Email me

Sunday, August 29, 2010

56th email

----- Original Message -----
From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < >
Sent: Tuesday, May 25th, 1999 18:29 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE so sorry

Okay, I started this e-mail a number of times…re-read it, deleted etc…

…in one version I forgive you…and all is right…no fight…easy…

…in another I am protective and heavily use ‘I’ statements…god, I hate ‘I’ statements…I really do… I really, really do…

…finally I started writing a list of things you could do to gain my forgiveness as you suggested…

I didn’t delete that one…so here goes…please chose one…not all…just one…

(and fearing the lack of intended wryness – please put on your wry goggles now)

1: Put two pencils up your nose and smash them hard onto a desk.

2: Drink a lot of cough medicine, inhale madly on Benzedrine, swallow some medislim
tablets and then read James Elroy’s White Jazz in one sitting and truly get it.

3: Join a Doctor Who fan club with no irony.

4: Invent something that will change the world…

5: Try to convince at least three people that Pig Latin is actually an elitist form of communication between pigs…

6: Try and speak Pig Latin to a pig for at least an hour (need written proof from the pig for this one)

7: Kill Jenny Wrangler (a girl I went to primary school with who made my lunchtimes a misery by not letting me be part of her ‘charlie’s angels’ club)

8: Watch all the Merchant Ivory films in a row.

9: Become homeless for a day and then brag patronisingly to at least ten people that you truly understand the plight of the disenfranchised.

10: Step away from the computer and don’t use e-mail for a least a week.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

50th - 55th email

----- Original Message -----
From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Sunday, May 23rd, 1999 21:11 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE So sorry

“Shame is what will save mankind”

----- Original Message -----
From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < >
Sent: Sunday, May 23rd, 1999 11:54 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE so sorry

Grow up.

----- Original Message -----
From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Monday, May 24th, 1999 15:12 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE So sorry

No I meant me. I am shamed. Not you.

(Damn you email, and your inability to read subtext – why isn’t there a self flagellation emoticon)

What I meant with the quote when I wrote, ‘shame is what will save mankind’ is my shame will save mankind.

Okay not Mankind. Not all of it.

But if I start tipping my hat to shame - then maybe others will too.

Actually I’m kinda raving here. It’s not what I mean at all.

I mean - I am shamed. Period. That’s it. And that’s good.

You haven’t shamed me. I am shamed by my own actions. And it won’t affect the world at all. Why would it? I don’t influence the whole world.

I don’t influence anyone (message to self – you are not Jesus!)

And I continue to feel sorry and shamed and have turned my verbal flagellation to an hourly drenching of self-tipping fruit juice.

And it was an accident – I promise. But I am sorry about it anyway.

Please pass my best onto Marcus and I’ll do anything for your forgiveness (though nothing weird and Teutonic please.)


----- Original Message -----
From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < >
Sent: Monday, May 24th, 1999 19:21 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE so sorry

Maybe we should try and forgive each other…we’ve both been dicky…

a nihilist and a depressant…I don’t think so…two dickheads (wrote duckheads there initially – kinda prefer it) …maybe that’s more accurate…

----- Original Message -----
From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Monday, May 24th, 1999 21:43 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE So sorry

Hey duckhead, I forgive you. That’s a given.
What about me?

Sunday, August 22, 2010

49th email

----- Original Message -----
From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < >
Sent: Sunday, May 23rd, 1999 17:01 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE so sorry

Dom, stop it. Stop it now!

I think I should be the one saying sorry…

Actually I know I should be saying sorry…

Why do I do that? Why do I use words like ‘I think’ before making a vulnerable statement…I guess I’m protecting myself…kinda like folk that say ‘I’m sorry but I never meant to hurt you…’ I hate that...just state the ‘sorry’ and own it…whatever…

Anyway… after I got your last email, I thought (against my better nature:)) that I should look backwards at our correspondence…and… I am so sorry for my email about Marcus… I did give too much detail… I feel like such a bitch for sending it…

So I am sorry…no qualifications…owned…stamped…sent…framed for the whole world to see…

I don’t know if this is useful…but perhaps I can offer some reasoning behind my action…might help you understand…(though I know you’re way capable)…(and sorry if that sounds patronising)

See…I can get a little angry sometimes…I hate that part of myself…I really do…and you don’t need to have it thrust in your face…you didn’t need to know everything…

Okay now I’m feel like I’m stalling…no more stalling…back on topic…take a breath Stacey, in, out and…

I sent you the Marcus email because I wanted to hurt you…because…

I kinda fell for you a bit…

…okay not a bit…a lot…

…you are bloody good with words…I couldn’t wait to get another email from you…

I kept checking each hour, hoping that there’d be something…I became a little obsessed and though I might have been a little cool…trust my when I read your emails…I was far from it…

Then that night when you left The Norman…all that insecure bullshit that internally lurks in me fought back…and I felt like shit…I felt like I’d been conned…I felt like I had completely missed it…

Simply, I felt stupid…

And I got angry…

And there was Marcus (don’t worry no details this time) he paid attention…he made me feel okay…

… And I’m so sorry it didn’t work out between us…I think it could’ve been great…grand, perhaps…I don’t know, maybe we would’ve torn each other apart…but one thing I know for certain…the sex would’ve been terrific…


PS Also I know we can be great mates…if you’re up for it…

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

48th email

----- Original Message -----
From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Sunday, May 23rd, 1999 12:01 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE So sorry


I feel right shamed by my last email. You must think I’m a lunatic; a real-howl-mooning-Dom-crazy-pants with a collection of aluminium cans and an imaginary friend who has their own imaginary friend that I refuse to admit exists.

See, I’ve never told anyone about my hotel processing before.

Man, I feel like such a wanker.

Please don’t tell anyone. Please.

I know it’s a little nuts. I do. I guess I get a little nuts sometimes.

And my sojourn to the Hilton really helps me put things in perspective.

In a nutsoid way.

And it’s really private. So why the hell did I share it? I won’t ever be able to do it again without truly turning beetroot red.

I have ruined it for myself. You knob shiner, Dom.

See, a large part of me wished I’d never shared it.

Actually it’s more than a large part; every part of my being regrets sharing this.

It’s like admitting you suck your thumb when you’re an adult.

(Which I don’t – I also don’t wet the bed, hurt small animals, start fires or snuggle with a comforter either.

I did however like the Musical Cats when I was thirteen.

“…Of all things can it be really? Yes no – ho-hi oh my eye”

I even indulged in Lloyd-Webber merchandise and purchased the hooded jacket with yellow eyes watching because I thought it was cool and not creepy in any way.

I also had a crush on RuPaul for some reason when I was younger.

When I was a kid I wanted to be an archaeologist/hairdresser so I could finally find out why Cleopatra’s hair was so shiny.

And when I was 15, I became obsessed with the movie Mermaids and had many a dream of Winona Ryder licking my leather jacket. I even posted her my Cats leather jacket with detailed instructions of where she should place her DNA)

Anyway – whatever – with all these admissions, I still think my last email trumps them all.

God I’m an idiot. I hope you can just delete the last email. Please delete it.


Man, now I feel so indulgent too.

And whiny.

I’ve become one of those indulgent whiny men who end up running the country for far too long.

Can you forgive me for that too? (not running the country – for I’m certain if I had that job, my in-house parliamentary memos would be so indulgent that the Reserve Bank’s interest rates would quickly lose interest and the country would be weeping over a tub of vanilla ice-cream an insurance commercials come the end of the year)

Anyway hope my lame attempt at humour might have softened the blow of the wailing wetness of the proceeding.

Yours in dickheadedness


Sunday, August 15, 2010

47th email

----- Original Message -----
From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Sunday, May 23rd, 1999 11:31 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE So sorry


When it all gets too much for me I book myself into the Hilton Hotel in town for a night. I’ve been doing this for the last year of so when the black dogs come calling.

I checked in last night.

I do this because I need to go to a place that is anonymous; a place where there is nothing of me to get in the way; a place where my smell is faint and the sheets are clean.

The first thing I do when I get to the hotel is run a bath. A really hot both. I take out my toiletry bag and remove soap, shampoo, shaving foam and razor.

Once the bath is filled, I don’t get in it. I let it ripple, close the bathroom door and climb into the king size bed.

Once in the bed, I ring room service. I order a club sandwich and a bottle of wine. Once it arrives I eat, drink and watch about half an inhouse movie. (Rushmore, if you’re interested)

All the while the bath is still filled and losing heat.

Once the movie is finished, I open my suitcase. Inside is a shine of cleaning products (not sure what the collective of cleaning products would be; shine will do for now)

I get my cleaning products out and then I clean the room. I know the room is clean, but I clean it again. I really clean it. I polish and buff. The windows become sparkling and each crevice and cornice is grooved with cotton buds removing any speck of filth.

Once the bedroom is cleaned I move into the bathroom. I clean there too. The toilet is scrubbed, the sink is scrubbed and the floor is mopped.

But I avoid the bath. It’s still filled with water; getting colder now. The steam is dissipating but there’s condensation on the white tiles.

I dip my hand in the water. I’m always surprised that it’s still warm. But I don’t get in it. I can’t get it. I want to so badly to get in it, but I don’t. I have one final task to do.

I leave the bathroom and return to the bedroom. I sit at the desk and take out some hotel stationary.

I grab a pen and start writing. It’s self addressed and the contents are a list of all the good things in my life.

The list always starts with Oftenbark and family and tends to make its way down to such things as my adequate way with words and my ability to make some strangers laugh. (In regard to making strangers laugh - I’m talking about this homeless guy outside Central Station who laughed at my unconscious impression of the arrivals announcement over the PA system. However he also laughed at his own middle toe that twitched involuntarily seconds after. But I’m still gonna claim this one for Dom’s house of chuckles.)

Then I take the letter and return to the bathroom.

It’s time to get in the bath.

I climb in, it’s colder now and my skin bubbles with goosebumps.

I clean myself first; I need to be clean. Then I read the letter out loud. And last night was no different, except for one key element:

You were on my happy list.

Oftenbark was there, my flat mate was there, my family were there and you were there. You were on my list of good things.

Thank you for that, even if it was just for one Saturday night, thank you. I’d so hate to lose you.


PS See I am a depressive after all; it wasn't just a costume.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

46th email

----- Original Message -----
From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < >
Sent: Saturday, May 22nd, 1999 11:54 AM
Subject: RE RE RE so sorry

What about someone who listens to you…doesn’t get shit-faced-drunk and leave without saying goodbye…?

What about someone who doesn’t point at you…call you cruel and then tip their drink…?

What about someone who doesn’t write passive aggressive emails from up high?

What about that…?

Sunday, August 8, 2010

45th email

----- Original Message -----
From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Saturday, May 22nd, 1999 6:27 AM
Subject: RE RE So sorry

Stacey, what a harsh email.

I’m not quite sure how to respond. I feel kinda betrayed. I mean not betrayed in a Gangster or Tudor King battle-for- the-Crown kinda way.
I just feel hurt.

I feel raw.
I feel unprotected.
I feel the world got a little darker.
I feel like a child.

I feel I want to be looked after.
And I know I should look after myself. I know that.
I know that when it all comes down to it, we only have ourselves.
I know I’m an adult.

But sometime don’t you want someone to hold your hand?

Someone to check your temperature.

Someone to ring you on your birthday.

Someone to buy you a book.

Someone to write a dated personal inscription in that book.

Someone to share a piece of toast with.

Someone to gently correct the song lyric when you sing it incorrectly. (I’m talking about Warren Zevon’s Werewolves of London which I thought was Werewolves Abundant for a good three months)

Someone who won’t ever wear a matching track suit with you.

Someone who will read the Saturday papers with you.

Someone who will steal your pillow.

Someone that will cut off the fat before making you a bacon sandwich.

Someone who will laugh at your jokes even when they’ve heard them before?

Someone who’ll not laugh at you even when you’re foolish again.

Someone to say the odd there-there

Someone that will cut off the fat before making you a bacon sandwich. (I said that already, didn’t I? I think I really want a bacon sandwich.)

Someone who’ll tell you ‘actually it is a bad haircut.’

Someone who’ll tell you ‘actually that colour doesn’t suit you.’

Some who’ll tell you ‘actually leather doesn’t suit you.’

Someone who’ll tell you ‘though I support the idea of complete corduroy outfit, I think when it comes to the waistcoat you should reconsider.’

Someone who has enough regard to lie to you?

Someone who’s willing to leave out some of the details.


Wednesday, August 4, 2010

44th email

----- Original Message -----
From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < >
Sent: Friday, May 21st, 1999 11:00 AM
Subject: RE so sorry

It was hard to hear…i have to say…I kinda hated you for a bit…not for being called cruel…

I hated you for tipping that dreadful spiritual smoothie concoction over me (by accident, hmmmm) in that fuck awful Spiritual bookshop!!!!!!

How dare you!!!!

…it was so humiliating…

…and you didn’t even mention it in your apology…don’t you think that you should?

I mean what kinda of guy doesn’t say anything about such an act…makes me relive it again...or makes me think you don’t care about it…

I mean, I have to say…it was hard to tell you about Marcus…you were the last one I told because I knew you’d be upset and I wanted your support…

Yes we had a nice night at the Norman…I really liked it too…I thought we connected and it was fun…but when you left…what was I to do..? Without a word, you left…

I thought it was me…I thought, ‘oh he mustn’t like you in that way…’ or worse…’I think I came on too strong – and revealed too much about myself…’

And of course…whatever…your choice…you can do what you want…that’s cool… it was a nice night…two friends talking and that’s it…I am just his friend…

And then Marcus was there and we started talking too…we connected too…and he sat in your seat at the table once you’d gone…

…he stayed…

…and we drank and we talked and we flirted…

…and he said, come back to my place…

And I did…

…we went back to his place…we fucked…it was good…we played Big Star…the good third album and fucked to Holocaust…it was sad and kinda funny…

and after we talked…we talked about Asterix and The Devils of Loudon in a weird francophile/belguim stream of consciousness way…even Tintin…

I never got Tintin…I liked the white dog but found Tintin looked too much like my Aunt who never married…

but hearing him talk about Tintin made me want to read it…and marry my aunt…and then we put on Jesus and Mary Chain and fucked again to April Skies and Darklands

…and in the morning it still felt good…he made me cup of tea…leaves…in this kitsch purple home made mug…he taught me how to do a cryptic crossword…and we watched a movie on telly…Doc Savage

…and when I went home, I still thought of him…it was painful not to ring…it was more painful to want to see him in the future and think of him from last night…he had made me move out of the present…I had memory and hope…

...and parted of me hated him for that and parted of me could see myself getting old…quilting and kissing and baking and toying with the idea of god…

I kinda felt human

And I know I shouldn’t tell you this…but I want to hurt you and make you understand that I never planned this…it happened…maybe it could have been you…and maybe I would have woken in the morning looking up at you dangling a hot cup of coffee over my head, tipping it and scolding me…

...'cause I know we flirted too…at the Norman…I know…but when you went home without saying goodbye…what was I meant to think? I thought you hated me…and after we shared so much…I didn’t understand…

…now I understand that you were drunk and just toddled off…but what was I meant to think?

..and now…fuck…I don’t know why I wanted your support…I think I wanted it, because I liked you…I really did…but maybe we are just friends…good friends… and nothing more…

My clothes still stinks of wheatgrass, carrot and noni juice by the way…

Sunday, August 1, 2010

43rd email

----- Original Message -----
From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Thursday, May 20th, 1999 17:01 PM
Subject: So sorry

Hi Stacey,

I just wanted to say I was so sorry for my behaviour at lunch.

I really want to blame the palatable sense of hippy anger on my passive aggressiveness.

But that’s a cop out. And I should take responsibility for myself, hey!?

Kinda like that Jules Pfeiffer cartoon. Have you seen it? Have you read him?

Anyway Pfeiffer has this cartoon – say five panels.
I’ll paraphrase – but you’ll get the point.

1: A Guy cleaning the dishes in a restaurant and the caption says – I’m just doing my job.

2: A Guy cleaning an office and the caption says – I’m just doing my job.

3: A Guy teaching Children in a classroom and the caption says – I’m just doing my Job.

4: A Policeman arresting a Protester and the caption says – I’m just doing my job.

5: A head of State after pressing the button that launches the bomb and the caption says – I’m just doing my job.

So this is me saying – hey I’m not doing my job.

Indeed my job sucks.
My actions suck and I’m going to do something about it.
I’m going to say – sorry Stacey – I was a fool.
It was me. I did it. I am to blame.

I mean, you have the right to do what with whomever.

And Marcus is a good guy.
He’s passionate and strong.
I feel so stupid for dissing him.

For truly - if the world ended I’d want him on my team because he’s not scared of killing a chicken and he can run really fast.

And he smells good. I really get that. He smells so good!

Shit, now I’m starting to sound mean again. Don’t mean to.

I was just a little jealous, that’s all. And I can’t help think that if I’d stayed at the Norman with you that little bit longer – hadn’t got so fucking drunk and gone home that maybe we could have seen sunrise together instead.

Now I sound like I’m guilt-tripping you. Fuck, sorry again.
My feelings are all over the place.

I know one feeling - I shouldn’t have called you cruel at lunch.
I really shouldn’t have.
You’re not cruel.
You’re not.

And I hope you and Marcus will be happy together. I really do.

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