Love in the Time of Anorexia Nervosa

An autobiographical fiction, or diary, that explores internal and external views; which is in essence an examination of personal secrets. It is about starvation and consumption. It is a reference to the intimate relationship between the voyeur and the object and visa-versa.

These relationships are not intellectually determined; this is a diary based on a physical response. A metaphor for political resistance and as concepts of paranoia, objectification, desire, gender disphoria, so that the act of the anorexic starving herself is to be looked at poetically; starvation as an embodiment of theory. The anorexic is a symbol, an icon that represents an obsession with the outcome and modification of the body as a text. It is the way ideology and understanding play out on a personal level. It clarifies in what ways your body is a war.

Because I have an obsession with dead bodies

Breathing or exhaling whether fragrant or foul

"Different colored birds don't chirp"

I am constantly gasping for air. Anxiety overwhelms me and I am so neurotic by nature. I am addicted to resident evil. Killing zombies amuses me. And is proper medication but it is not the cure for my illness. I am mad at you? What did I do now? He said, " I would probably like other girls if it wasn't for you."

She laughs. So did she stay the night? Yes. Did you sleep with her? Yes. Did you fuck her? No.

My secrets are mine; no one can have them unless I give them away.

I must always adjust my behavioral reactions. I must not be emotional. He will fell trapped into loving me.

Does he feel that his longing for a variety of pussy will satisfy him? A hollow muscular organ, which by contracting rhythmically circulates the blood. A trinket, a delicate figure, the seat of conscious life.

Intent. Desire. Disease. Any abnormal condition of the heart. I am sewn together with a delicate piece of thread.

These tender punishments leave me with delicate bruises that I can admire. PISS ON ME. Dilute me with fluids of intention. Shove me full of force. My labia leaks and I can't keep quiet. I am meaty, bloody and rare. I am the result that stems from the corruption of swine. Still air smells of gasoline, fuel to instill motive. I think I am bothered.

I want to know that he craves his punishments. He should suffer. He should suffer as a consequence to desire as I do. TO FUCK. To fuck me. To fuck her and to fuck her too. I want to slide against him bloody. I want him hooded, clamped and stuffed. I want to purchase his muffled cries and tie his testicles tightly with elastic ribbon. I want him to accept his collapse. His body to go limp. His lace panties soaking in discreet poisons. The persistence of his stare is cold. I am confined to breathing. My sentence is to desire him. Does Y wonder about lunch? My sorted thoughts leave me with my perverse seedy obsessions. A particular enslavement to lust. The welts swell up and these tender punishments leave me with lingering bruises that I can admire. Deeply troubled by my desires to complete him. Selfish isn't it. These notions.

He says he set up this situation in order to send me away. I myself do not wish to suffer but I do. I fear I will continue. Perhaps I am an emotional masochist. I want to chew through his body. Preserve his skeleton for my collection. I do not wish to explain away how it is that I feel. I do not expect to be understood. I have a piece of him that he can't have back. I want him to know that he has lost a piece of himself. I am meaty, bloody and rare. He should feel a sense of loss.

Beauty

Listerine kills germs, aspirin thins your blood, water quenches your thirst, dildoes are somewhat satisfying and so are other devices. The Flowers are in bloom. Petals are raked into a pile. My animated body is numb and everything is a blur. I am listless. Poisoned by sour lies; compliments are about every pleasing esthetic.

Secrets relinquish rain but we have the trees. We have the ability to pollute and poison ourselves. Foil covers glass, it is shiny. You can cook with it; you can adhere it to your television and make patterns on it with sharp utensils. The light will come through but the image won't, rhythms will change and then you can shut it off.

Peel back the lining… the roots were ripped from the ground. Hot butter absorbs into the fluffy contents.

DIRECTIONS: miX with miLk & whip with a FORk add any in greedy enCE you have a TASTE for PeppEr & crEAm. Pretty Pretty deAd DeAd jewlery glimmers on her wrinkled fingers, someone must have loved her. The circle fits the circumference perfectly. Passion in a pill helps to develop stamina for simplicity. Holes, deep holes, things sprout up, constructions diminish into dust. Plaid patterns make up the grid; paisley patterns have a definite detail. I think I would go with BOLD STRIPES or fuzzy textures, furry collars and perhaps a suede jacket. Vinyl and Latex can cause a person to sweat out their impurities. I have been looking for that missing sock it matches this one.

The stars in the sky, the crack in the ceiling. Longing for loneliness, devoured by dilutions of perception waiting for the line to run flat in order to consume and comprehend the entirety of the sphere. We are built on the basis of an uncertainty, our existence, as living organisms would cease if we didn't have the unpredictability of our spirit.

Turn out the lights! Jump up and down over and over. Repeat that sentence again. Hammer the nails into the wall wind the clock. Set off the alarm. Walk around in circles following people, listen to their whispers. Capture lingering moments and write them on the wall. One dress, one slip, I am slipping and I live inside my dresser but the drawers are empty. I staple everything together and sweep everything into the corner. My purse is filled with water; I fill rooms with sugar. My blood is thick like jelly and it is precious. Even if other things suck me through the hole of the vacuum, I will become lint. Gray lint, soft and pliable caught in the trap.

Repair my face pull my skin tight. Enlarge your penis. Allow me to touch the fine hairs that grow on your scrotum. Shave me clean, pull on my legs. Sleep long… grip the sheets.

Unravel the toilet paper! Force yourself into the fetus position. Bursting feces stink up our perceptions of what is beautiful. Unwind yourself. Tie each ribbon into perfect bows. Over and over repeat.

Storms blow sideways. Provocative. Profane. Thighs hugged tight inside the girdle trapped in webbing of fishnet hose that bag at the knees. Adore Me. Adorn me with jewelry. Poke through the urethra, uncover my secret parts, sip my sour milk and taste my beauty. HATE IT. DESIRE ME.

Masking tape holds it all together, saran wrap seals me up and sometimes we can wait for ugliness to cool on wax paper.

Society sets up systematic laws of reasoning to provide people with beliefs that hold up moral codes; standards to follow and disciplines based on what is right and what is wrong. These thoughts allow you to situate your ideas about who you are in relationship to what you know.

In order to destroy what plagues you. One must understand the nature of the disease and its symptoms. The affliction is belief. Belief can be illusionary and to know truth is to comprehend the condition of your origin.

She uncoils herself from her position. You may come to find yourself entangled within a situation to whose implications you are blind. The sun it shines and the sky is a perfect shade of blue, the grass a perfect shade of green. The man swings his hammer hands violently at the air. This accomplishes nothing. He is frail, thin. He doesn't have a notion of what it means to grasp something because he doesn't have the power to. The lump in his throat might indicate that he might express himself verbally in a poetic nature. He cannot cough up the phloem that prevents him, from communicating with anyone. He is mute. He hears the same sounds we all here; blaring sounds that emanate form the wind up jack in the box but he hears them differently. He hears the squeak of the crank that winds the sweet music. He feels the despair. He chokes up the mass and frees his voice in order to ask her to dance. She refuses him because he has no rhythm, he knows no rhythm and this makes him clumsy. This makes him, awkward. He falls over himself and it is pathetic and embarrassing.

Her human arms sprout from her head reaching for the flies born from bacteria that circle around her in a swarm. The buzz is irritating. Her eyes bulge open as she focuses on her abilities to capture them. Her polka dot dress has Cinderella sleeves with lace fringes. Cloven hooves hold her upright in her stance.

She is isolated in the open field. Her fantasies contain all the elements of the perfect fairy tale and she believes that one day she will live happily ever after. She sings songs that are in harmony with the tune that jack in the box plays and she repeats them over and over. She is persistent in winding the jack in the box so she can memorize the melody and the expression of joy on the face of the man that springs out from the square container and she pushes him back into his tiny prison only to wind him up again and watch him pop out. She ignores the man who flings his hammer arms about in order to gain her attentions and he not being very coordinated accidentally smashes the jack in the box. Now all seemed lost the expression on the face of the jack in the box changes from joy to sadness and the girl her songs ceased because there wasn't any music. She frantically tried to piece the toy back together while scolding the hammer man. Then everything fell silent accept for the continuous buzzing of the flies and they stopped to listen and they each found a new rhythm and although the fragmented toy brought each of them frustrations they turned their attentions away from it and the hammer man told the girl that he only wanted to understand her songs. She revealed to him her heart and he shared his poetry. They learned to dance together with certain grace. The sun it shined brighter and the field was greener than before and the sky more vast it rained on occasion and the storms with all their fury allowed them to understand that through experience whether it be joy or tragedy lead them to the truth. A truth that exists in everything. They came to know that the truth itself is only the constant buzzing of the flies.

The Womb

The fertilization of the mind and body exists within this moist dark hole once conceived the seed begins. And after conception begins the once conceived formation of material. It is not enlightened. It is restricted. Bound within embryonic fluid, fed intravenously through the umbilical cord. Fetal container. It is subject to he dietart the dietary intake of the mother and it has no choice. The mother has no conscious choice and it has no conscious choice… Birth is disgusting.

Food is necessary. Desire me.

Insert Meat Loaf

Because I have an obsession with dead bodies, I wrote these poems. I hate poetry. I think poets are pathetic, so therefore, I am a contradiction. Contradiction. Everything is bull shit so what… I am not entirely angry about this it is just that I think poets are pathetic. So what……

Paralyzing nervous tremors
Preservation of the kiss
Saucy sacrificial mutilation
Potent prancing memories.
Sapphire glare
Sustain the nervous tremor
Baptized in sticky syrup.
Thin tantalizing termination.
Trivial circumstances treat me…
Trivial trust.
Uncoil this infection.
Failing flashes ripe.

Horror, Delicacy, Fear
Gripping, prodding, fingers
Riveting ribbed pulsing plastic
Delicate delicious secretions
Silt
Possess silt
Eggs white, feet numb, blood-worms swollen
Horror Delicacy Fear
Pressure slicing sadness
Pure gnawing pleasures
Contagious flames of a salty flavor
Biting infinity
Silt
Possess Silt
Smooth skin
Simulate and titillate
Lick and probe
Crevices that once left you weak
Moaning and heaving but you are silent and I am screaming
In sheer delight I can eat of you
Drink and excrete your juices
Warm and Milky
Suck you empty suck you dry
Prying your cracked lips open
Kissing and biting, tearing at your flesh
Maliciously, violently, fervently pressing down onto your cold cock
The pounding
Convulsing
Shivers copulate
Your blue
Corpse
And I perish
I perish
Left with sugar coated fragrant smells of sulfur sealed and wrapped in gauze
Lifeless Mute
Numb
Weakened in dissolution of immortality
And you perish
You perish
Spoiled, curdling fury
Spontaneous combustion consumes the flowering silky slit between my legs
Seeping tears from my swollen sockets
Muffled fatal
Flood and echo
Reverberating still
And I perish
I perish

Longing..…wrapped inside an envelope. Sparkly green glitter toenails. Liquid on a spoon.
Spoon me up. Lucid, Lucid, Liquid.
Envelop me Lucid, Lucid, Liquid perfumed and sealed.
White rectangular paper reads
Vicious, ferocious, vivacious, velocity spinning me violently
Momentary paper chains

Carbonated Squirt in sneakers 85 days to go
My Christmas Wish List when I was 10 years old
Velvet Painting and a Bob's big boy bank
Colored Hairspray by Ronco
Cookies with corn in it Sweet unaffected and adorable stuffed animals
Paint by numbers set
Barbie not Ken