The Secret Diary of Janey Jones

[sweepthefloor]

There are at least seventeen different ways to get to the beach. I don’t even know the names of the roads to get there. I just get in my car and the endpoint is the ocean.

First you drive through corn country, make a right on blueberry lane, then travel through the forest and you end up at the beach.
---------

There’s something about critical care nursing and a history of dangerous encounters on streets with no streetlights that have fine-tuned a rare instrument that beats not in my chest but in my belly. It’s the power of rapid cognition and I read about it once in a book.

It doesn’t mean that I don’t have to stop and think, it just means that I appreciate the first few moments of any situation. My body tells me what to do. It’s exhausting sometimes.

It happens a lot at work. I walk into a room and know when something is wrong, and then I stop to think about exactly what is wrong.

It happens with men and I learned a long time ago when my belly says no, something is wrong, I don’t take the time to stop and think about exactly what or why—I just leave.

This doesn’t mean I am not vulnerable. It’s just a trend, a cluster of dots on the graph of my life. I used to think that these feelings were nothing more than an underlying rhythm of anxiety. I do know that when I belittle my stomach and punch myself in the gut for telling me what I don’t what to feel—I get in trouble.

 

[sweepthefloor]

My belly says no but the stalker says yes. And everyone at work at my lunch and flower: that’s so sweet, he really likes you!

Me: Likes me? He wants to bone me. Remember this day if they find me dead in a ditch, ok?

But I am the crazy one.

 

[SirVPL]

slould always know the way

There are at least seventeen different ways to get to the beach. I don’t even know the names of the roads to get there. I just get in my car and the endpoint is the ocean.

First you drive through corn country, make a right on blueberry lane, then travel through the forest and you end up at the beach.
---------

There’s something about critical care nursing and a history of dangerous encounters on streets with no streetlights that have fine-tuned a rare instrument that beats not in my chest but in my belly. It’s the power of rapid cognition and I read about it once in a book.

It doesn’t mean that I don’t have to stop and think, it just means that I appreciate the first few moments of any situation. My body tells me what to do. It’s exhausting sometimes.

It happens a lot at work. I walk into a room and know when something is wrong, and then I stop to think about exactly what is wrong.


It happens with men and I learned a long time ago when my belly says no, something is wrong, I don’t take the time to stop and think about exactly what or why—I just leave.

This doesn’t mean I am not vulnerable. It’s just a trend, a cluster of dots on the graph of my life. I used to think that these feelings were nothing more than an underlying rhythm of anxiety. I do know that when I belittle my stomach and punch myself in the gut for telling me what I don’t what to feel—I get in trouble.

You should always know your route by name or number just in case of a breakdow. Or som unforseeable incident.

 

[SirVPL]

go with the belly.

My belly says no but the stalker says yes. And everyone at work at my lunch and flower: that’s so sweet, he really likes you!

Me: Likes me? He wants to bone me. Remember this day if they find me dead in a ditch, ok?

But I am the crazy one.

Obey the belly

 

[sweepthefloor]

You should always know your route by name or number just in case of a breakdow. Or som unforseeable incident.

I am aware of the road I am on once I am on the road.

Obey the belly

My belly likes to have the butterflies. It's a risk.

 

[sweepthefloor]

The sun sees me.

My shadow on the beach hitched a ride with the waves.
The hurt floats out gently with the tide. The happy crashes in smashing on the rocks before tumbling to my feet with the sea glass.

I keep my head down, and I find the most beautiful seashells. They keep telling me to look up when I walk, but I won’t find any shells that way.

 

[LoudFastHarley]

Beautiful image
Sexy shadow
I want to see your shadow dance

 

[sweepthefloor]

Beautiful image
Sexy shadow
I want to see your shadow dance

I am made of sticks and cut string-- a cheap marionette with no puppeteer.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Love is loose and all those slippery tokens find lonely hearts broken on the boulevard of self-sexing souls.

Crazy people have a waxy look about them. I call it the nut-sheen; it is a layer of insanity on a slightly sweaty face.

Today I ate six blueberries.

 

[SirVPL]

blueberries

Love is loose and all those slippery tokens find lonely hearts broken on the boulevard of self-sexing souls.

Crazy people have a waxy look about them. I call it the nut-sheen; it is a layer of insanity on a slightly sweaty face.

Today I ate six blueberries.

I have no tokens, I am crazy, Id share my blueberry pie.

 

[sweepthefloor]

I have no tokens, I am crazy, Id share my blueberry pie.

I don't know how I feel about pie, it's a lie.

 

[sweepthefloor]

I feel the heat on my face and the dirt forming into battle formation on my cheeks to fight an invisible enemy. There will be scars.

I ate a pound of cherries and jerked off five times before dinner. It was a regular sex fantasy of some dick in my underwear. I don’t even take my pants off because I am a worthless lazy slob.

The house smells like spider webs and my nasty pillow fucking pussy. I don’t want to eat dinner. I don’t want anything at all.

 

[sweepthefloor]

The clerk at the work desk: At what point do you not want me to let this man in to deliver food and gifts?

Me: I don't know yet.
---
Because security knows him now and gives him a pass. This is how the psychopaths get it done. They are slow and deliberate. They take their time. He's so sweet.

You all know me. You all knew me. You let me in.

It's high order trickery what the manipulators do.

 

[sweepthefloor]

When you give the powerless a little power, they get greedy and demand the whole fucking generator.

And I ran out of energy but he still wants more. There is no safe wording out of the Kingdom of Stalk.

I can show up wearing sweatpants with no lipstick on my face and write the book: How to Lose your Stalker in Thirty Days.

 

[sweepthefloor]

You can’t do anything right, but you sure as hell can’t do anything wrong because that is even worse—childhood.

And then we grow up.
---
I pissed under the boardwalk after midnight.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Do you want to be the dark night or the shooting star that people see and make wishes on?

I think the dark night because people are always making crazy wishes and I can’t make crazy come true.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Remember when we used to roll pennies for bread and dry our school socks on the oven door while we waited for the coffee pot to percolate?

There is a man that drops off bundles of news at my curb during this dawn of my life. I cut the plastic bundle ties with my small knife and feel the energy release while the papers exhale. There is something secure about rubber-banding papers and stuffing them into a sack so tightly packed. It’s a paper chuck morning, my fingers are ink stained and my white shirt is dirty. I am getting brand new sneakers.

 

[sweepthefloor]

If I ever get out of here.

Sometimes it's easier to believe what they tell you.

 

[LoudFastHarley]

I need more Janey

 

[sweepthefloor]

I need more Janey

I am not all alone in the sick tank?

It is quarantine for safety. I lock up my head. I nail two by fours on the windows, and through these cracks in my heart I see healthy hope rays trying to get inside.

I am being careful. I am status post surgical debridement of an obsessed metastatic maniac. I don’t want to infect my wound. And like many disease states there are risk factors. If you let the wrong cell in, sickness follows.

It’s getting better but there is a shortage on the prescription strength trust shelf. I have to wait for the manufacturers to make more.

 

[LoudFastHarley]

Yes in a similar tank

Trying to claw my way out this weekend

 

[sweepthefloor]

It’s like a movie and I am the narrator talking in my head screen. I can’t memorize my lines but I still get the part because there is no director. They don’t make pictures like me. I am alone in an empty theater.

I am staring out at the empty seats from behind this curtain call that is life. I am invisible. I am sick. I am so fucking sick.

 

[LoudFastHarley]

 

[sweepthefloor]

We're driving Cadillacs in our dreams.

 

[sweepthefloor]

get up.