"Vairocana Knox as Herself" One. By the recommendation of my guidance councilor, I've decided to keep a journal. But what could I possibly put inside of it? She says I have lots. I must be a special case. Have now decided to keep it on computer, since writing by hand takes longer and it cramps and the paper won't get dirty and... this is just better. My thoughts seem to go a little easier when I'm typing. Also, I took her advice and made sure my journal was on disk, and this disk was somewhere safe, and only I have the key, and neither of my parents can ever get it without my permission. They just might soon think I'm a maniac. Stanton is very big, much bigger than Lee, my old middle school. Also, I've noticed—confirmed, really, since coming here and seeing it as it really is, in person, walking around all those places the tour could not reach—I have discovered this is truly a school for young women, but it's not a private school. Public, but not co-ed. Rare, uncommon, I suppose. Met no friends. Small chance of getting a boyfriend. I like Miss McGowen, whom I believe is the one person more crazy and more outrageous and more warm and friendly than anyone I've known. This is my "One" entry. On the front cover is a picture of me holding a single finger up, shielding myself from viewers—my last line of defense. One is the loneliest number. One is the highest number. One is the lowest number. One is the last, is the first, is itself. I'm smiling in the picture. I felt I could take on the world when it was made, but I was young, just out of middle school. This journal, though it appears short on the inside, was really a long time coming. I haven't been keeping up with it. My councilor doesn't know. She thought I had a lot on my mind. My name is Vairocana Knox, but even I've had difficulty pronouncing it since I was young, so everyone, even my parents and teachers, call me Vai. I'm sure my name means something—Knox sounds British—but who knows? My parents must've been whacked out of their gourd when they named me. My parents. I don't belong in the typical nuclear family. We're a family of the late 20th century, or the early 21st—we can't be defined simply, at least not with the old ways of definition. You see, I have two mothers. I call them "mom" and "mother", respectively. I call the woman who gave birth to me "mother", since she and I, for good or bad, share a closer bond than the woman I call "mom". Mom is the woman who fell in love with mother when they were both young, so they decided to live together, and call themselves lovers, and finally make their bond authentic with a little sheet and some jewels. Both my parents wanted to have individual children at first, so I could have a twin brother or sister (as they saw it), but eventually it came down to biology, and mother won that debate, and bore me. I am three inches and five feet, so my size is small, but I think I'm due for a spurt anytime soon. They said I was a late bloomer. Even the boys grew up faster than me. I guess I'm just taking my time. (Note in margins: eventually my body stopped at 5'7" and I stand there to this day) I'm XXX pounds, which is a bit skinny, but the same applies for my growth. (note in margins: weight has been crossed off for very personal reasons, but now it teeters at six-score) My eyes are dark, almost black, like soulless depths of the galactic souls which wander around (souls later brought to life in "WF"). Black-evil, black-beautiful, or black-void which is merely nothing, or everything, or a hole, or a vacuum, or the love of darkness, or merely the basic color that just happens to be one of countless many others—yes, those are my eyes. I can't explain it better. Even when I write, sometimes my words get very clumsy. My councilor was right! I'm dark-skinned. Bronze. Quite dark. It's not a tan, it's genetic. My mother is the same; her sperm donor, my mom's cousin, looks more like mom than he looks like me, but I do see a resemblance. Nowadays, of course, interracial lovers and marriages are not uncommon; mixed-racial and mutts and multiple family origins and trees that seem to have more branches than their roots can bear are becoming commonplace. I come from something like that; I think there's royalty in our blood, but it's very distant. Oh well. I like the way I look. I have no objection towards the color of my skin, nor to that of any others. Now that I'm wise enough to understand this sort of thing, I'm more afraid of being singled out by who my parents are than what I or they look like. Lesbian family. People must think such perverted thoughts. Maybe one of them believes I have sex with both my parents, since they're lesbians—and so I, their daughter, must be one as well. Or maybe I bring my girlfriends over and we have orgies. Or something else too complex to write or think about. Stupid. I'm not gay—at least not now I'm not. I recently learned that it's foolish to set definitions for one's self, because those can change—everything changes, even steel and the sky. Except God. My family goes to church. Right now, I think my parents are heroes because of what they do. Gay and parents and church-goers. They almost flaunt it. It's silly. Two. I've been so busy I forgot about my journal. Would you believe, Vairocana my dear, how easily I tossed this aside and forgot about it? For awhile I was scared that dust and time would eat up the disk, but to my relief it was safe. I printed out "One" and kept it, and I reasoned that such a long time had passed since my last "One" entry that I may as well make a "Two". This time, I'm giving the "peace" sign on the cover, I'm wearing a "peace" chain, and I look so sad, so serious, like I'm begging for peace. The photo was terrible; my eyes are red. Still going to church. One of the preachers they revolve around there went to my parents and told them to keep me away from his daughter. I talked to her once and she was pretty cool, but definitely nothing interesting. Besides, I'm not gay. Not even close. As a matter of fact—speaking of change! "Two" comes with a surprise: I've got a boyfriend. I'd like to tell that preacher how blissfully straight I am, how I've got a boyfriend, how yada yada... but I'd be wasting my time. Besides, we hardly do anything. We're too young for cars and... God, mom supervised our first so-called date. She came along. Oh, you should've seen his face when he learned my parents were both women. I lost him right there. We broke up. Sorry I haven't kept up with you, but lots happened. We broke up. Together. I knew it wouldn't work. He knew it wouldn't. We left in peace with nothing harsh to say, no sore feelings. (note in the margins: I wonder where he is now!) Also, midterms for freshman year. The holidays are coming up. We're celebrating Kwanzaa, Hanukkah (grandpa's a Messianic Jew), and the Mass of Christ. I wonder what some zealous church people would think if they saw me, or my parents, singing quietly in carol-voices, or setting up a menorah, or observing the Days. Hypocrite! It's just stupid. Nobody to kiss on Christmas or New Year's. Mom and mother were off lovemaking in the other room. They were tired of parties and wanted to be with me. It was cool, in a kind of girlish slumber-party sort of way, but they ended up getting too physical. I love them, and I love them as a couple, but the PDA can be saved for their bed. Thank God I sleep on another floor, so I don't hear the noise. I'm lonely. I wish I had somebody with me, but I guess I'm still young. I probably shouldn't worry about it until later. It's not like I can go with anybody from school, and church is shot. I guess I should say right now that my parents are moving to another—not a "lesbian" church, just one a little more... liberal. Things got... iffy. Three. I'm thinking these might end up becoming good covers for music albums—these photo-covers of mine that I take (apparently) every time I start a "new" journal (it's all in the same document; I still have the original, unaltered, but it's also printed JIC). (Notes for future reference: JIC just in case, PDA public displays of affection, BTW by the way, WF World Fantastic) My story! In all this time I've never written about my story! I've written in it, of course, but never about it. I've never even told anyone, except my parents, and only in passing mention. I'm so embarrassed by it. It's so silly. It's just a little fantasy piece I'm making. I used to think I was such a good author in the 9th grade, but when I look back, I'm ashamed. Man, I stunk! I'm much wiser and smarter now. I've been getting good grades in my English class, and it shows. Of course, I've had to go back and pretty much start everything over from scratch. It's like a totally new thing. I don't think anything's left over from the original document, except for bad memories. I would've been sued to death if I had published that thing (shudders!) I don't like this world. I'm still lonely. I want to get out. I got my first after-school job, working as a janitor in some place. Yuck! Still, it pays, and it works around my school schedule. In the summer, I'll have more time, and maybe a better place to work, but for now it's better than being poor. My parents say I can buy whatever I like, just so long as I use my own money. Cool. Have now discovered that no matter how much I earn, I'll never have enough. Lord help me when I move out. The new church is good. Mom and mother met a few other couples like them—men, and women, and they also met men and women (couples). Nobody's harsh. Everyone's so nice. I've made a few acquaintances. I think I have a new crush. Well, it's just a thing. If he has a girlfriend, okay. Fine. I won't worry about it. It'll just be a crush. Well, turns out he does! Fancy that, eh? Oh well. I'll always have my story characters to love. And my land. Gaios. Don't tell that name to anybody else. I will keep this very secret. Forgot to say one thing: front cover has me holding up three fingers, smiling, in an oversized orange T-shirt and black jeans. And sandals. I wish I could walk on the sandy beaches again—we had a vacation recently where we went to the beach for awhile. Some people thought my parents were sisters (or half-sisters)! I didn't have the typical summer romance one might think a girl like me would have. That's because girls like me don't exist. I'm a rare species, the last of my kind. If birds flock together, my flock has gone extinct. I'm a great auk—or maybe just a lonely archaeopteryx? I can't believe I was able to spell that correctly still after all these years! I used to like dinosaurs when I was a kid. I kinda outgrew them when I started writing, but I might put one into my story. Four. A picture of me, my back turned to the camera, standing to the far-left. Surrounding me, one to my left and three to the right, are four columns from the Lincoln Memorial. It is the most beautiful photo mom has ever taken. World Fantastic Land: Gaios Countries: Alpha, Mu, Paraph, Olbeer, Far East, Far North, Maoska's territory, Hell Island, Razor Island, Mekah, Zero Space City (developing more) Characters: Dawn is a fairy who takes Veronica out of this world and into Gaios, where all her dreams come true and every day is another beautiful fantasy, full of adventure. There she meets... Sir Lavile—handsome knight Adrienne—his beautiful partner Merchant—mysterious master of business and disguise Lady—enchanted amnesiac Jagger—rough boxer Li—martial artist Renalt—man from Zero Space City Roderick Everest—gentleman mariner Brenda—leader of rebellion against Maoska Cassius—gladiator Nalia—blue-skinned Amazon Main questions: will Veronica return home? Who does she fall in love with? Five. Just my hand, fingers outstretched. Mom's so good to take these silly photos, especially since only I will ever see them. It's a good cover for my latest album. Junior Year. I've not been doing well. One of my old friends killed himself. The funeral was so depressing. The people at church were really kind. It was the worst day of my life so far, and I had nobody to hold me. I left that funeral feeling bad, like a part of me was gone, but strangely at peace and pure. He had been a man of faith that grew despondent at the end. He longed for home. I talked with God all night and felt myself becoming more relaxed. My parents came in later and let me sleep with them. They can be really sweet sometimes, whenever they aren't humping each other. More crushes. One guy at church came out to me. Wow, I embarrassed myself there. I told him I had a crush on him, he told me he was gay. Two already had girlfriends. One wasn't ready to date yet. Bye-bye, hope. I wish sometimes I could cry, but I can't. That's my curse. I'm unable to shed tears, even though I feel so sad sometimes. I wondered, for the first time ever, what it would be like to die. I wrote in "WF" that evening, and what I produced was so beautiful and heartbreaking that I printed it and hung it on my wall, then I laughed and laughed even though I don't know why. I'm stuck here. I can't go there. It's only a stupid fantasy of mine. Impossible. I masturbated for the first time today. Not bad. I guess I can understand why everyone makes such a big deal out of sex, but since I'll never experience it, I can only guess what it might be like. I did something really weird. I imagined one of my characters was having sex with me. I first imagined Lavile, then Cassius, then Roderick (not Jagger, he and Li secretly love each other and will be a couple in the future). Well, of course, Lavile and Adrienne... Maybe I should make them marry each other. I'm so foolish with romances like that. Of course, I won't have Adrienne stay at home with their child while Lavile goes off; she's a knight too! Mom and mother had a big fight. Mom stayed over at her cousin's. She said she just needed to let some steam out and breathe. I'm a little scared. I heard mother crying, but I didn't interfere. I should have, though. Mom and mother got back together. I'm glad, but God! They can make me sick with their PDA. I heard them having sex from my room downstairs. And my door was closed. Theirs too. And I had the TV on. Loud. But it was very beautiful seeing them so happy together in the morning. My eyes got misty. Ended up being late for school. Failed a history test. Raulson is murder. Six. Just a thumb's up. I use my right thumb to signify the number six. I imagined Dawn had made love to me when I masturbated last night. That was my very first same-sex fantasy. I scared myself, but then I "came to my senses" once the feeling washed over. I have to clean up my gunk with a sock, or else some other rag. Maybe I should bring a damp cloth in next time. I wonder if my parents will notice. Had my very first crush on another girl. Nothing came of it. Already taken. Ah well. Seven. Smoked my first (and LAST) cigarette after school. Yuck! Cussed to my own mother. Grounded. Thought about Dawn again when I masturbated. Said the "F" and "S" word for the first time. Asked another taken-guy out on a date. Got turned down by one other. Mom and mother had another fight. Lost part of "WF" when my computer froze. A good part. A part I put my soul into. Forgot lunch money. Failed math test. Passed over for school play. Got a crush on another girl. Taken. By another girl. Had suicidal thoughts for the first time ever. Happy seventeenth birthday, Vairocana Knox. Eight. Cut my arm eight times and photographed the scars. Councilor chewed me out. Parents took me to therapist. Saw A Clockwork Orange and spontaneously burst into "Singin' in the Rain" during music class. Got into the school musical. Mmm, Alex. Got over silly crushes. I got the highest grade in the class in science! Told Miss McGowen a few personal things. She told me a few personal things. She's like a third mother to me now. (God, can't I have some testosterone? All these women are making me sick!) Never thought about killing myself during the rest of junior year. Went on my first date with an old friend. Embarrassed myself after asking if I could kiss him. I'm seventeen years old and I've never been kissed. Think about that! Some girls my age I know are already pregnant. Others have lost or given away their virginity. It kinda makes me proud, in a sense, to still be "pure" that way. Had my first taste of beer, circa holidays. Mom and mother let me drink a full mug. I like wine better (tee hee!). Later got tipsy for the first time and babbled about so many things. I wrote them down so I'll always remember my scrambled thoughts during my near-drunken state. I laughed at most of them. --I want to go down on Adrienne and have Lavile fuck me in the ass --I love trucks that go vroom --My mother's pussy is so fucking hot --Where can the cows go to fetch the radio? --I'm just singing in the rain (viddy thee well, O my brothers) --Vairocana Knox, you got tipsy 12:37 am January 1st, 2002! --I love (I can't make out what I wrote there) --FUCK! ASSHOLE! SWEET BITCH LADY! SMOTHER GODOT! --I'm bisexual—I'm gay—lesbian—love me a sweet man Godot is the name I use for my dream guy: a man worth waiting for, so to speak. Not too many novels I've known deal with women fawning over men, at least not in the pure, chivalric way I'd like (no Lancelot for me). So I just chose Godot. If I was gay—which I am no longer 100 sure of not being—I would probably call any lady-love "Dulcinea", after the fantasy-dame of Don Quixote. Now THAT was romance—silly, but sweet, like most love is. Mom and mother currently fucking each other's gorgeous brains out. Tee hee! Nine. Got held back a grade. I have to repeat junior year. Photo covering "Nine" album is mom and mother embracing, fully clothed, in a "69". First picture featuring parents. Their heroic daughter is nowhere to be found (I took the photo). BTW, seeing as how I never mentioned the earlier covers, "Seven" was the seven of hearts in a card deck. "Eight" was four fingers on my left hand, four on my right, with a close-up of me making a silly face. Fought with mother over mowing the lawn. Got fired from my job. Got a B in history. Today is the day I found out that Emma McGowen is a lesbian, and her lover is Andeira Torvald, my foreign languages teacher. That's a story not meant for my fingers. Nearly finished with "WF". Going back to rework and revise the entire thing. Getting held back a grade won't be so bad. I'll be smarter, wiser, and more mature than most other people, and I'll know the material. Some would say I'd lose my friends, but... what friends? Junior year Take Two won't be so bad. Ten. Both hands, fingers outstretched, cover my naked breasts. I'm smiling coyly, and you can just see my hips in the photo. I wanted at least one of me supposedly in the nude, but all I did was take off my shirt and bra, and lower my jeans. Mother took the photo. She said I was becoming a very beautiful young woman, and once I was dressed again, we shared an embrace that (I feel) was years overdue. She loved me with all her heart, and was so proud of me. Senior year is just a few months away. No lover. No boyfriend. No girlfriend. No clue on where I lay. No friend, period. Final year. Turning nineteen in April, before spring break. Not having a party. I never have, except for a few silly ones during elementary school. No job. Not a lot of money. No fashion, no popularity, no clue where I'll go after this, no point in living, no appreciation, no recognition, no love, no idea why I'm trying. Bring it on.
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