Childhood I am

He notes the color of her eyes: or doesn' Or they are with a group playing a game: do you know each roommate's eye color? Naomi's eyes are blue, Denny ASSERTS. Naomi sighs and shrugs a little, a mild affirmative. Not an exact agreement but nothing worth contradicting Denny over when the evening was progressing so affably. [anna, don't stress the voice--aha! that's why you were looking up punk singers, former. Stop screaming or you'll lose your voice altogether. or you'll lose your voice last time for that one 'k? little one giggling in the corner you needs long ok short nap I won't let U miss anything, No one will look at FB till they are on their planes back to home anyway.' Meet the meat. It's rough. Take tenderizer. Not Adolf's. No, we don't want to have to Godwin a life, pull a Hitler live ten thousand lives as a dung beetle waking every morning believing he's King Shit on a Silver Platter only to glance at the hairy dark strange appendage appending (first and last use LO) from his pajama sleeve and realizes he is Teh Fly and has to have his sister feed him milksop till the family walls him up in his castle for 3 years till he dies because of all those virgins he killed to bathe in their blood and stay young forever and I swear it was NOT two but only ONE virgin's blood and she was on her menses.--Erszhbet Bathory Must I undo all the darkness that was planted in and flourished in my dark, dark, childhood. To be fair, my older brother shared my childhood, and ike the Salinger kids, we saw through different glasses. Maybe because of our shared femaleness, maybe shared DSM IV dx's we saw through mirrors fsr more darkly than our brothers did. Maybe the world just treated boys a lot better back then. It was never said, but my brother was also the only boy child of a vast generation of cousins. (my father was youngest of 12. They called him "Junior" until the day he died. I kid you not. The family was upset because the funeral announcement had Junior in quotation marks--like a nickname! As if. (My mother and her side, the Polish side, never called him anything but Joe, but on his side, the Italian side, he was Junior or "J" or "Uncle Junior") There was some distressing confusion because my brother is a turd (just once I had to say it) a third, but he doesn't use it (we aren't decended from royalty, nobility perhaps, I've been told of a vast land of vines and a proper castle...who knows? On the Polish side, it's strange because although my Babci was vehemently radically deliciously Polish, when I saw her Christening certificate (or was it a passport?) it said she was born in Austria. I know borders were changing with all those wars going on back then (huh. back then. where is Checoslovakia? in Amadaues. which of course was set in Vienna (Austria, for us geographically-challanged 'merkins) Her family name was Kristula. It means crystal. I love that just love it. Either we were a family laden with jewels and crystal or crystal workers or we were miners, just like my grandparents, both, became when they came to America. Bless them. I don't get verklempt about America--I'm more the commiepinkoqueertraitorfeedthepeoplejanefonda-loving c*nt (the most beautiful word in the world)-type. But I have authentic respect and gratitude for my ancestors OPENING SCENE: Dziadziu's funeral. All grown cousins gathred. God, we look older. Dawns on youngest: we accomplished his dream. And he got to see it. All of us, every one except one who voluntarily opted out (twin oooo and that would give aunt elenor something to do...be good girl karma) Like Dervel. Gods you are cold, Anna. You hate the woman. Have sworn never to darken her doorstep nor give a rats ass when she departs the planet, yet give you a fiction hook and you're running with scissors. Chillaxxx she'll be DEAD soon. ok marya. I deserve to be a little manic, don't I? Not if it means wacko swing back sick. As long as I'm awake I should be doing something poductive. You are. shut up. trust the process. shut the fuck up and let me sleep or I'll rip both your heads off and feed them to you. how will I eat them if you've ripped off my heads. If you've ripped off my heads, I'm assuming, hopefully, filled with hope, without making an ASS OF U and ME... twit. because you have three heads! *Smacks foreheads* I keep forgetting. They come in haandddyy! If I have 3 heads, I'll have 3 noses, so I'll need an extra hand to scratch my nose. Done. The butterfly book...to sell at butterfy conservatory