Web Net

Web Net
By
EndtheDream

(For all the kind people who have given me surcease and comfort along the way—I hope I have done in smaller fashion regretfully, something of the same for you)

They want me to be like them.
They want me to be a dream.
As I wish them.
It’s a lying store of fake
Hope.
They want me to be real.
But I better not be.
Or else…
They do not care.
They question.
Like little termites eating away
At my fragile soul.
They burrow in.
Give the third degree.
Do not want the truth.
Want the truth.
They could not care less.
Who are you? Asked with angry stance.
They are allowed to be angry with me.
I am not allowed to be angry with them.
They go away without a good bye.
They are protected.
I am not.
M wanted me to buy him two DVDs.
Exactly when we met.
For his birthday.
He cajoled.
He begged.
He threatened not to be my friend.
Of ten minutes or so.
He wore me down.
I agreed to buy one of them.
He said they were at this site.
He linked me to it.
I almost bought one.
Can you buy two? It’s for my
Birthday and it would be ever
So nice.
I was tired.
I told him no.
I was round robined and dizzied
For an hour.
Finally he told me he forgave me.
I thanked him over and over again.
I had, at the first, asked for an
Address of a DVD
Company in his country.
Just look in the phone book,
They must still have such things,
Since it seems to not have an
Email address at its site.
“This will take much effort. I want
At least one disc I asked for. Make
It the most expensive.
And send it to my address in my country.
It will cost more but it will make it
Safe and sure to arrive.”
It cost a helluva lot more.
I finally told him I didn’t have it.
Guilt was my home for months after
That.
He knew it.
He played on it.
Another later on did too.
Pulled me around by the nose.
But was glib in the process.
And I did not see what was happening
Till he went too far,
And even I saw,
And confronted him.
For which he blamed me.
And
Ditched
Me.
It
Was
All
My
Fault
After
All.
For a while, M and I jacked together on the
Comp.
Least he did.
How does one jack to nothing?
Dead silence.
No words.
Not from him.
As I put on my happy words face.
And pretended not to be scared.
And this painful nothing went on for
Some time.
And it hurt more and more.
I tried to talk to him on the phone.
About all manner of things.
Non-sexual—you know, like, ah, friends?
It was always let’s jack, from him,
So I sat there and let him.
I guess he did.
It’s all we did.
He sent me an IM that said all I wanted
Him for was to jack.
My God!!!
If I see this nameless faceless whoever again,
I shall,
As I have always done,
Bow down in his presence.
And do what he tells me to do.
On MSN, it’s talk to me—no
Talk to me-
No to me-
Until I do what they say—
Until I give in and send a
Picture
Or tell the truth…
Or dare to, god help me,
Actually be me,
And then it’s no again.
I have to explain why I
Can’t talk.
I have to explain again.
They get mad.
They go away.
Huffily.
But when I IM them, it’s just
“busy.” And that’s fuckin’
It.
It’s Jules Feiffer’s “Little
Murders” gone even more insane.
Or more likely, they just do a quick
Click off…
It’s they are constantly off
Now
Line for some odd inscrutable reason.
These are vampires.
These are hybrid monsters
Who use the computer like a
Weapon.
Like a disease that spreads
And they have the right,
When they don’t at all.
I am constantly on the stand.
I am here by dent of a moment
Of their oh so big hearted time.
Many are just flat out mean.
They get their kicks this way.
Most seem to have no conscience.
At least when it comes to me.
When I stop and say no more,
Here is how I feel and here
Are some things YOU are doing
Wrong that offend ME---
They scurry away like dock
Rats never to be heard from again.
I’ve met very nice people on the
Web.
I thank them often and endlessly.
This however is not about them.
I have been screwed over most
Of my life.
I have had my comic books from
Childhood stolen.
Discovered on the day of my
Mom’s funeral.
A sitter/friend had taken them.
He had looked after the house.
Had lived there
While she was in a nursing
Home, dying.
I have been the object of sexual
Humiliation
By honestly very good friends.
I have been raped.
I have been treated like a clown.
I am laughed at a lot—so to those
Who did that, and some who still
Do,
Kindly fuck yourselves it your
Assholes please and thank you
So very much.
I have been through nightmares
Because of half wits posing at
Doctors.
I have never been through anything
Like this before in the “real” world.
I trust no one now.
I always think of the angle.
I fear every word I write to anyone.
I know it’s always the wrong one.
And I ring the carnival test your
Strength gong every
Time.
And I know many times I am being played—
"Write this story for me—it’s my life’s
Story” and I do it and the story is sick
As hell.
But I do it.
Because I still want contact with other
People.
Why this is, I have no idea.
Old habits die-hard.
I have known a mean girl
Who blasted my life apart
And made me realize all of this
Is my entire fault.
Who compares human lives to those
Of mosquitoes and finds them of
Equal non-value.
And another who thinks some murders
And wars and atrocities are kind of
Okay,
Cause it balances things out in the
Long run.
Holy Christ.
I have known a decent fine person
Who is an excellent writer---
Who has ditched me after a year
And it kills my soul.
I have known far too many adults
On line
And Off,
Who have the mental and emotional
Capacity of a five year old
And yet I get the job of buffoon
In their highly superior lives.
I have known divas.
And princes.
And would be kings.
I have been gotten back at
And yelled at
For things that make no
Goddam sense.
I say hello on MSN,
They say goodbye as quickly.
Cutting me dead.
I have been cut dead recently.
Because I now see that he,
Like me,
Like everybody really,
Has no idea what he is really
Like.
I have been castigated for
Being a prick by someone recently.
Who says he was never one to me.
Good God. How can he possibly forget?
All the times….
I’ve, in real life, had money taken
From me.
Had someone attempt blackmail on me.
Been lied to and crushed by someone
I thought was my dearest friend.
And then he got to do it even more
Hurtfully on the
Net.
The Net is a spider’s web of unconcerned
Stupid Self Obsessed gimme gimmee people
Spiders.
There are exceptions and I have been
Blessed to know them
And want them to know that I care about
Them so much…
But most:
They forget you five seconds later, like
Daniel did, only he said he would forget
Me two seconds afterwards, I’m sure he was
Being generous in time estimation,
When you don’t look like they want,
Or entertain them,
Or don’t have the right song and dance routine—
They rub you out like the Mob--
Or if you don’t take their not-so-subtle cruelty
Or their “barbed insights of pop
Psychology,” --well----
So except for some friends I am scared
Are leaving me as I write this,
As I am blown to pieces by a new ex-friend,
I think for most,
it’s a great big joke.
How deeply much I wish
I could show them the landscape
Of their jokes.
The topography of their handiwork.
Let them experience it from inside
Me for a day or two.
How very much I wish I could.
So, of course, I turn, as I always turn,
To the one and only true and forever thief of
My heart—
Joel—
Two years we were together.
He stole my heart the first second I saw
His face.
I wanted him to.
I gave it most willingly.
That theft was no theft--
Because---because he was beautiful,
And had a beaming smile,
And smelled like warm milk,
And he had long gold sunshine hair,
And a lovely face,
And a tender voice,
And I got to be,
For a time,
His true and close personal friend,
But above all that even, it was
Because he was Joel—and I loved
Him.
And I love him still.
The web net sticks on.
But Joel is my home.
And fifth and tenth rate copies
Of him
Can never reach up to his shadow,
A billion miles away from them.
And he locked safely in my heart.
Both of us,
Soon,
Pray for wayward boys,
Heading
Home.