to fit into the little labeled box
i'm not
your labels