A March of Marys, day ?? - last day, I promise
I’m writing you out of all my stories. Even the boring ones.
Hey there, I’m back with the final installment of A March of Marys, a literary experience where I share a sequential chunk of American Mary, my first novel, right here online every day throughout the month of March (and April, I guess, as it turned out).
By the way, I’ve finally put the full text, edited and updated, online for download as an ebook which you can purchase (for $0 if you wish, or $3 if you can spare it) via gumroad.
I realized toward the end of this series that I was copying and pasting text from an older version of the novel and some of the content was missing. I also kept adding and adjusting the language of the text (including adding question marks, because when I originally wrote this novel I was morally opposed to using question marks for some reason. Like I thought they were unnecessary and looked ugly. Like if you were following along you could interpret the questions as you read them, or you could choose to interpret them another way. But I’ve grown to not hate question marks so I added them in because why not?)
Thanks for bearing with me, and thanks for sticking around. The past month has been incredibly tumultuous for me personally and I’m barely scraping by. I hope you check out the ebook, and I hope you enjoy this final chapter. Please let me know what you think! I love reading comments, and I love to see my work get shared by those who appreciate it. I appreciate you. Truly!
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Fail Mary
Sit on my face
The lore is in me
Trust that I have a lot to tell you
And they will never believe you anyway
Roll me in the mud, Mary
Mother of fuck
Pray for us shitheads
Now until we figure out were dead
Amen.
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I’m writing you out of all my stories. Even the boring ones, like the ones where you're just standing there. You're still standing there, but it's someone else now. You're better when you’re someone else.
I've got less of an agenda now. Can you tell?
Lol, look at this bitch writing another chapbook. What a silly bitch.
Lol, look she's still talking about the same shit.
What is that? No one is like that. And everything is on a loop anyway. Our known universe is a record spinning on a turntable forever, playing the same long song, chopped and screwed and on repeat.
What do I even know? Not much to be honest. I don't pretend to, even. I’m ready to admit defeat at a moment's hesitation. Suited up for failure. My desperation fatigues. Like that stain on your shirt. I mean my shirt.
Thanks for assuming I’m comfortable.
How to be considerate: introduce me to your friends, even the ones you don’t really like. How to be a good friend: quit criticizing me for my lack of description.
Looking at people on the bus and the bags they carry like, I like this grave I made this grave I like this grave.
Looking in the mirror like, why do you think you have authority? I heard rigidity makes you brittle. Looking in the mirror like how did you get so dogmatic? You don’t even have any handlers.
Let’s be real, I’m nothing special. I’m not special. I’m no one in particular. I’m just some sensitive bitch on the internet. Like I wish I was strong, I wish I could stand up for myself, but I’m emotional and hate confrontation and it’s literally easier to let people think whatever they want about me. I’m not here to change minds. I can barely change my own.
Lol, judge me without any context. Watch me draw all over my face in ballpoint ink.
Hell yes, I commodified my way up to the top. Did you notice. This is my show.
I think.
Hellaesthetics. Like I’m always looking. Always listening to the same pop album for months.
Wanna know what I really don’t like? I really don't like hearing men read stories they wrote about broken women. I really don't like hearing men read stories they wrote about broken women in sexual situations.
I would bring it up, but I hate explaining things. Like anyone would listen anyway.
It’s a business doing pleasure with you.
I wander. In my dreams I wander and I don’t feel like I’m alone. No matter how many flights of crooked stairs I have to climb. Like at least I have company.
Oh my god, it’s me again.
In dreams I have and don’t have. The streets are never lonely because I have a familiar whirring to tune into any time I want.
All these things can be put into a story about partying.
Everything is a story. Everything is a poem. Everything is a song. We are never alone.
≘
O Glorious, Saint Mary
Poster child of penitents
Help me find some grace
While I try to forgive my body
And forgive my mind
For the wrongs they've caused
And shrug off materiality
According to
The spirit of my vows:
Pray for me
That I may hear your words
And feel my burdens crumble
At the moment of my death
With my soul illuminating
Rising above the powers
And burning with the pure flames
Of charity and chastity
And thus merit to be received
With Thee
Into the eternal kingdom
Amen.
Missed the last post? Read it here.