99th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Sunday July 1st, 1999 11:29 PM
Subject: RE Just for you

Stacey, that is so full on. I admit after Friday night, I went home and watched Rage too. I quite like Prince. But I couldn’t get into it. I was thinking of you and hoping everything was okay.

I mean, you’re so bloody strong and you’ll survive but if it ever gets too hard you can always come over for a nice cup of tea.

Wanna have a cup of tea?

I don’t know if this helps, but men are stupid.

Now, I should frame this with a gentle reminder that I am a self hating man.

But men are still stupid.

I mean to give you a present from an ex girlfriend?

What was he thinking!!?
Is he nuts?

It seems he wants to punish you for getting attention, I reckon.
Don’t let him peck at you, Stace’. (And allusion to Maya Angelou – don’t let them peck you to death with their small comments and actions etc)

And embrace this new day. Let him snore and have some toast.

And it’s raining today.

You love the rain, don’t you?
I love the rain.

I love the rain because it allows me to stay inside without having to exhaust all with excuses.

I love the rain because when it hits my windows it makes the glass look like its sweating.

I love the rain because it washes away my guilt about watching morning televsion and afternoon movies.

I love the rain because it brings a grey sheen of gauze over the world making people look like Lowrey stickmen.

I love the rain because I think my hair looks better when it’s wet.

I love the rain because you do too.

So with the snoring, toast and rain how can it this day not be better?
But in case none of the above rambling works; I ask again: Wanna have a cup of tea?

Okay - hey - how’s this to entice you further:

Elsa has bought these lovely Danishes (named Hans and Lars) from the Bakery. They have none of that Hamlet madness and simply just want to be eaten.

I should warn you though, they are a little sad and I don’t quite get their humour but to compensate, they have nice apple and custard fillings. That’s a plus.

Okay what I just written was stupid. But as you can tell I’m trying very hard to make you smile. Failing, I’m sure.

Anyway, I’ll give you a ring and see if you’re home.


Dom.

PS Oftenbark read your email and wisely said; “What a dick.”

PPS I’d never say that of course.

PPPS I hope you don’t mind my dog reading your email. I know you said it was for my eyes only, but Oftenbark takes any opportunity to jump online and read my emails. He tells me he only does it to keep me honest. Personally I think he’s preparing a file to use against me when the Rapture comes.

PPPPS And I know I shouldn’t ask this question but who were you thinking about when you were with Marcus last night. I know it’s personal – but Oftenbark made me ask.

98th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Saturday, June 30th, 1999 14:26 PM
Subject: Just for you

Dom…okay you’ve read the diplomatic global email sent to everyone now here’s the truth…

For your eyes only…

…it was a fucking nightmare…Marcus pulled this guilt trip on me as soon as I got home…

...he said, I should have left with him...

...he said he felt embarrassed that I stayed on

...he said he hated knowing I was having fun…

...he said that I probably had more fun without him being there…

I think he just has an issue with birthdays…

he hates his own…he says he feels individual attention is selfish…

it’s his so-called faux socialism coming out…

personally, I think he gets embarrassed that everyone is looking at him…giving gifts when the world is so fucked up…it’s a priorities thing…he places his priorities on aid over personal celebration…

he says he feels hypocritical eating fine food, laughing at regifted presents and drinking mid range wine when there’s such inequity of wealth in the world…

And then he gets all self defeated…he admits that it’s hard to have fun when you have a world perspective…he tries to turn it off but he can’t…it’s who he is…and at time he hates himself for it…he hates that he can never have fun…

And in these moments I get it...with both barrels…

I get the Karl Marx barrel…
And I get the Susan B Anthony barrel…

Anyway, back to last night…I came home at about three AM…

I thought he’d be asleep…but he wasn’t…he was watching...what’s it called...the late night music clip show... this is driving me crazy...I’m going to have to look it up... (man, having senior moments already)

Rage…

It’s called Rage...how could I forget... anyway they were playing a whole bunch of Prince clips on Rage…and I think he was torn between feeling angry, assaulted and sexy…

…he then turned on me…

he accused me of not caring about his beliefs…
I…as you know…was a little in my cups...so I fought back…

I said he didn’t care about my beliefs…he was dominating the tenets...it was all about him…I had a strong belief system too…and all that we talked about was his opinion…

I said it was ironic that for a man who believed in the shared wealth…there was no sharing within his own personal interactions…that he wasn’t a socialist at all…he was a middle class soft intellectual trying to find meaning in other people’s misery…and this is unforgivable…this is using a true doctrine as a deficit of true character…

AND I DON’T SUBSCRIBE TO DOCTRINES!!!

He looked at me…muted Raspberry Beret on the television…and asked if I subscribed to him…

I lost it…it was my birthday and for one moment…just in that moment…couldn’t he subscribe to me…? Other’s did…they all did…

I threw the regifted presents at him:

LOOK! I said…
I got this ugly porcelain dog…
I got this jigsaw puzzle of the twelve apostles…
I got this out-of-date bottle of Mustard Pickle from someone’s road trip…
I got this moth eaten toy gorilla that dances to the Macarena when you press its chest…
I got this little book of pithy one liners that isn’t funny…
I got this ‘Sea monkey’s on Mars’ globe from the National Geographic shop
...and I got this ‘days of the week’ set of underpants…

but what did I get from you? I got nothing…you didn’t get me anything…

He sat back in his chair at this point and grumbled that he told me he wasn’t getting me anything on my birthday…birthday’s are awkward and imposed…he told me I knew he was going to get me something the following day…I knew that, he stressed…

…he then stood and walked into his bedroom…

I thought for a second…here he goes…into bed…avoid it all…avoid me…read his book and trick himself into not feeling by feeling about the world instead…

But he didn’t…he came back out with this wrapped box…he told me it was late now…tomorrow even…and he was going to give me my present…as promised…

Okay…I didn’t see that one coming…I have to admit…I wasn’t out of my rage yet…he had muted rage on the television and he was trying to mute the rage in me…

I took a breath and opened the box…inside was a book called Pencil Letter by a Russian poet named Irina Ratushinskaya…she wrote them while in prison in 1982 for anti soviet agitation and propaganda…

Marcus had been given the book by an ex girlfriend and now he was giving it to me…

She was dead… he said
The Poet? I asked
The Girlfriend he said
Dead-dead!? I asked, stressing the second word
No, just dead in my heart, he said.

He then said…it was me, now…only me… he then opened the book and read me his favourite poem…

“The day died like a dog and won’t come back,
So let’s arrange a funeral feast
There will be many more days just as black
I know. The further east
You go, the worse it gets
(That’s the usual fate of pioneers)

Then we went to the bedroom and fucked…but I had revenge…I wasn’t in the moment with him…I was absent…I was breaking my rules again and thinking of someone else…someone from another time…and he never knew because he presumed I was faithful…but he was wrong…he was so wrong…

Happy birthday to me…


Stacey.