her_say stork daddy he had told me to meet him. he was to bring the gun and i was to shoot him in the head. i waited in the rain contracted park for hours for him. it might have been the blankets experience i've ever had. i can say that i literally had no thoughts for the entire span of five to six hours. just listening to the litany of trees pushed at ancient unrepentant angles that they cannot have remembered, for such wind would preclude their ability to have started to grow. i stood as if in a trance, and though my legs were tired i suppose, i never got the urge to sit or to defer to the mundane humanity of resting or putting my attentions to something more immediate and productive when faced with a blind alley. it truly felt like i was at the most elevated point of my existence, and yet also the most dissolved. they found him behind a gas station, partly bludgeoned and also shot. they also found his papers and immediately i was a suspect. from the start of this all, the most terrifying possibility was all of my internal horror and doubt infecting those who loved me, and assumed my forthright certainty in the good of life. yet, i suppose the freedom i felt once they knew also was something i suspected and drove me to amass secret after secret. i was, after all, not really denying anything. that i represented myself as a good daughter in love with a moderate life to them, while simultaneously existing far more recklessly (though no less lovingly)in my flirting with him and the concept of death, seemed only the truth of my confused mind. it seems unfair as my actions came out, and my mother sat across from me stunned after police questioning, that my actions were used as the best determination of what i meant to happen and what i believed. i suppose they are given the greatest weight for a reason, but to the actual one experiencing a thousand possible lives in imagination, each thought feels equally as heavy. it was only the inutterable sadness in my mothers face that made me realize that perhaps i was wrong. she looked at me then, as if i had opened in her the doubts that she, unlike me, had once experienced when younger, but wisely shut herself away from. i felt then a true guilt. for the worst victimization i felt i could put on a person was to put them in my shoes. if i could not find value, how could they? suddenly i was all of the wrongs i railed against in my life. all of the stupidness and selfishness that i thought myself above, i suppose i had become. and all in an effort to free myself from it. i remembered when i had said to him how silly i thought the buddha was for not considering the suffering of his children and his wife. how silly that he thought they were as strong as he would be in disavowing this world. i also miss johnny rook much. i loved him very much. i wished he was still alive somehow, and i knew in that moment that i could never have killed him. the police won't believe me perhaps, and i won't talk to them, because they are talking in a language that i am not. they talk only of did you do this or that. this gun, that head. but what i mean is, this existence that existence - i wouldn't kill him - and facts that suggest otherwise seem beneath me to even argue. i also hate him, for putting this weight on me. for making me make the same face my mother made, and also for making me feel ashamed of it. would it have been so wrong to not face all of the horror in life? to lie to each other? we could have had a thousand happy moments, not diminished by the knowledge that it's all on such thin ice? we didn't have to smash into the cold waters just because they were under us. 050227 what's it to you? who go blather from