The Secret Diary of Janey Jones

[sweepthefloor]

It’s only when you accidently look into someone else’s mirror that you realize how seriously cracked your own glass is.

Before the accident the boxwood stove was charming and warm, the peanut butter was gourmet, and the plastic bags over shoes in the snow was fashionable.

 

[Curious_in_Cali]

I ran about 60 city blocks on a country road. That’s the blacktop rape.

There is so much chronic discomfort in this life. It’s the rock in the shoe. The blanket on the bed that is always too small. It’s the hair follicles that don’t know what to do when they are released from the pony-jail. It just hurts.

When the rapist grabs you say in a calm and serious voice: “I have syphilis. Do you have a condom?” Wait for the slap, the backhand, and the black eye and see if you can tell a lie, and get away with it.

It’s the thinking that doesn’t stop, when the blanket is too small.

If the mind is a pie chart with twenty sections, one part gets written, and nineteen parts get washed up on the violent beach. These are rocks tossed in the brutal waves. They become shiny shards of sharp sea glass. It’s so pretty it becomes a self-lure. We can’t pick it up, we can’t walk on it, and all we can do is get close enough to see it.

May I offer you my little old blue unicorn blanket? It was good to me for many years, but I grew too tired of trying to make it fit and these days it just sits in the dark linen closet dreaming alone. I'm thinking we can tie them together using the tattered edges from being asked to stretch too much, thus making you a sort of newish not too small quilt? Maybe beneathe this new tapestry of our old shortcomings you would fit and our old blankets and you could get warm once again... and maybe you could, if for just a little while, let your unsettled secrets snuggle into your very own cozy cocoon and just rest and dream about these terribly sparkly treasures of the sea you describe... or maybe about blue unicorns, because I think those are pretty cool too.

 

[sweepthefloor]

May I offer you my little old blue unicorn blanket? It was good to me for many years, but I grew too tired of trying to make it fit and these days it just sits in the dark linen closet dreaming alone. I'm thinking we can tie them together using the tattered edges from being asked to stretch too much, thus making you a sort of newish not too small quilt? Maybe beneathe this new tapestry of our old shortcomings you would fit and our old blankets and you could get warm once again... and maybe you could, if for just a little while, let your unsettled secrets snuggle into your very own cozy cocoon and just rest and dream about these terribly sparkly treasures of the sea you describe... or maybe about blue unicorns, because I think those are pretty cool too.

This must be one of the sweetest things I ever read written, to me. The best part of discomfort is the appreciation of all things comfortable. It's like those stiff jeans hung on the cold kitchen line in the winter compared to the dryer fabric softened jeans from the laundromat.

I always wanted to make a quilt. It is the batting of your tenderness that will keep me dreaming warmly. It's a blanket larger than me. Thank you.

 

[Curious_in_Cali]

This must be one of the sweetest things I ever read written, to me. The best part of discomfort is the appreciation of all things comfortable. It's like those stiff jeans hung on the cold kitchen line in the winter compared to the dryer fabric softened jeans from the laundromat.

I always wanted to make a quilt. It is the batting of your tenderness that will keep me dreaming warmly. It's a blanket larger than me. Thank you.

You are so lovely.

Janey, I hope you can forgive my selfishness and the blush on my cheeks, but I have been thinking about you sleeping so peacefully and I need to ask...

If I promise to be quiet, would you let me crawl in behind you, sharing your warm spot and softly nuzzle into the crook of your neck to seek out the musk of your tormenter and just sip on you both for a while? You see, I have had a tough week and I just know that would be a quenching cocktail.

If I promise to be gentle, would you let this daydreamers little fingers trace the blue and purple shorelines on the map he left drawn on your tender skin? You see, I ache to dip my toes in those tropical waters but I am so easily lost in my thoughts of how to get there....sometimes I need clear directions.

And lastly, if I pinky promised not to tell, and leaned up against your lips so no one else could hear, would you...could you, please whisper to me if he left any treasures there on the islands you visted, and if so...where he buried it?

 

[sweepthefloor]

You are so lovely.

Janey, I hope you can forgive my selfishness and the blush on my cheeks, but I have been thinking about you sleeping so peacefully and I need to ask...

If I promise to be quiet, would you let me crawl in behind you, sharing your warm spot and softly nuzzle into the crook of your neck to seek out the musk of your tormenter and just sip on you both for a while? You see, I have had a tough week and I just know that would be a quenching cocktail.

If I promise to be gentle, would you let this daydreamers little fingers trace the blue and purple shorelines on the map he left drawn on your tender skin? You see, I ache to dip my toes in those tropical waters but I am so easily lost in my thoughts of how to get there....sometimes I need clear directions.

And lastly, if I pinky promised not to tell, and leaned up against your lips so no one else could hear, would you...could you, please whisper to me if he left any treasures there on the islands you visted, and if so...where he buried it?

Wow, thank you. I am almost wordless. Are we getting tipsy on each other? I imagine this buzz is a warm head, very different from the cool heady pints of black creamy good-for-you-ness. It’s the warm drink I have never sipped, or gulped.

Maps are useful, and I have a good sense of direction. We may sometimes get lost on the way to the tropical swimming pool of softness. We might not even find it, but it’s not getting there that matters the most. It is knowing that it exists that means more.

We are the islands, and the treasure is ours. We can dig up the gold and keep burying it in new places within ourselves. It’s the never ending hunt.

I dig for your platinum on the sandy beaches of tropical islands. Can you cut through my metal with your acetylene torch? Surely your mouth breaths pure oxygen to fuel that fire.

That’s no slag.

 

[sweepthefloor]

No family wedding is complete till one male family member calls another female family member a bitch.

The music seems to stop.

Everyone drops their bottom lip and stares at him in shock, he becomes startled by the horror looks, and says: “What?”

Then we go back to partying. We go back to happiness. We dance, and we eat, and we kiss. We love each other resiliently.

This is love as we know it. Do we spend our time looking to mate with the he that duplicates the love as we know it?

 

[waaitg]

A very interesting and engaging thread. I just discovered it a few hours ago and I have already read it from start to finish. My only disappointments were 1) missing out the posts that were redacted and 2) my curiosity regrading the previous Avatars that have disappeared.

Subscribed and looking forward to following along as your posts appear.

W~

 

[sweepthefloor]

This is the heartbreak hotel.

 

[sweepthefloor]

A very interesting and engaging thread. I just discovered it a few hours ago and I have already read it from start to finish. My only disappointments were 1) missing out the posts that were redacted and 2) my curiosity regrading the previous Avatars that have disappeared.

Subscribed and looking forward to following along as your posts appear.

W~

Thank you W--

 

[Curious_in_Cali]

Wow, thank you. I am almost wordless. Are we getting tipsy on each other? I imagine this buzz is a warm head, very different from the cool heady pints of black creamy good-for-you-ness. It’s the warm drink I have never sipped, or gulped.

Maps are useful, and I have a good sense of direction. We may sometimes get lost on the way to the tropical swimming pool of softness. We might not even find it, but it’s not getting there that matters the most. It is knowing that it exists that means more.

We are the islands, and the treasure is ours. We can dig up the gold and keep burying it in new places within ourselves. It’s the never ending hunt.

I dig for your platinum on the sandy beaches of tropical islands. Can you cut through my metal with your acetylene torch? Surely your mouth breaths pure oxygen to fuel that fire.

That’s no slag.

*warm pink cheeked grin*

I like sipping with you, but I kinda wish we had rainbow colored bendy straws. I want to drink this together without knocking our foreheads in haphazard urgency to rush to the gurgling whimpers of a cup that has been violently drained.

Whew. I am suddenly struggling to find the moment when I got here. Is it just me, or is your bed actually floating? Hmmm, I am highly suspect now of these warm apple pie words that flow from the rohypnol of your mouth.

How curious...I am somehow completely ready to follow your direction of exactly where you want me to blow or what you wish to have uncovered... I just have one selfish request?

Please, use this black sharpie and my blank skin as your journal to record the intricate details of our journey tonight as I suspect that I wake tomorrow I will be unable to remember any of this or tragically, even you. I desperately need to know that when I attempt to nurse my inevitable hangover with a fresh cup of coffee at the sun dappled table of my kitchen, that I can unfold myself and peruse my newly decorated skin for the retelling of these Island adventures I wholeheartedly surrendered to with you.

I think they would be a fine read for a pounding head.

 

[sweepthefloor]

*warm pink cheeked grin*

I like sipping with you, but I kinda wish we had rainbow colored bendy straws. I want to drink this together without knocking our foreheads in haphazard urgency to rush to the gurgling whimpers of a cup that has been violently drained.

Whew. I am suddenly struggling to find the moment when I got here. Is it just me, or is your bed actually floating? Hmmm, I am highly suspect now of these warm apple pie words that flow from the rohypnol of your mouth.

How curious...I am somehow completely ready to follow your direction of exactly where you want me to blow or what you wish to have uncovered... I just have one selfish request?

Please, use this black sharpie and my blank skin as your journal to record the intricate details of our journey tonight as I suspect that I wake tomorrow I will be unable to remember any of this or tragically, even you. I desperately need to know that when I attempt to nurse my inevitable hangover with a fresh cup of coffee at the sun dappled table of my kitchen, that I can unfold myself and peruse my newly decorated skin for the retelling of these Island adventures I wholeheartedly surrendered to with you.

I think they would be a fine read for a pounding head.

These words are curious, Dear Curious.
I do like bendy straws, and I like mouthy rohypnol even more. I read these words days ago, but I lost the thoughts to reply. It seems as if I am the one who has been drugged.

 

[Curious_in_Cali]

These words are curious, Dear Curious.
I do like bendy straws, and I like mouthy rohypnol even more. I read these words days ago, but I lost the thoughts to reply. It seems as if I am the one who has been drugged.

It is odd isn't it? Um, we kinda look as though we have restlessy slept in a bowl of over ripe blueberries all night. I feel so numb. I don't know what happened, but it seems best that I should go, and we simply agree to never speak of this again.

*shuffles off in a sort of shoulder curled quick-stepped walk of shame. As the distance grows from that akward moment, my pace begins to slow and realize that I am actually quite sore. Glancing down at my skin I begin to trace the darkened lumps and decide that they sort of look like islands floating in a milky sea. Hmmm, no, that is not it. Drugged. She is a drug, and next time I see her I should just say no.

My aching head leans back as I try to collect my thoughts and I notice the white fluff floating above me and my racin mind decides to leave me and just go float with them.

Ah ha! That is it! They are simply tempestuous storm clouds that demanded to have a turn with the sky's blue paint bucket. Maybe in the gratitude and bliss of such a happy opportunity, they would slather themselves up and then snuggle together trying to paint azure elephants trompsing the tropics, or maybe a cobalt turtle trying to bury itself in the cool sands of midnight. Yes, that is it.

I sigh as my eyes return to the task of perusing my marbled skin and am suddenly drawn to something oddly familiar. Wow, look at that... It is so perfectly nestled on the curve of my hip, and it looks just like a unicorn. I gently slide my fingers over this quite tender place and then blanket her with my palm. The warmth of the pain that pours into me as I hold this new friend close makes me smile as I wander down the sidewalk toward home.*

 

[sweepthefloor]

Dear Curious ~

You keep drugging me. My head doesn't hurt at all. I will just keep sipping this drink, the one you are slipping mickeys into.


I once thought I was going to turn into a unicorn. It was the first time I put on roller skates. It was the day before picture day. My age was precious six. My Uncle was out there in the street skating, his age was nine. I fell flat on my forehead, which was too big for my head.

The street just wanted to bash my brains in. I figured the street had it out for me big time. It was pissed off because I hop scotched, and double-dutched, till after the streetlights came on. When the street wanted a break, I never gave it.

I went inside and cried. I stared at the mirror inside myself and watched this lump, get bigger and bigger. I touched it. It hurt, and it just kept growing.

I was sad, and then I got mad. I said: “Fuck you black top. You wanted to beat me up, but it didn’t really work. Now I will be a beautiful unicorn. When I wake up I will have a magical unihorn. How do you like them apples? Tomorrow, I will be back.”

And then I was happy. I just knew that big lump was my budding horn. Then I got my picture taken, and I forgot to smile.

Welcome to my neighborhood. You don’t have to go home. There are honey suckles growing wild in the back alleyway of our life. We can hang out, and watch each other do tricks on a mind board. Maybe we will even build a half-pipe. It will fill up two yards. I got the tools; let’s go scrap for our hearts wood.

 

[sweetmoonbeam]

You keep drugging me. My head doesn't hurt at all. I will just keep sipping this drink, the one you are slipping mickeys into.


I once thought I was going to turn into a unicorn. It was the first time I put on roller skates. It was the day before picture day. My age was precious six. My Uncle was out there in the street skating, his age was nine. I fell flat on my forehead, which was too big for my head.

The street just wanted to bash my brains in. I figured the street had it out for me big time. It was pissed off because I hop scotched, and double-dutched, till after the streetlights came on. When the street wanted a break, I never gave it.

I went inside and cried. I stared at the mirror inside myself and watched this lump, get bigger and bigger. I touched it. It hurt, and it just kept growing.

I was sad, and then I got mad. I said: “Fuck you black top. You wanted to beat me up, but it didn’t really work. Now I will be a beautiful unicorn. When I wake up I will have a magical unihorn. How do you like them apples? Tomorrow, I will be back.”

And then I was happy. I just knew that big lump was my budding horn. Then I got my picture taken, and I forgot to smile.

Welcome to my neighborhood. You don’t have to go home. There are honey suckles growing wild in the back alleyway of our life. We can hang out, and watch each other do tricks on a mind board. Maybe we will even build a half-pipe. It will fill up two yards. I got the tools; let’s go scrap for our hearts wood.

Girls who double dutch grow up to be the greatest women on earth. It never leaves them.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Girls who double dutch grow up to be the greatest women on earth. It never leaves them.

Aren't we all the greatest? I miss that feeling, watching the jump rope, hearing the sound-- right before jumping in. That is the best part. It's almost as if the chest starts jumping in time before you actually get in there. It is happy anticipation.

 

[Sir_Winston54]

Aren't we all the greatest? I miss that feeling, watching the jump rope, hearing the sound-- right before jumping in. That is the best part. It's almost as if the chest starts jumping in time before you actually get in there. It is happy anticipation.

I always envied kids - guys and girls - who could jump rope in *any* fashion. We had some kids in my elementary and middle schools (Illinois, Oklahoma, Italy, Germany, and back in Oklahoma again) who could really make their feet fly through the ropes. My feet have never been coordinated enough to do it; I sometimes have difficulty just *walking,* let alone jumping over moving ropes! I always ended up biffing, usually in spectacular fashion. My 80-wpm typing fingers don't make up for it. <sigh>

Perv that I am, I used to love to watch those 1960s-era girls in their skirts and frilly petticoats jumping, and often exposing a daring inch or two of bare thigh..... <sigh again>

 

[sweepthefloor]

I always knew there were guys like you-- watching. My eyes were bold, and my skin told me these things.

 

[Curious_in_Cali]

You keep drugging me. My head doesn't hurt at all. I will just keep sipping this drink, the one you are slipping mickeys into.


I once thought I was going to turn into a unicorn. It was the first time I put on roller skates. It was the day before picture day. My age was precious six. My Uncle was out there in the street skating, his age was nine. I fell flat on my forehead, which was too big for my head.

The street just wanted to bash my brains in. I figured the street had it out for me big time. It was pissed off because I hop scotched, and double-dutched, till after the streetlights came on. When the street wanted a break, I never gave it.

I went inside and cried. I stared at the mirror inside myself and watched this lump, get bigger and bigger. I touched it. It hurt, and it just kept growing.

I was sad, and then I got mad. I said: “Fuck you black top. You wanted to beat me up, but it didn’t really work. Now I will be a beautiful unicorn. When I wake up I will have a magical unihorn. How do you like them apples? Tomorrow, I will be back.”

And then I was happy. I just knew that big lump was my budding horn. Then I got my picture taken, and I forgot to smile.

Welcome to my neighborhood. You don’t have to go home. There are honey suckles growing wild in the back alleyway of our life. We can hang out, and watch each other do tricks on a mind board. Maybe we will even build a half-pipe. It will fill up two yards. I got the tools; let’s go scrap for our hearts wood.

What a magical unicorn you have turned out to be.

Yes, I would love to stay! Let's wear ponytails, tangle our fingers, and skip about in your lovely dark alley way. I'll can bring sparkle chalk and we can beat the music from the ground with our tender toes as we count and call it names.

We will break only when we need snacks, and then yes, we should suckle your honey until we are swollen and round with near sickly sweetness. When we can stand no more, we will fall together, and roll and tumble in the thousands of emerald green paint brushes the gardeners left behind and find what other creatures are hiding there.

Hmmm. It makes sense that our hearts would be wood, doesn't it? Mine, left resting in the unforgiving sun seems to have dried into a fine kindling. I have to be quite careful with matches these days. I wonder if we went camping, do you tell scary campfire stories?

You know, in gratitude for your hospitality, I will happily lend you the bits of my heart I have saved in my hand painted and bedazzled treasure chest. These pieces of mine have crisp, jagged edges, but in the warmth of the breath from your honey suckled mouth I am sure they would have no choice but to melt. I believe you could form more pleasant shapes that will contentedly nestle as patches over your voids until the heart spackle you ordered shows up. I only ask that you leave a trap door so that when we play I can peer inside at the beautiful mysteries you decide to let move in...what wonderful creatures I can imagine those would be.

 

[sweepthefloor]

I have just had a fright. While, lost in this weeks boring essay about blood clots in the legs, that travel to the lungs...I heard a knocking at my insecure back door. I un-jammed the screw driver that keeps the door shut, peeped out the dilapidated screen, and said: Can I help you?

He said: Is Rick here?
I said: No Rick lives here.

He looked confused, and angry. I was frightened! This is the stuff murder movies are made of--I keep thinking that he is going to come back and break in looking for Rick, as if I lied to him. He looked like he was pissed off at Rick, whoever Rick is- he might be in trouble.

I stood at the door with my screwdriver in hand, till he drove off the property. I'm all shook up! I hope he didn't smell my fear!

 

[sweetmoonbeam]

I have just had a fright. While, lost in this weeks boring essay about blood clots in the legs, that travel to the lungs...I heard a knocking at my insecure back door. I un-jammed the screw driver that keeps the door shut, peeped out the dilapidated screen, and said: Can I help you?

He said: Is Rick here?
I said: No Rick lives here.

He looked confused, and angry. I was frightened! This is the stuff murder movies are made of--I keep thinking that he is going to come back and break in looking for Rick, as if I lied to him. He looked like he was pissed off at Rick, whoever Rick is- he might be in trouble.

I stood at the door with my screwdriver in hand, till he drove off the property. I'm all shook up! I hope he didn't smell my fear!

Holy cow. Thank God you're not Rick!

 

[Sir_Winston54]

I have just had a fright. While, lost in this weeks boring essay about blood clots in the legs, that travel to the lungs...I heard a knocking at my insecure back door. I un-jammed the screw driver that keeps the door shut, peeped out the dilapidated screen, and said: Can I help you?

He said: Is Rick here?
I said: No Rick lives here.

He looked confused, and angry. I was frightened! This is the stuff murder movies are made of--I keep thinking that he is going to come back and break in looking for Rick, as if I lied to him. He looked like he was pissed off at Rick, whoever Rick is- he might be in trouble.

I stood at the door with my screwdriver in hand, till he drove off the property. I'm all shook up! I hope he didn't smell my fear!

I thought you were getting that door fixed months ago.

Holy cow. Thank God you're not Rick!

Rick's a dick, for his contribution to this dilemma.

 

[sweepthefloor]

What a magical unicorn you have turned out to be.

Yes, I would love to stay! Let's wear ponytails, tangle our fingers, and skip about in your lovely dark alley way. I'll can bring sparkle chalk and we can beat the music from the ground with our tender toes as we count and call it names.

We will break only when we need snacks, and then yes, we should suckle your honey until we are swollen and round with near sickly sweetness. When we can stand no more, we will fall together, and roll and tumble in the thousands of emerald green paint brushes the gardeners left behind and find what other creatures are hiding there.

Hmmm. It makes sense that our hearts would be wood, doesn't it? Mine, left resting in the unforgiving sun seems to have dried into a fine kindling. I have to be quite careful with matches these days. I wonder if we went camping, do you tell scary campfire stories?

You know, in gratitude for your hospitality, I will happily lend you the bits of my heart I have saved in my hand painted and bedazzled treasure chest. These pieces of mine have crisp, jagged edges, but in the warmth of the breath from your honey suckled mouth I am sure they would have no choice but to melt. I believe you could form more pleasant shapes that will contentedly nestle as patches over your voids until the heart spackle you ordered shows up. I only ask that you leave a trap door so that when we play I can peer inside at the beautiful mysteries you decide to let move in...what wonderful creatures I can imagine those would be.

It is hard to resist this romantic read you write.

The honey suckles are the snacks. We can wear pony braids for a day just to enjoy the after kink frizz. We are the gardeners, and our tangled finger tools are digging for dirty earthy worms. Hope you don’t mind a little wiggle slime, cause I might force a pile of worms in your hand just to watch you scream.

The fright washes off down the street at the iced tea cedar wood water lake. I will take you there, to the virgins hole- the place where the innocents go, to blow jobs and finger role. We can swim all day in the sunshine between the trees. There is silt sand between our toes, and in the cracks of our asses. We jump into that water looking pale as ghosts, and exit as dripping wet soft tea colored honey dippers.

Heart spackle! Tender tinder is what you are, and I am not afraid of splinters. There is a campfire burning bright right here on this page. I tell the scariest stories, and they are all true.

 

[sweepthefloor]

I thought you were getting that door fixed months ago.

Rick's a dick, for his contribution to this dilemma.

The door is not fixable, and the windows are also busted out. I covered the broken door windows up with plastic cardboard for the winter. There is a new pre-hung door waiting for me at the hardware store, but I am not in the mood to tangle with the door jamb and level bubble. I swing on a fragile hinge.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Slap me silly, I can't take it anymore.

consider the five rights of human subjects in research

 

[sweepthefloor]

If I end up at that old-time spoon pint hole tonight: I will seduce this family friend because his mouth always says: n-n-no, let's discuss this with your Father, I c-c-can't do that.

His eyes always say: Yes.