168th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Saturday, June 27th, 1999 13:42 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Last night’s call

You are such a good kisser.

167th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Friday July 26th, 1999 18:22 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Last night’s call

Stacey, I think I’m sitting in the same internet café as you. I’m sure I just saw you.

I’m just going to peer over the monitors:

Yes, that’s you.

I can’t believe it.

Are you emailing me as I email you? How funny.

I’m checking my email.
(A few minutes later)

Okay you are emailing me.

If it helps I feel the same way. I feel nervous and little guilty.

Elsa thinks I’m out with the lads.

I am such a liar.

I wonder if you’ve told Marcus anything.
Indeed do you need to tell Marcus anything?

Sorry.
Whatever.

I shouldn’t be talking about them.

I am so excited about seeing you. I just watched you cross the road and move into the hotel. You looked around the foyer.

You’re back outside now; having a cigarette.

You’re trying to look busy and you are so beautiful.

Maybe you’re in the moment.
I hope so.

I can’t stand it any longer.
See you in a second.

166th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Friday, July 26th, 1999 18:12 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Last night’s call

Hey Dom,

I got here early…went across the road to this internet café…I feel I need to write to you before seeing you…it feels familiar and though I have nothing really to say…there’s something right about it…

Perhaps we should take computers into the room and sit on the bed and write to each other…

I’m kinda being serious…email foreplay…me breathing warm air on my blind carbon copy tab as you fiddle with your attachments…

Of course neither of us is going to lug desktops into a hotel…but perhaps we should just speak in blocked sentences or…I don’t know…I’m a little nervous…I’m raving…I told you I have nothing to say…so…

How are you?

How was I?


sxx

PS God, I can’t believe I’m sending this email.

159th - 165rd email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Wednesday July 24th, 1999 13:21 PM
Subject: RE Last night’s call

As long as we go to hell together - I don’t care.





From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Wednesday, July 24th, 1999 15:52 PM
Subject: RE RE Last night’s call

I miss you…I need to speak to you again…can I ring…? I just would like to hear your voice…





From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Wednesday July 24th, 1999 18:35 PM
Subject: RE RE RE Last night’s call

I’m home now, if you want to ring. I want to hear you voice too – especially if you put on some kind of exotic accent and call me a real man.





From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Wednesday, July 24th, 1999 23:12 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE Last night’s call

Dom, should we really be doing this?


S

PS You are a real man, amigo.





From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Thursday July 25th, 1999 8:17 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE Last night’s call

Stacey, as a real man, I bang my fists on the table for emphasis and yell at the flies

“I know we should be doing this!”

d

PS and as a softer man, I tighten my lips in thought, cast my eyes downward toward an open copy of something written by Marylyn Robinson and say in a near whisper

“Why don’t we turn up and just see what happens.’

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Thursday, July 25th, 1999 11:18 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE Last night’s call

Dom…I know what’s going to happen…we’re going to fuck each other’s brains out…aren’t we?





From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Thursday July 25th, 1999 13:11 PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Last night’s call

:) I’ve booked the room. See you at 7:00, Friday.


Dxxx

158th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@hotmail.com >
Sent: Wednesday, July 24th, 1999 11:31 AM
Subject: Last night’s call

It was so so so good talking last night…it was a long call…but good to get it out in the open…how are you feeling today...?

I feel quite excited…a little nervous too…and a little evil…but good evil… I can’t wait to see you…

God…we are so going to hell…

157th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < mailto:printthisplease@printthis.com >
Sent: Tuesday, July 23rd, 1999 4:01AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Perhaps…

Dom…so sorry I didn’t take you advice and read the whole email…I’m quite overwhelmed….and need to speak to you in person, really soon…but, man… I also don’t want to leave you hanging…you put it out there…and I need to as well…

So…in simple terms… you've made me feel like a teenager again and I’ve made you a fictional mix tape too.

Coz when you fancy someone you always give a mix tape, don’t you?

Anyway - here’s the listings:

1: Gloria – Patti Smith
2: Candy Says – Velvet Underground
3: Sick and Tired – The Cardigans
4: I didn’t Understand – Elliot Smith
5: Oh well, okay – Elliot Smith
6: Waterloo Sunset – The Kinks
7: Song of the Siren – This Mortal Coil
8: Golden Slumbers – Claudine Longet
9: Day is Done – Nick Drake
10: Witchita Lineman – Glenn Campbell and Michelle Shocked
11: Pearly Dew Drops – Cocteau Twins
12: Wie ein Stern – Frank Schobel
13: Sometimes Always – Hope Sandoval and Jesus and Mary Chain
14: Hong Kong Garden - Siouxsie and the Banshees
15: Cattle and Cane – Go Betweens
16: Sharkey’s Day – Laurie Anderson
17: Date with a Vampire Girl tonight – Screaming Tribesmen
18: On the Radio – Donna Summer

So there you have it. I hope you get the meaning.
Ringing you this evening.


Giddily
Stacey

PS Also please reply to this hotmail address. I think it would better.

156th e-mail

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999 2:35 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Perhaps…

Yeah. Oh.

So here it is. Here’s the truth. This is what I’ve been bottling up for months.

And please stop reading now. I am about to open up my chest and let it all out.

It’ll be easier to write if I know you’re not reading.

So please stop reading now!

--

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--

Okay, I’ve tricked myself into believing you’ve stopped reading and I’m just writing to myself.

So here it is.

I do like you.

I like you very much.

We connected – bantering about collectives and silly dog names.

And the first night we went out was lovely.

I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I had that hollow cup feeling, you know?

I was fourteen again. I’d write your name all over the place even with my finger in the air, in dirt with a stick. One evening I bought some sparklers and wrote your name in the night time sky.

I even made you a mix tape too. How shameless.

Here was the track list:
1: Am I wrong – Love Spit love
2: Thirteen – Big Star
3: You’ve lost that Lovin’ feeling – The Human League
4: This is the day – The The.
5: Melt with You – Modern English
6: Let’s Ride – Roger Nichols and his Small Circle of Friends
7: The Night I heard Caruso Sing – Everything but the Girl
8: Unguarded Moment – The Church
9: Gossip – My Friend the Chocolate Cake
10: Ghosts – Japan
11: Margot’s Waltz – Lloyd Cole
12: Don’t Think Twice it’s alright – Bob Dylan
13: If I could talk - Lemonheads
14: That’s Entertainment – The Jam
15: Ouija Board – Morrissey
16: Ship Song – Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
17: Glory Box - Portishead
18: Hard Times – Baby Huey

But I never gave it to you. I think I was embarrassed. I mean it’s such a clichéd thing to do.

I tried to write you a poem too; something a little funny, quirky and childish. But it was mainly crass – so sorry for even attempting.
But then Marcus happened (and that’s cool) and you liked him (again – cool) and I fucked up (not cool) and knocked that stupid drink over (really not cool).

I know I did it because I was emotionally all over the place. And you owed me nothing. I was an idiot - plain and simple.

But I still thought of you. I tried not to.

I dreamt of you. I saw your face on strangers in the street.

You were everywhere; on the radio, in the newspaper, on the television.

Your face was plastered twenty feet high on billboards. Your image was posted on the side of buses selling a great romantic movie that was coming soon.

I tried to make it stop. I really did. I’d close my eyes. I tried to sleep. But you were still there.

I was crushed.

And do you remember that rave (‘Herpes and something or other ball’ a few months back). You asked me if I turned up because of you.

I lied.

I believe I went on some verbal rant about how amazing the night was and how it was coincidence I was there.

But the truth is I did go out that night because you were there.

I even tried to tell you how I felt.

I recall the moment; a smooth mix of Biftec was playing. You were dancing with Marcus and I said,

‘Leave him. Run away with me.’

But the music was so loud you nodded and didn’t hear me.
And when the morning came and I saw you with Marcus, I suddenly realised that I was a cuckoo; foolish and sinful.

And it wasn’t just guilt.

It was the romantic Gods that told me.
You did look good together.
You smelt good together.
Your children would be healthy.
That’s what the Gods told me.

I admit I cried a little that night.

And in the morning, Elsa came home with that Keith guy. Remember him? Very handsome and very dull. They went straight into her room.

And I was alone (I have a small bear for these moments – had it since I was one week old)

So I decided to stop. I hit my chest hard and decided to stop.
The following morning, I woke groggy – coming down. I met Keith in the Kitchen (good name for a band) and love, sex and the whole pot suddenly seemed a little unfair.

So when Keith was gone I drew pictures of knobs with Elsa.
The next morning we woke in the same bed.

And though I still occasionally thought of you as I kissed her, I knew this was maybe a cure.

I focused on Elsa and tried to forget about you. And I enjoyed it. I really did.

For a week or so.

But you emailed again and it was ever so tempting to go back. I tried not to. I tried not to email you so obsessively.

If you recall, I wrote curt, short replies.

And I spent my time with Elsa.

But soon I was back; falling for you again. And all those feelings of teenage pain returned too.

But it was getting familiar. I liked it.

And when we went to your birthday dinner party and I met some of your new friends, I felt comfortable. I felt that I could sit with you, as yours, and fit right in.

But I was with Elsa and she’s so sweet.

And there you were too, at the head of the table preparing to flash your breasts in the female toilets.

Things were now very complicated.

I remember holding Elsa’s hand under the table and gently stroking her knee as some kind of guilt compensation.

I couldn’t even look Marcus in the face. I felt he knew and when he left so abruptly, part of me felt it was because of me. He was upset at me. Deep down I knew this was madness, but I couldn’t help think that he was returning home and preparing some kind of home made bomb with my address on it.

And all the while my hand remained on Elsa’s knee.

The following day when you emailed and discussed your awful night, I felt so buoyed that you considered me safe to discuss such woe.
And then Oftenbark started writing. That was liberating. I could say some of the things I couldn’t directly.

And I felt you could too.

It was an affair of sorts.

I even put it out there. I don’t know if you recall but Oftenbark suggested that we’d make a great couple.

You correctly saw through this ruse and shut it down.

And I understand.

But for a few hours, I hated you a little.

I wanted you to confess, that you had feelings for me too.
But you didn’t. And that’s cool.

So I stopped writing as Oftenbark and tried to return to Elsa.
But you kept coming. You invited me over for breakfast. You even invited Elsa. I said she was asleep. She wasn’t. I wanted to be alone with you.

I spent so long in the bathroom before coming. I deliberated about what clothes to wear. I thought about bringing you the mix CD.
I giddily arrived. I was so happy to see you.

But as soon as I stood in Marcus’s apartment, I truly realised that you were with him.

Not me. I was so close to acting foolishly.

And this feeling of jealousy and disempowerment brought back that moment with my ex and Russell.

And I hated myself then. I felt sorry for myself and I hated myself.
I even told you the story about Russell, so you’d feel sorry for me too, I think.

And I think you did. We plotted ways to kill him. I loved that game.
And for a moment I convinced myself that this was the best outcome. We’d be secretly intimate in our writing and publicly polite everywhere else.

You’d be with Marcus.
I’d be with Elsa.

And we’d shag with emails.

We’d have something with each other that we never would share with them.
We had secrets. We had fears. We had cruelty. We had fun.

I was going to survive.

Thank God, I was going to survive.

And then you broke up with Marcus.
(not quite sure how to write a musical dramatic chord progression to punctuate the moment – maybe something like Dum-dada-da-DAAAAA!)

So my plan didn’t work.

You see, for me to survive I needed you to have Marcus. I needed you to have the real relationship so we could have the secret one.

So you’re right, I was being safe in my responses to you. I was being a councellor. But if I didn’t, this is what I’d write:

“Dear Stacey, don’t be with Marcus. Be with me. He’s an idiot. I am too. But I know it. He doesn’t."

And for the record you shouldn’t have break up sex with him. He’s a fuckwit and you’re being foolish and perhaps a little cruel.
Besides he’s still controlling it and if you think differently – you’re deluded.

Finally – and here's the big one, if you actually want to go back with Marcus well that’s fine and good. But if you do, please stop writing to me.

I don’t think I can take it anymore.


Dom

PS So there it is. Complete honesty.
God I hope you haven’t read this.

142nd email - 155th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Monday July 22nd July 1999, 22:21 PM
Subject: Perhaps…

Fuck, Jesus Dom…I don’t know is there something else going on here? If there is I’ll support you in whatever it is…and if this email offends you, I’m sorry…but…





From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999 1:08 AM
Subject: RE Perhaps…

I’m going to bed now as I’m too sleepy to come up with a cogent argument.





From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999, 1:12 AM
Subject: RE RE Perhaps…

…you’re a coward…don’t go to bed…





From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999 1:15 AM
Subject: RE RE RE Perhaps…

Okay couldn’t sleep – and fuck you! I’m not a coward. Jesus I’m not Marcus.





From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999, 1:23 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE Perhaps…

And there we have it…we have heard the truth…at last…
“I’m not a coward. I am not Marcus.”

See you do have a side. You think Marcus is a coward. Why didn’t you say that?





From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999 1:43 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE Perhaps…

Okay you want the truth – don’t place your anger about Marcus on me--

I mean I’m up for carrying your burden but when I do, acknowledge it when it happens, alright?

And don’t the fuck take it out on me.





From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999, 1:50 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE Perhaps…

Okay okay okay…maybe I am taking it out on you…but I am pissed off…and that’s shitty…sorry…I’m an idiot…but I’m angry…I don’t know where to place it…





From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999 1:54 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Perhaps…

So why such anger…?





From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999, 2:02 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Perhaps…

Because I didn’t believe you…I thought there was something else going on…there always is when that safe non committal ‘adult’ double speak comes into play…

…most of the time it means the person ultimately doesn’t care…or isn’t listening…but I knew you did…so there had to be something else…





From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999 2:05 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Perhaps…

But I don’t know what that is.





From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999, 2:12 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Perhaps…

Stop being so safe, Dom….there is something...
there is something you’re not telling me…

…I think it has to do with Marcus…or I think it has to do with me and Marcus…

I know you have an opinion…about whether I should stay with him or not…but you’re not telling me…





From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999 2:21 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Perhaps…

Yes, I have a strong opinion about Marcus.

Yes, I think you should leave him.

Yes, I think you should be with me instead.

Is that what you want to hear?

Happy now?



d

PS Betcha didn’t see that one coming did you?





From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Tuesday July 23rd 1999, 2:34 AM
Subject: RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE RE Perhaps…

Oh…

141st email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Tuesday July 21st 1999 8:41 AM
Subject: RE Elliot Smith

Now I really don’t understand. I don’t think I was being safe. My apology was genuine. I don’t think I play it safe at all. Look at how I’ve been with you.

I was the one, waving the flag high above me head, remember.

I was the one that emailed you first - back in April, remember.

In was the one that poured his drink over your head, remember.

You must have seen it.

I know you’re not blind.

Or is there something else going on here?

Fucking Hell, Stacey!!