Adrian had his feet on the ground now and he began shaking the seesaw like a big kid unloosed in the little kids’ playground. He started the car in earnest this time and pulled out. What if this computer ran on human blood? Even for myself, no matter how much that would have eased my life.). God-I had almost forgotten how miserable I was then, and how lonely. The reasoning is circular. I sat upright on the bed, pinned my hair in a barrette, and took off my soiled clothes. “That’s fast,” I said. But I was having those thoughts myself and if Bennett knew, he didn’t let on. We were forbidden to talk about the future or to act as if the future existed. I was really hooked. A spy in the house of analysis. Then a whole new set of problems began. In exasperation, I started tossing the clothes out onto the floor. Only! But now: nothing. My life was in an uproar. In the end, of course, I had to seduce him. “I was afraid you’d leave without me.”. In the second week of the cycle, I feel a tiny ping and then a sort of tingling ache in my lower belly. There is nothing worse than the smell of wet fur. The Wife of Bath’s advice to lecherous wives: always accuse your husband first. They’d decided to give each other plenty of freedom. A tribute to the mysteriousness of the psyche. I hoped we could think about our life and try again. “We don’t believe in it. “Cochon!” I yelled, translating for his benefit. I read the telegram first, then gave it to Bennett. Everyone would think I had to pee. I knew (in the way one knows things one does not quite believe) that I was considered pretty and that even my big ass was considered attractive by some, but I loathed every extra ounce of fat. Throughout all of history, books were written with sperm, not menstrual blood. Fate of fates, I ran into my German analyst, Dr. Happe. After that I began a long rationalizing speech about marriage and my sexual needs and how I was a poet not a secretary. After that I remember dragging my suitcase down endless corridors, trying to sleep in a folding chair on a pitching deck, and waiting on line in the early morning damp while the immigration officials inspected our papers. We stopped to buy peaches from a roadside farmer and found that he’d only sell them by the box, so we drove off with the Triumph loaded with peaches. With the only really gorgeous set of knockers in a fairly flat-chested family. I couldn’t make sense of all the contradictions I felt. And it was true-when I wasn’t horribly depressed, I was bursting with energy, giggles, and wisecracks. “I hate to see my little sister depressed,” he said, stroking my hair. I was tough. I could see myself going back to Bennett for the sake of having custody of the typewriter. It was our habit to plunge into the action with as few preliminaries as possible, so the texture of the narrative was always somewhat choppy. And Nana had done all the Paris bars with drunks and tramps and souses. My father was popping Libriurns by the minute and admonishing me to be brave, and the shrink (a sweet-faced twenty-six-year-old resident who identified with us to the point of total incompetence) was jittery and needed my constant reassurance. Naturally that appealed to me-with my own hunger-thump, my ravenous appetite for experiencing everything. I fell in love with a blue-eyed book reviewer who had raved about my first book of poems. We drove to my hotel where I got my bathing suit, put on my diaphragm, took my other gear, and then left with Adrian for his pension. I called my mother’s psychiatrist. I have to bloody well fuck someone before your very eyes or you don’t give a damn about me. I picked my way down the little hill to the house where they were staying, nearly stumbling over rocks and roots of trees at every step. And how about him? An apple tree! He was, as he put it, a movie-coholic, and even in college would sometimes go to two or three movies a day, preferably at (what he called) “the Vomit-houses”-those beat-up theaters on 42nd Street where derelicts went to sleep and perverts (Brian’s mother called them “preverts”) went to drool, and there were double or even triple bills of war movies, Westerns, or Roman Forum epics. Watch BBW HD Porn 1080p HD porn videos for free on Eporner.com. Terrified of flying as I was, I didn’t allow that fear to control me. But what was that other voice inside of me which kept urging me on toward zipless fucks, and speeding cars and endless wet kisses and guts full of danger? Or just that we hadn’t yet found the right ones7. At least I thought they were excellent-but then I didn’t know how Laing spoke. Even the first time, with Brian, it had terrified me, and I had married against my better judgment. Professor Stanton looked troubled. It took me years to learn to sit at my desk for more than two minutes at a time, to put up with the solitude and the terror of failure, and the godawful silence and the white paper. I dragged my suitcase back to the café on. OK, I tell myself, we seem to be off the ground and into the clouds but the danger isn’t past. “You seem so depressed,” he said, full of counterfeit tenderness. Do you have to quiz me like some kind of criminal. The gold cross begins to bump, pause, bump between the widow’s moist breasts, the fingers begin to curl under the widow’s thighs, the widow continues to stare at the olive trees. The next morning Anna Freud and her Band of Renown would have another go at the lecture podium to sum it all up for the press, the participants, the weak, the halt, and the blind. I know your game because I play it myself. Three hours later he called me. But I know about Surrealism. It swings slightly in the wind which hisses between the trapezoidal northern window and the trapezoidal southern window. Withering on the vine, as it were. But I didn’t believe him. She had danced naked in the Bois de Boulogne (she said), sat in Les Deux Magots in a black velvet cloak (she said), driven through the streets of Paris on the fenders of Bugattis (she said), gone to the Greek islands three and a half decades before Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis (she said), and then she had come home, married a Catskill Mountains comedian who was about to make a killing in the tzatzka business, and had had four daughters all of whom received the most poetic names: Gundra Miranda, Isadora Zelda, Lalah Justine, and Chloe Camille. Alessandro kept writing from Florence with talk of “divorzio,” but I had seen too many Italian movies to believe him. Outside the window was a fire escape overlooking a sooty courtyard and across it lived two middle-aged lesbians who sometimes neglected to draw the blinds. This has something to do with Zen. Just like you, love.”. He’d always been interested in saving me from myself. A year and a half later, I was starving myself to death and my periods had stopped dead in their tracks. Byron and Augusta. The History of the World Through Fucking. Nothing. The worlds within worlds within worlds. All my high-falutin’ rebelliousness is only a reaction to my deep-down servility. Started trying to live out my fantasies. Anyone’s child. By the time the train pulled in, little clots of people coagulated on the platform. They all looked like refugees. The beauty of the countryside and the ugliness of the people. In the corner of the room is a closet. me: And you know that men and women can never wholly possess each other. For the life of me, I cannot remember our parting words to each other. I would reach the amphitheater by driving across the river from the old town, down a wide street which led to the suburbs, then up the Holy Mountain, following the signs to the ruins of St. Michael’s Basilica. Pierre put on his French movie-star manners and tried to sweet-talk her into staying. I knew what vampires stood for. Is he thinking of leaving her? I considered myself an internationalist, a Fabian socialist, a friend of all mankind (nobody mentioned womankind in those days), a humanist. But she’s one of very few. Stuffy Cunard would not give us a cabin together unless we produced written proof of matrimony (which, of course, we didn’t have). Maybe it wasn’t a question of choosing between them but just of escaping both entirely. When you go to sleep with a full bladder, you dream of getting up to pee. After Brian got to Mount Sinai, his parents moved in with me, denounced me day and night, went to the hospital with me every evening, and never allowed us more than ten minutes alone together. Neither bitchiness nor servility. Charlie Fielding (“Charles” when he signed his name) was tall and stoop-shouldered and looked like the Wandering Jew. Directed by Bergman perhaps. Already I was attracting the kind of quizzical glances a woman alone attracts. I may have neglected to report another aspect of the paper on artists (whose author, as I recall, was a certain Dr. Koenigsberger). Would that be adding expense to injury, insult to guilt? At five o’clock Brian called to read me a “poem” he claimed to have written while walking across Central Park Lake. He did not want it generally known that this was what his father did for a living. Some mind their household, others dissipation. What did I mean? chloe fat the top of her lungs): WILL EVERYONE SHUT UP FOR A MINUTE AND LISTEN TO ME! I decided to keep it. Gunther Happe is a tall, slim, beaked-nosed man with masses of wavy white hair. It took me thirty-six years to realize what a load of bullshit it is and if there’s one thing I want to do for you it’s teach you the same.”, “You have all kinds of plans for me, don’t you? Did he miss me? After a ten-minute session with her, I would be divested of the entire contents of my carefully hoarded piggybank, while she (who started out broke) wound up as flush as Sky Masterson. But it was clear that if I failed, my own life would be over. Will Sinbad the Sailor go? He was teaching on a Fulbright at Toulouse. (Reference to Aeofel “Al” Elhromane) Magic carpet RIP, Vex is going to be really mad when she finds out. Me in apron and gingham shirtwaist waiting on my husband and kiddies while the omnipresent TV set sings out the virtues of the American home and the American slave-wife with her tiny befuddled brain. Disney’s castle is a phony of a phony. Germany was like a stepmother: utterly familiar, utterly despised. I was wishing I’d had the nerve to belt him one. “You are Mrs. America at the Congress of Dreams,” he says, “and I want to love you as hard as I possibly can and then leave you.”. The edges of the pages are beginning to fray from my sweaty palms. But if only I could have combined them! The best thing about making love with a new man after all those years of marriage was rediscovering a man’s body. The conversation went on like this for some time. I am too happy to sleep. Instead come the salesmen who stalk the hallways, ringing doorbells, selling everything from mutual funds to picture encyclopedias (in simplified vocabulary) to Oriental rugs. Of course, I didn’t think of them as male writers. Isadora in Wonderland. He never said no. (The girls in my high school actually used to repeat this piously to each other. You’re only twenty-two, Brian’s psychiatrist had said; you can’t throw away your life. Everyone on the staff was determinedly cheerful and tried to pretend that Linda Bella was a kind of spa, rather than the place you went when nobody knew what to do with you at home anymore. We quickly went from verbal assaults to utter silence, punc-tuated by lovemaking that kept on, amazingly enough, being good. On the table is a skull. Randy had her period (or “got unwell,” as my liberated mother and grandmother said) and so did all the girls in my seventh-grade class. He stopped sleeping, in fact, and he used to keep me up all night telling me about the Second Coming of Christ and how this time Jesus just might come back as a Jewish medievalist living on Riverside Drive. I would have a child when I was ready. Having babies uses you up, he says. We sang in the streets. He told me that he published a magazine in Cairo and was going to Beirut on business. Then I thought of Adrian’s smile and the possibility of never seeing him again and the sunny afternoons we’d spent swimming and the jokes and the dreamy drunken rides through Vienna and I raced out of American Express like a mad woman (leaving Bennett standing there) and ran through the streets. His muscular thighs. Hermione Fingerforth was a woman-or so she liked to assume-and whenever she ran into Dorian it was not long before their lips met in a succession of interesting poses. At his lovely wet mouth. By recreating the quality of the Oedipal infatuation, the artist could recreate his “family romance” and thus recreate his idealized childhood world. Grayish blue with yellow flecks. It was forbidden, for example, to inquire what we would do tomorrow. You’ll find out. “I really don’t know if this is fair to the other people,” I said, feeling suddenly guilty to be hogging a whole compartment. “You have your work,” he’d said. Nobody seemed to give a shit about your reading Tom Jones as long as you could reel off the names of the various theories and who invented them. I fell in love with Bennett partly because he had the cleanest balls I’d ever tasted. One of Bennett’s T-shirts. Maybe that’s the only way to overcome the fear? But in general the toilets run swift here and the shit disappears long before you can leap up and turn around to admire it. “My whole name?” “I…” she wheeled… (a mouthful of detested liver)… “S…” (a lump of mashed potatoes and carrots)… “A…” (more hard, overcooked liver)… “D…” (another lump of cold, carroty potato)… “O…” (a limp floweret of broccoli)… “R…” (she raises the liver to my lips again and I bolt from the table)… “you’ll get beriberi!” she shouts after me. instead of wasting it on the moon, then ate (kissing throughout dinner) at an outdoor garden restaurant, fed each other Leberknodel and Bauernschnitzel in passionate bites, and very drunkenly made our way back to Adrian’s pension where we made love adequately for the first time. The rest of the people on the plane were also not my idea of a fun group to die with, When things really got messy and we were being buffeted around like aphids clinging to a paper glider, some drunken idiot started yelling “Ooopsy-Daisy” every time we took a dive, and a few other fools kept laughing hysterically. If only I were one of those wise women who carry aerosol cans of Mace or study karate. Haven’t you got something a little more unusual?” And then the saleslady would bring out all the weird colors no one else would buy-stuff which would have gone on sale but for my mother. “Don’t you think we should reach a group decision?” Judy said. I remember him changing my sheet when I wet my bed at age three, and making me hot milk when I was eight and had insomnia. 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