this hell scream

here i am way too late reaching out for nonexistent connections when all i really need is paper paper paper. i need to share and no ones there. it's too dark actually to write right here.

some man with curly hair and mountain talk put his hands on my legs, said "you look good tonight," said, "i like your skirt," so i spent my evening being nice while putting myself at a distance. what could i do. i did my best. what could i do. couplet i have done more. what could i do better. what could i not fail at. what could i
how could i not
how could i

man i'm having another rough day. i've been trying to sort through papers and finding a lot of intense writing from this past year. i'm kind of leaning into the feelings and doing a lot of looking back which might be dangerous but i am telling myself it's important to piece it together and process it. like if i let myself fully feel it now, now that i can actually look at the past without having a panic attack, i can just get it over with and put it to rest for good?? is that how this works ??? 

everything you are is a lie.
i've gone invisible. i'm back down the well, i'm going all the way.

rage share

i went to my favorite cozy dive bar on halloween bc i didn't feel like being around a ton of people (still in recovery and feeling social anxiety constantly lately) and we were having a great time in the practically empty bar. after a while a bunch of folks showed up after a concert ended, the vibe in the bar changed a little but it was still chill, singing with the jukebox and making fun of horror movies on tv. then the door swung upon and i heard a voice i hadn't heard in years... i tried to convince myself it was someone else. i looked my bff in the eyes and said "please tell me this is not happening" but it didn't click instantly for them. it wasn't until the dude sat behind my friend at the bar next to us that they realized it was the person we used to know so well, who dated and cheated on more than one of my best friends, who violated my consent over 10 years ago, whose friends and crushes stay the same age as he gets older, who is now apparently happily married and childrened. oh lovely. i could leave, but i will not let this person ruin my good time. i continue to clown and laugh and make merry. it's halloween and the veil is thin and i'm feeling good. suddenly a hand on my shoulder, a towering oppressive presence which is DUDE, pushing himself between me and my buddy, with, "i know we aren't really friends anymore, but i just wanted to say happy halloween" or some shit. the words become fuzzy in my mind as i try to comprehend what is happening. autopilot kicks in and i'm clinking beers "happy halloween!" attempting to smile, not making eye contact, just hoping he will go away, which he finally does. but he's still there at the bar behind my friend (and mind you, this a tiny fuxking bar the size and shape of a hallway) so i can see when he glances at us and whispers to his date, and when he's surrounded by so many young friends in his crossdress costume. whatever. i don't know this person anymore. he could be anything. i tell loud jokes to the tv and make a fan at the other end of the bar. the night skips on in stops and starts. some moments i'm fine, i'm glorious, and others i'm staring into the ash tray, begging my friend, "please talk to me, just say anything" trying not to fall into the abyss i'm dancing the edge of. staying is dangerous territory. when the night is near done, me and my bud are counting our quarters and trying to remember how many beers we had, when the bartender says "oh don't worry about it." we don't know what to do but stare at him. what do you mean? "oh DUDE just paid for your beers, don't worry about it." i don't know what to say or where to look. my friend starts to try to argue but i think i must've told them not to worry about it bc i didn't want to draw more attention to ourselves. i'm just blank, gone. i can still feel DUDE in the room. i know i'm being weird. to leave would mean walking right past him. plus i'm still finishing this beer. it feels like forever, we're all just sitting at the bar in silence. some part of my brain is telling me, "just smile, just say thank you" to cut the tension, but i know that would be a lie and i resist the urge to "make things nice." finally finally finally his date comes out of the bathroom and they leave. IMMEDIATELY the bartender asks "what was that?!?" like we've done something wrong. this is a hard question. i'm still shaken up. i start about how i don't know him now but many people had issues in the past, and i'm interrupted. "you know, the way i see it, if it's been over a year, unless it's rape or murder, there's no reason to be upset anymore." i'm turned into a blustering fool trying to validate my reasons. i reiterate that i don't know what dude is doing now and maybe he's way cool BUT he has violated the consent of many women i know, myself included, and never taken accountability for it. the bartender keeps pushing me to be specific, tell him more because it's "his bar" and he has to "keep people safe" and therefore i "have to tell" him what happened. this is a lot. this is so much. each time i start a sentence, he interrupts me. i tell him i'm speaking slowly because this is hard but he keeps interrupting me, "just tell me!" and i finally crack. i can't take it. i am present enough to say something like "i really shouldn't have to say this but apparently you won't believe me unless i tell you that i was recently diagnosed with PTSD bc of shit he did to me even though i've told you he hurt me and my friends in the past and no i don't know what he's about now so i'm not saying you need to kick him out of the bar forever, so i don't know what more you need to know." and i get some response like "see that's all i was asking for" like it was so easy and i only made it harder on myself. it gets pretty fuzzy. i feel like hell. i get home and keep drinking not to think. i feel like i can't ever go back there. i am afraid to go out at all anymore, either bc i will run into the DUDE and also bc it feels like people are so unsupportive of survivors. blahhhh. do yall have suggestions for how you handle these kinds of encounters and feelings?

we like shapes in the night

we drank half a 30 rack and we smoked more than half a pack of cigarettes between the liquor store walk at 10pm and the sun coming up at 7am before we crashed to the mattress on the floor and took our clothes off, for the second time, i think?
we sat on the bench where we'd been painting boards for the bedroom trim and i was wallowing and you held me and told me you wanted to help and nuzzled my head until our lips found each other. 
(what was the moment in which this became inevitable? the last beer, or the first? meeting eyes in the kitchen and feeling seen? the night you don't remember, when i tickled you to capture your nonexistent keys?)
i don't remember what came next. chainsmoking and natty bo in my unfinished new room, top floor of middle house, sitting on the roof to watch dawn creep over the highway, wearing only jeans and a hoodie. i don't remember when my shirt came off.
we were too many beers in to be doing what we did. we crashed to the mattress on the floor tangled tickling kissing and i fell into a dream, walking to a job interview at the neighborhood grocery. to apply i had to get fingered. your hard soft body naked on top of mine, the sweetness of skin on skin, how we ache for this dance. suddenly your soft hard cock inside. i wanted it but i hadn't said so, i wasn't ready and no protection. (you're lovely but i don't want your babies or infections.) what is wrong with me that i can't stop, can't say anything? why has this become my pattern? caught in drunken jumbles, wanting without knowing why, not having the courage to speak.

they have said: cmon. please. you're nothing special. just hold still. shhh.
and they have said nothing as they put themselves inside me.
and they have said how much they missed me, how they love my squishy body, i'm not like the other girls, i'm good enough, i deserve it.

my heart races to write it. as much as i'm disgusted and furious with myself, i'm still turned on. and i want and i want and i want and i like you but i don't like our culture. i don't like the roles we're playing or the confused consent. i want to break myself apart to see how my sexuality was formed around my passiveness and i want to start over.

sometimes i think i ought to charge

lately, everywhere i go, all these men's eyes.

at east wind, there's a male majority, and the closest town with a bar is 20 miles away. commies in the ozarks get lonely too. from out of the autumn night rain, i shuffled into the cramped sunnyside commons, bumbling with my bags and beer and too many coats, sloppy smiling, and i became meat. the freshest sort, from one or two communes over, but as yet unclaimed. a dozen people crammed in this small room, and i felt them mentally undress me, i saw them puff up against each other for a piece. but it was so far under the surface that maybe i'm the only one who saw, because they were really all so kind, not creepy at all, just starving.
could i blame them?

i don't know what to do with men's interest in me. i guess i'm a little flattered but mostly confused by it. they all like my dimpled smile, they like that i think, they think it's cute that i'm awkward, they always like it when i'm nervous.
do you think your presence caused this? your power?

my confusion takes the lead in the dance of the flirt. i refuse to believe that this is what's happening, i thought we were friends. i didn't expect him to take it there.

how did i end up again against some him?

his room is its own circular structure, right by the dribbling creek, falling down, half whole, mysterious, broken. is this how you saw me? how did you see me at all?

i will entertain the conversation, i will drink his dandelion wine. i'm a sucker for the bottom of the barrel, let me keep going till i find it. finally i'll stop my awkward talking long enough for him to ask to kiss me.
thank you for asking.
for a moment everything feels sweet and giddy, almost innocent.
why not say yes? why not anything? why not see if i feel?

the first time kissing is always the best. (maybe i am better when i'm nervous.)
it will start on the couch with our mouths until his hands start to wander, why not? he will want to move to the bed or turn out the light, why not? he will squeeze my tits like lemons, kiss suck pinch pull push hard harder hurts.
most of this will be uncomfortable.
i will go into a certain type of subspace: silent, riding, object, use me.
some things feel good but others i will just let happen.
what's the point in trying to correct his too tongued kissing, his hard hands?
what am i doing here, where have i gone?
what can i ask for that i will get?
he won't know until after he's done it that i like pain but he won't understand what kind. he will have already had his hands inside me and will have bitten my meat until the blood vessels pop and the bruises flower up.

male call

this part is just about me. (is it?) i expect to be treated with respect by my colleagues.
maybe i haven't always, maybe i don't always think i deserve anything.
i feel like none of the men on this project have offered to get to know me, or have tried to listen.
do you hear yourselves??????
you'll say you want open communication, but i don't actually feel that.

you have all interrupted me repeatedly. (at some point i just stop trying to talk. i'm not alone in this.)
you have not trusted me, especially steve, especially about tech stuff.
you've told me you want me to create/propose my own projects, but i'm shot down mid-pitch (pax) or your ideas for what the project wants/needs are so specific, there's no room for my input/vision.
you want to know what's going on, but when i try to have real talk with pax, he says he "doesn't care" (LITERALLY) and just wants to keep talking.
you want me to listen to your theories and philosophies and your version of the story, even when it's not yours. this is not the way i learn or the way i communicate with the world.
you want me to be flexible but you want me to
you think i'd be wasting time at BFF without a strict video schedule set up, but no one introduced me to anyone or set up interviews ahead of time at Ganas, Twin Oaks, or Acorn.
you want me to participate but you don't treat me like a fellow organizer. (at meetings, i'm invisible. you skip right over me in the go-around without a second thought.)
you touched me without my permission the second time we met. you touched my leg when we were alone in the car and it was creepy. then in your video interview, you brag about your consent culture and how important it is, how it's the ONLY orientation at acorn. (by the way i didn't get an orientation at acorn, and i felt both forgotten and resented for the entire three weeks.)
you say i can decide, that i can say no, but if i lean that way, there's immediately pushback to convince me otherwise. am i allowed to make my own decisions or not? will my decisions be respected?
you say our styles are different, you liken mine to nature-style documentary where i show up at the scene and just shoot what's happening, whereas your style is to schedule and organize ahead of time (oh thanks what a great tip, i'm just such a fucking messy idiot) but you forget that i do. not. know anyone. i don't have contact info. i don't have an "in" and in these people's position, i wouldn't necessarily trust me. (see ex. "stranger with a camera")
you tout yourselves as so radical, so egalitarian, then WHY ARE YOU A BUNCH OF WHITE MEN and when will you stop making racisit comments and joking about rape and talking down to women?
do NOT touch me. do NOT pretend we are friends.
you fucked my trust when i told you a really personal story and i thought maybe you would get to know me, but you used it as a factoid, another trivial point of information, to STRANGERS, people i had just met.
you don't know my hurts.
you don't know me at all.
your whole new world is a frat house.



three bad situations that made me cry. so embarassing to be that pathetic in front of my psuedo-bosses, but the weird part is that it wasn't acknowledged, at the time or later. maybe i'm more subtle than i think... but even then, didn't you see that i was upset? how i shut down and walked away? did you wonder why? or did you just assume it's because i "can't handle" your "style" aka your white straight male BULLSHIT.

literally feeling like maybe i just can't work with men.
i am astounded by how radical you think you are. i want to laugh but it's actually scary.





the org

expected internal calendar, contact list
--i never know where anyone is going to be or where I'M going to be. plans seem to change every day without me knowing.

seems to be so much theoretical / hypothetical -- imo, too much.


what the hell has been happening since 2013? i don't see any work being done to connect point a to other local orgs, i don't see any outreach. this looks like a circle of friends at best, a clique at worst. and you're literally trash talking other people's projects, but what the fuck makes you so much better than them?

was there ANY media plan/strategy before i arrived. you say you "talked about it" but did you actually decide anything?
what do you ACTUALLY expect of me? and is there ANY consensus on that?




i watch you talk in circles. i watch you preach to the choir. i watch the women get cut off mid-sentence, or never get the space to speak in the fist place.

STRAIGHT WHITE CIS MEN are leading us again, hurray! what would we do without them and their big brilliant brains!