Ma’am Monster

Dierdre met me on the internet. I met her on the internet, too.

She was a friend of a friend. An artist of an artist. She lived in hong Kong and constantly wrote about her karate class. She wrote about her paintings and her short films. She wrote about her photography and her pottery. How each one of these ‘adventures’ brought her one step closer to learning how to speak Cactus. Or how she would be able to fly outside of her waking dreams. Or how she would, one day, become the president of the moon.

So I e-mailed her. I found her e-mail on her website.

Dear Ma’am,

My name is Xavier and I think I like your style. Cacti, and karate, and, oh my! I’d like to read your stories, if you don’t mind. Here’s one of mine. Perhaps I am a loon who likes to write to random people on the internet, perhaps not. Perhaps I’m just another one of you in a different body. Perhaps I like your website and everything it nothingly talks of.

Maybe this will be the last e-mail I send to you. Either way, trust me when I say, you got skillz, yo.

Sincerely,
Xavier

I didn’t think she’d respond.

Dear Sir,

your poor wallet.

i dreamt of being with the nicest joe-shmo in the world; he treated me the way i *SHOULD* be treated (whatever that means) and was the greatest man ever….but.

as soon as i saw green and yellow i let go of his hand in a mad dash to catch something that had already begun running away from me.

finally i caught up to the runner. ‘who are you crazy for?’ ‘you.’
i catch my breath. i MUST be crazy.

i had it good. i had it good but the roadrunner has had it’s talons in too deep within me. i’ve been conditioned to the pain it gives me. i don’t know anything else.

……that’s the kind of dream i get for playing star wars monopoly for4 hours. i was clinging on for dear life and had started selling me friends as prostitutes for the colonies. woe is me.

one of my favourite books is LOLITA by nabokov.

one of my favorite stories is yours.

this is the Dierdre-Monster, signing off.

I wrote back.

Dear Ma’am,

How is Hong Kong? Do people hate America? Will you come to LA? I live in a millionaires house as a puppet. Do you want to see what poems on fingers look like?

My, my, my. My last name is De Los Santos. It means, ‘Caterpillars confidence.’

Peace out, homie.

She wrote back.

the last time i cried it was hushed by sleep. sometimes crying comforts me because i feel…so when it ends it ends. i’m to be poked and proded tomorrow morning by good old doc. she said i was due for a tune-up so off i go.

see, the thing of it is is this: right now, at this very moment, my life is at a calm. ( a polite stagnance ! ) i should be content, i should. i should should should MUST (?) be happy. it’s been a tough 2 years, but here i am, erect with sweaty victory …….yet repulsively disenchanted.

(i said ‘YET’)

i want something more. a new toy to play with, a glass of port wine, a cigarette after sincere sleepy sex, a goddamn empty portfolio with nothing to prove.

goodluck with your endeavours(/demons/muse). tonight i’ve been reminded that i’m still trying to lick mine.

I’ll be there next week. Be friendly.

She flew from Hong Kong to LA to meet with a friend whom she said she wanted to marry. In the meantime, she would time-out with me.

I flew from LA and into her letters. And her jokes. And her fantasy land. Just lazy enough to make a home in the temporary relief of mixed metaphors.

She left a month later without a wedding ring. And I went back to work at the furniture store.