Harriett??-The relationship between a lonely young lady and her doll Harriett.
Harriett. Oh Harriett. I can hear the rats rustling in the trash and the room is smothered with debris. The rotting half eaten yogurt I attempted to eat two days ago looks like my apathy. I wish you were here. The drapery dust reminds me of my idle and solitary life. The chair has been stuck to my bottom for almost over a year and my teeth are beginning to detach themselves from my gums: I have not brushed my teeth since autumn. I am afraid of hygiene because it means I have to move and moving is oh so scary for me. My hypoglycemic hands shake. My legs shake so hard I am weary of taking the stairs to the kitchen for some water. I curl in a ball just like you Harriett. You pull every limb, every part of yourself inward-an attempt to console the fragile line you know you must walk soon in order to be free. Must stop hiding from the mean spirited force of action that threatens your comfort. Should you spread yourself out too far, Harriett, you will lose all that you thought was you and give in to the inevitable gravity that betrays you. If I truly were Jesus, Harriett, I would die for all your sins. Our kinship may be remote, but it is all we have as far as outside the box goes. And how we tire each other out with sighs. How can I remind you of Jesus if I have no followers: I have no love in me. I have not the ability to make anyone's eyes shine and sing along with the sun's medicinal voice. I am invisible as the dead. You say you see me, but you were always an exception. I have become old and crippled since the darkness swallowed my youth. I no longer glow or dance. I do not deserve the ceremony of crucifixion; I have accomplished only a few cracked glasses and minor injuries such as spiritual deprivation and self-starvation. Nothing in particular took place Harriett. My body barks at me as I refuse to nourish it. Nothing happened. I just do not eat anymore. I hope you are well wherever you are. Your demons infect me just as if they were my own. No, I have not seen the sun in a great while. I cannot even remember the hypnotic warmth of the sun lighting up my skin. I only squint when trying to read or when I am so sleep deprived the writing on the wall is so obscure that I doubt it exists. Harriett please come to me. We are both alone, but we are tied together in the most supernatural and odd way. I miss your presence even when your presence reflects absence...
-Artwork by Otto Dix(II)
No number four.
No number four. I cannot section myself. I just have to keep going. Are you looking at me? Not that pencil on your desk. How fascinating is a pencil? What were you thinking about when you were staring at that pencil? You are so dishonest. Harriett talks to me like I am Jesus. She prays and confesses and tells. She spins wheels of good and evil. She contains no evil, but she weaves it for herself like a cocoon. I have the characteristics of Jesus, but I do not use them for life. He was a revolutionary. I am a repressed revolutionary. Are repressed revolutionaries inspiring Harriett? Harriett said no. Then why do you treat me like Jesus? Because you remind me of him a lot. How could that be. A fragmented sentence just projected out of me. I suppose I should say that she told Jesus many tales. Her mother was silent like my mother. She hated her for her silence. Figuratively she was silent. Folks can be loud and silent at the same time. Every word her mother spoke was a vessel. This vessel would percolate within Harriett. It would become louder inside Harriett. I used to see blood in her ears and wonder where it came from. Harriett said the blood just kept coming: she would keep talking as if it were not spilling. Her mother had a handicapped imagination. This disorder ostracized Harriett from the womb. Her mother would go on vacations for a long time. Harriett found her master when her mother went on these sojourns; he has been with her ever since the first one. The first was the longest; the rest were endured at shorter intervals.
When Harriett was finished speaking at Jesus she would reach into her bag for a new face. Dolls can do that. Abrupt ability. Just like this story. Abrupt. It contains abruptability. How the colors would turn. I saw them brighten just a bit too much. This was when she told me how bad I was (and still am). When her comprehension fails the colors go everywhere like the snow. There is no interception and no clarity. She told me that people are vacuums with squamous organs inside. I have no organs. I am just a vacuum cleaner. I suck up dirt, but I can't digest it. I spew it all over the rugs and the furniture.
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