It’s not existentialism, it’s numbness. I was used to having the upper hand and his tentativeness incensed me. I always think I’m protecting myself against other people’s views of me by taking the most jaundiced view of myself possible. But now I couldn’t scream. Perhaps sex accounted for my fury. The world is a predatory place: Eat faster! In nineteenth- century novels, they get married. “I want to get inside your head,” I said, “and I can’t. Then he said that he wanted to set my poems to music, so I met him for dinner. I was the only one who ever gave you support and encouragement and this is all you can do in return-go running after some asshole Englishman and whining to me about not knowing what you want. If only men knew! They’re not supposed to. Little C’s on his bikini-jock too, I imagined. Brian gave the impression of never shutting up. It went: “How you like Lebanon? In Heidelberg, we set up house in a vast American concentration camp in the postwar section of town (a far cry from the beautiful old section near the Schloss, which tourists see). It is not having babies in itself which seems unfair, but having babies for men. I remembered how dreadful I had felt about breaking up my marriage to Brian and it occurred to me that I had felt I deserved to spend the rest of my life immersed in his madness. Willkommen! An absolutely perfect place-both symbolically and practically (except that it had no bed): the Jewish Chapel in tourist class. Grateful. My German analyst? Ear-splitting rock music. “Christ-I’ve run into a nose freak,” I thought. When I apply for the High School of Music and Art, my mother worries over my portfolio with me, takes me to the exam, and reassures me, as I worriedly recapitulate each part of it to her. I was in my study writing. Because sex is all in the head. What would I say? My shoulders and forearms were burnt to a crisp. After all this, I have neglected to say the most important thing of all-namely, that I was madly in love with him (with the accent on the mad). And I the perennially second-born. But the broken leg in the dream represents your own “mutilated genital.” You always wanted to have a penis and now you feel guilty that you have deliberately broken your leg so that you can have the pleasure of the cast, no? The people who invented scmaltz (and crematoria) were going to show the analysts how welcome back they were. Watch BBW HD Porn 1080p HD porn videos for free on Eporner.com. He was introducing me to all the London analysts and babbling about my unwritten article. You make me feel so lonely.”, “What do you mean it comes from me? And I was doing my part to help that stink. At times you scarcely knew where your own lunacies left off and those of your spouse began. Darling, I love you. And would it make me pregnant? Being loved by the world is no substitute for having been loved by one person when you were small, and besides the world is a lousy lover. Where was the female Chaucer? Sex. One’s body becomes the landscape, the sky, and finally the cosmos. I go into horrible depressions and hardly come up for air. I simply wanted them both. Bennett and I moved through the crowd looking for someone we knew. Maybe the water would push the semen up behind my diaphragm. “Who’s going to come in here anyway? It was the most terrifying sensation I’d ever known in my life. At sixteen, my not meeting him seemed unbearable. But it was not his ultimate condemnation (nor was banal though he favored that too). “You really have an American accent,” he said, smiling his just-got-laid smile. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, et cetera. Severe, suicidal, strange. I had the oddest sunburn from our days of driving in the open car. He was in decline. I put my head down on the table. When was the last time you said “I don’t agree…” and said it so calmly? I had accused him of betraying us both, of betraying our love. Pronounciation was also a big thing with Charles. All my fantasies included marriage. and with one hand (the other was under my skirt and up my cunt) extract the huge purple thing from between the layers of his shorts, his blue Brooks-Brothers shirttails, and his cold, glittering, metal-zippered fly. They had nothing whatsoever against his race, but they greatly resented his religion: psychoanalysis. And pregnant. “Let’s not go back-let’s spend the night together,” Adrian said. And it was all so pointless! My Woodrow Wilson Fellowship committed me to college teaching. fräulein! It wasn’t easy, and it was always painful. In a panic I knew that I had forfeited everything: graduation, my fellowship grant, my harem of three husbands. By afternoon, we were drunk and jolly. What was the point of this constant round of alternating losses, this constant cycle of desire and indifference, indifference and desire? Descending from the tower, I’d walk deeper into the woods past a small restaurant called Waldschenke (or, forest tavern) which featured fat-bottomed burghers drinking beer outside in summer, mulled wine inside in winter. I was determined to get out of Lebanon as soon as possible. Maybe this man is part of it. I looked at him very hard (over my Polish nose), and for two cents I would have said, “Me too,” but nobody offered me two cents. “Adrian Goodlove,” he said. And don’t look at me that way…”, “As if my not being able to read your mind were my greatest sin. I stood there turning red and muttering drugstore, drugstore, which (I am now given to understand) is a French word. The central train station. And when I got scared-I got married. If you’re in love with him-why don’t you commit yourself to it and meet his kids and go to London. I felt that heavy and familiar pull in my lower belly. Why don’t you come downtown and meet me and I’ll show you my poem.”, “OK, I know you’re in hell, but where should I meet you?”, “To hell. Slow motion. After that I remember dragging my suitcase down endless corridors, trying to sleep in a folding chair on a pitching deck, and waiting on line in the early morning damp while the immigration officials inspected our papers. “You’re right,” I said meekly. And I was scared of losing him, and I wanted to get away from home, and I was graduating from college and didn’t know what the hell else to do-so I married him. We were sitting in Adrian’s Triumph, parked on a back street near the university. Behind us was the past-which we invoked more and more to pass the time and to amuse each other (in the way that parents make up games of geography or identify-the-song-title for their bored children during long car rides). Doesn’t that prove I’m God?”. Sex, as I said, can be summed up in three P’s: procreation, pleasure, and pride. I congratulate myself on every successful takeoff, but not too enthusiastically because it’s also part of my personal religion that the minute you grow overconfident and really relax about the flight, the plane crashes instantly. I needed to feel the flow of ink beneath my fingers as I wrote. I couldn’t be a hippy because my mother already dressed like a hippy (while believing in territoriality and the universality of war). Or maybe I had pegged them wrong. When it got dark, I returned to the station and sat writing in my notebook while I waited for the train. Nobody had been able to tell me that. “I really don’t mind at all,” I said. We stopped to buy peaches from a roadside farmer and found that he’d only sell them by the box, so we drove off with the Triumph loaded with peaches. My father and I had an afternoon and evening left before our return flight to New York. He was thirty-one and never married. All those educated English syllables and he hasn’t even read Joyce. With heigh! As he once said when his famous uncle took him to Le Pavilion: “These crepes are vulgar.” He pronounced it with a great gap between the two syllables-as if between vul and gar he was trembling on the brink of a revelation. Why do you turn on me? I should have known. I looked down the register. Finally he agreed to identify the phone booth he was in, not by name but by a sort of guessing game. The roof leaked (we lived on the top floor), the fuses all blew when you pushed the toast down in the toaster, the bathtubs were claw-footed and the plumbing rusty, the stove in the kitchen looked like something out of a TV commercial for old-Grandma-something-or-other’s-pre-serves, and the window frames were so old and cruddy that the wind whistled right through them. Thank you for your kind letter asking me to submit material. How I lost the rest of the afternoon I’m not entirely sure. “You have your work,” he’d said. The remainder of the crossing was pretty dull for me. That she was really D. H. Lawrence? The bitch finally married the pediatrician who took care of her kid-an American bloke.”, “So why didn’t you go after her if you cared so much?”. You said it about me the first day we screwed and now I’ll say it back to you. I hoped we could think about our life and try again. A man who’ll go down on you when you have your period? Don’t fall asleep! “Aren’t you democratic,” I said sarcastically. Silent as the Sphinx and very gentle. And embraces after poetry readings. Pierre’s hands were under my nightgown, stroking my thighs. I’m restless at home, but the minute I get away I feel the threat of doom hanging over my most trivial actions. He moves to his outer edge. We were all stoned (but I was more stoned than everyone) when we piled into Adrian’s green Triumph and headed for a discotheque. You never said you loved me. She moves her fingers to that rhythm, feeling the two inside get creamy and the clitoris get hard and red. “My superego is soluble in Europe,” I say. Ever since Adrian had appeared on the scene, Bennett had become so gallant and solicitous. I waited, half-cringing, for the blows to fall, but Bennett did not accuse me further. While Bennett mourned in silence through the long winter, I wrote. It only hurts when I laugh-though nobody knows that but me. The lacy white curtains, the quilts hanging out the windows to air, the housewives who scrub the sidewalks in front of their houses, and the storekeepers who scrub their front windows are all part of a carefully contrived facade to intimidate foreigners with Germany’s aggressive wholesomeness. All that craziness with Brian last summer and now Charlie…”. How did I know that a few years later, I’d feel like I was fucking Helen Keller? We zigzagged from depression to depression, looped around drunken sprees, circled good moments. I fascinated them because they assumed I was a “creative person” (as evidenced by the fact that I had appeared on Charmed 13 reading my poems-what more evidence of creativity could a shrink need?). It’s not as if the human race is about to die out if I don’t have kids!”, “But aren’t you even curious to have the experience?”, “I guess… but the curiosity isn’t exactly killing me. At my request, he forsook his mania for dirty words, and we found a charming room at an inn in Fiesole where we could make love from one to four every afternoon (a very civilized lunch-hour custom). After all, I had screwed enough guys to know that one prick wasn’t that different from the next. In the months since my first book had appeared, I had received plenty of bizarre phone calls and letters from men who assumed that I did everything I wrote about and did it with everyone, everywhere. “I love you,” she says. Our life changed radically. But I was a good girl of the fifties. I married twice-but still the search went on. He began throwing his things into a suitcase we had gotten as a wedding present from the friend who’d introduced us. I kept wondering-why on earth had I come back to them for a rest? Shakespeare and Mr. W.H. Now she has left her fingerprints on Beethoven’s eyes. “… What do you think?” She swept her greasy brown hair up on her head and held it there as she sucked in her cheeks and widened her large blue eyes at me. “You could have had an affair without my knowing,” he said. Meanwhile, he’s got my ass and is cupping it with both hands. And then I felt like a fraud. “Both of us.” I said crying. But why do you have to throw everything away before you give yourself time to decide? Lacking this, Italians make sculptures and paintings. From then on our life was in the hands of the doctors and their smug little categories. I stayed “home” in a sterile motel outside San Antonio, watched television, tinkered with my poems, felt enraged and powerless. Sometimes the smell of a cake of soap (or some other homely substance) will suddenly bring back a long-forgotten memory from childhood. Freud could penetrate the secrets of dreams, but he could also fall dupe to an ordinary con man. The energy, the excitement, the power to make me feel totally crazy! Can’t we ever have a serious conversation around here? Never, I once read, begin a letter with the personal pronoun. I stopped knowing who I was-”, “You were under a strain? My mother flatters me, idealizes me-or is that how she really sees me? Charlie and I planned to stay in Holland together for two weeks and then part company. What could be the reason my periods had stopped? The train screeches to a stop in a town called (perhaps) prizzi, and the fat lady, the mother, the grandmother, and the little girl leave the compartment. Here I am-drunk, unwashed, not even knowing what day it is-and he’s keeping track of an appointment he made over a month ago. The other options were worse, weren’t they? The ultimate weapon in the war between the sexes: the limp prick. But somehow I was pleased. A holy object, a barrier between my womb and men. It had begun to itch as if I had fleas. I heaved my suitcase upward and just missed getting it high enough to slip into the rack. What was he doing? Why does that require an apology?”, “Since when do you care so fucking much about being Jewish? There were 117 psychoanalysts on the Pan Am flight to Vienna and I’d been treated by at least six of them. He transformed his voice and his face to suit his moods. What do you want to lie for? “If you’d stop being paranoid for a minute and use charm instead of main force, I’m sure nobody could resist you,” he said. Then he pulled up in front of the “ancestral home”-a small, white-washed adobe house with grapes growing on the roof and no windowpanes or screens but only small square windows with wrought-iron grills over them (and flies zooming freely in and out-but inevitably more in than out). The Venetian blinds were laden with greasy black soot, and grit crunched under your feet as you walked across the bare floor. There is a sliding door to the corridor outside. Since there was no meeting Bennett wanted to attend that afternoon, we decided to take a walk together in the direction of Freud’s house. There were only two boys who were allowed into the group, and we treated them as scornfully as possible to make sure they understood they were only there on sufferance. The copy I’d inscribed for him in shocking-pink ink. Then why did our lives seem to come down to a long succession of sad songs about men? Having babies uses you up, he says. this bristling little But we had no place to go, no way to sneak out of there and away from the people who were watching us, so we danced. Dr. Schrift (the very same Dr. Schrift who had flown to Vienna with us) was a follower of Wilhelm Stekel and he tucked his shoelaces under the toes of his shoes. I sighed with relief, or was it disappointment? Vienna was beautiful that morning. ), “Well it is. “Cherbourg. I remembered how attracted I was to Brian’s craziness, how fascinated I was with his imagery. What would I say if Bennett walked in. I tried to be critical and rational. But how I also longed to be free! Or so I thought. The fight about my quitting analysis. I fumed and sputtered and spouted. Charlie’s family had met with money by way of Charlie’s Uncle Mel-the famous pseudo-WASP ballroom dancer who glided through the 1930s with patent-leather hair and a fixed nose and a dancing shikse wife. I had always worshipped authors. A German woman was feeding her baby out of a jar and calling him Schweinchen. “Damn it to hell,” I screamed. Is it possible he really didn’t know what it was? Dr. Pearlmutter had referred Brian to a psychiatrist who tried for five gallant days to keep him out of the hospital. “I knew you wanted something from me,” I said. We forget about it. “They’re mutually exclusive. At which point I collapsed with exhaustion, took a rest cure at my parent’s apartment (they had become strangely sane in the face of Brian’s flagrant craziness), and cried for about a month. What kind of shit is that? Free as a hijacker parachuting down into Death Valley. What was that other voice which kept calling me coward! I somehow cannot make sense of French philosophy amp; literature vis à vis the French approach to merde. I was really grateful. What had love ever done for me but disappoint me? She was trying to spare me. But if I was remiss with Brian I made up for it doubly with Charlie Fielding. in my navel. It seems ridiculous somehow, but I understand the feeling well. I knew perfectly well what he had done with it. When I knew him, Charlie was very sensitive on the subject of ballroom dancing. The whole episode was wordless-as if the three of us were in a pantomime together and each had rehearsed his part for so many years that it was second nature. I had a ritual for attacking this ritualistic magazine. And what’s more-you know it. Before I lived in Heidelberg, I was not particularly self-conscious about being Jewish. Couldn’t you ever bring philos and eros together, at least for a little while? Besides, we can just turn out the light again. We arrived at that purple hour-eight o’clock on a late July evening. I had survived the night! Oh well, literary men often do turn out to be such bastards. It has a rhythm all its own. I closed it gently. My husband’s ex-analyst. Isadora Sphinx. I ducked into a shoestore and immediately spent $40 on a pair of white sandals with gold chains. I was to help him. Unless the hunger pangs boomed resoundingly, I hated myself for my indulgence. Experience for experience’s sake, Pia and I believed-but I never saw him again. It looks less like an embrace than like a rescue scene, she sinking, he reluctantly allowing her to cling to his leg for support. My grandfather, as I’ve said, used to paint over my mother’s canvases instead of going out to buy new canvas. They had packed up and fled in the night like gypsies. First there was May Pei, the Chinese girl Bennett reminded him of. Was I going to go on living my life as a lie? It was still pretty crowded after my parents left: four sisters, Pierre, six kids (there were only six in 1965), a nursemaid, and a cleaning lady. I sensed that Charlie was more snobbish than he was intelligent. Since the tiers of seats were cot into the hillside, the entrance to the amphitheater was from above. It began simply. It wasn’t until I was settled, facing a nice little family group-mother, daddy, baby-that it dawned on me how funny that episode had been. Brian and I saw each other for the last time in the deserted O.T. “Why don’t we just swap for starters?”. They all think their cunts are ugly. I was twenty-one and a half years old and desperate. And Bennett’s.”, “I think you like Bennett more than you admit. She had gone to Paris to get away from him, and had a French boyfriend who lived with her on the Rue de la Harpe (Charlie seemed to know the particulars pretty well for someone who no longer gave a damn). Our mutual ineptitude never failed to make us delighted with each other. The dining room was practically empty at every sitting and the room-service bells kept ringing. But he waited. This enables you to take a long look, choose among political candidates, and think of things to tell your analyst. Where was he? “Go after her? My grandfather was a former Marxist who believed religion was the opiate of the masses, forbade my grand-mother any “religious baloney,” and then accused me (in his sentimental Zionist eighties) of being “a goddamned anti-Semite.” Of course I was not an anti-Semite. You call that a bit horny? “Pardon?” He hasn’t heard me. Jones”; the “Dear” might be seen to be currying favor. He started the car in earnest this time and pulled out. We kissed for a long time, his tongue making dizzying circles in my mouth. Neither of them took any notice of my arrival. It would subsume everything. The unattainable man. There were even some frank and open propositions (usually from men who didn’t attract me at all). I must be the first case of a twenty-nine year old’s menopause on record. Take it away and there is only the past-and a windshield spattered with dead bugs. But my mother, smoothing the real linen sheets between which I. trembled, insisted, that rainy night in London, on civilization. I was about as worldly as a goddamned eight year old. Psychoanalysts are like that. Lovers and madmen have such seething brains. I will suffer morbidly through a shuttle flight from New York to Washington, but behind the wheel of a sports car I’ll start doing 110 without hesitation and love every terrifying minute. Later we swam in the pond and dried ourselves in the sun. Itchy for sex and itchy for the life of a recluse. And secretly, I am always ashamed of myself for not being her. One’s husband’s body was practically like one’s own. I knew for sure I wasn’t going to grovel. Just sloshing around in the primeval slush and worshipping dung beetles and fucking when the mood struck us? I sniveled. The airline would not fly Brian home without an attendant psychiatrist-which also meant that the four of us had to travel first class, munching macadamia nuts in between Libriums. “God’s revenge on the Germans for being such pigs is making them look like pigs.”. The funny thing is I don’t even call my mother “Mother” and I never have. 7. I tried to keep myself away from him by using con words like “fidelity” and “adultery,” by telling myself that he would interfere with my work, that if I had him I’d be too happy to write. I lay there in that tent, in that double sleeping bag next to that snoring stranger and thought and thought and thought. She had studied art in Paris, learned anatomy and cast-drawing, water color and graphics, and even how to grind her own pigments. Look-it’s clear that you and he are due for a bit of a reshuffle. A spiked iron chandelier hangs dead center from a black chain. Imagine the lost continent of Atlantis and all the submerged islands of childhood right there waiting to be found. Marrying Bennett sprung me from graduate school. The inside of the building had been renovated so that the public rooms exuded all the institutional charm of American motel dining rooms, but the courtyard was still back in the mists of the eighteenth century. Esther has bloody well pissed off with other blokes from time to time and left me holding the kids. Husband and wife have no time left to spend together. If the truth was too hard to bear, then she would lie to me. like a snapped rubber band. (Members of his family once owned the gambling casino at Baden-Baden.) “Isn’t this too much?” Lalah said, waving the book. On the wing, you might say. I would go to meetings with Bennett, fully expecting to stay, swearing to myself that I’d never see Adrian again, that it was over, that I’d had my fling and it was finished-then I’d see Adrian and fall apart. It was the choosing that was impossible. “Good,” he said, fondling my knee. Mirrors everywhere. (What good would it do to send my diaphragm to Charlie and Sally in a panetone box anyway?) (And I never have. It swings slightly in the wind which hisses between the trapezoidal northern window and the trapezoidal southern window. Chloe’s? I despised my own deceitfulness and I despised myself. He hates her for stumbling. “I am going to figure out how I got here,” I said to myself. My life spilling out into the street, and nothing but a slim volume of verse between me and the void. “We looked all over for you.”, “In that discotheque-you suddenly left.
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