Eventually you stop forgetting her name

Satnaum
by this, i mean to say that i did, once. the day after we met, i completely forgot her name. this was very awkward because it was in front of friends, and we'd spent the night snuggling. but she forgave me. satnaum forgives me a lot of things. this was the start of our friendship. 
t h e    u n o f f i c i a l    b i o g r a p h y
t h e s e    t h o u g h t s    o f   h e r s

In your lifetime you will meet a number of people, many of them women, and it really adds a sense of cosmic perspective to note that none of these people might ever be Satnaum. She's just one of those people you could just happen to meet through chance, or won't ever know at all.
This, then, would be your once-in-a-lifetime chance. Don't waste your time on the web looking for Sailor Moon panty shots. Read.

Even Darth Vader would love her.

For perspective, Satnaum is about five foot two, with olive skin and extraordinarily long, dark hair. She has a penchance for unusual clothes, but they do not conform to any particular look that might confine her.
Satnaum and I met on October 15, 1994. Occasionally our friendship means enough to us to bother keeping track of that night, since in the time that's followed, we've formed a special bond that's endured two breakups and many miles of physical separation without too much hatred between us to show for it. At least, that's how I like to see it.

This is a person who believes in herself more than most people believe in god.
She still manages to be incredibly nice.
Satnaum helps people. I'm sure she's talked at least as many people out of suicide as I have. She's talked me out of some bad times. Sometimes she's not very good with her feelings -- but then there's me, who is, and all I do is cry and sulk a lot. I mean, I'm nice enough in my way, but I'm also heavily moody and sad when it comes to dealings with the sundries of humanity. In contrast, Satnaum actually waves and says hello to strangers with real sincerity.
It could be said that we have many philosophical differences the same way that it could be said that we just fight an awful lot.

Satnaum is from a town in Ontario that the locals call Winchester. I'm not sure if it's actually the water there, or if she's just lucky, but that little town has way too many murders. I grew up in Smiths Falls, which per capita (as any local will proudly tell you) has the second highest unsolved murder rate in North America -- and I still say Winchester's a morbid place to raise your kids.
Having fled this town of death, Satnaum is pluckily seeking adventures in the wilds of the Canadian west, socializing, working, sleeping and slacking and occasionally bothering to call me.
She has the longest hair I've ever seen. Which means it's always shedding, and if you're clumsy like me, you'll often end up sitting on it or lying down on it, because it spills everywhere if she's beside you.

We used to date, but I put an end to that quickly enough, thanks to my incredibly innate ability to suck. Now mostly we make excuses as to why we haven't been writing more letters to one another, but sometimes, just sometimes, we're friends.
Those are the times I live for.
And during the rest of the time, I write a lot of poetry -- just see the rest of my page. And for the ones that are basically about her, I'm sure Satnaum secretly wishes that I had the part of my brain responsible for making me feel angst cut out. However, it's just way too large for surgical convenience.

As poets, however, we respect one another's work, and this is why I'm so pleased to be able to present some of hers here.

[some smashing poetry]

I know what I want
I know what I need
It's not you anymore
And I'm not sorry.

I'll tell you it's over
I'll tell you I'm glad
It's not you anymore

And I'm not sorry

Call me a user
Call me a loser
It's not you anymore
And I'm not sorry

Say that you're angry
Say you're upset
It's not you anymore

And I'm not sorry

Cry your fears
Cry your tears
It's not you anymore

And I'm not sorry

So goodbye
So farewell
It's not me anymore
And I'm not happy.

Midnight Games

On your pillow in the blackness
a dark heart lay
Hoarding all its purple lust
Awaiting your company

You come in, you haunt it
You smell its thick night scent
Blowing at your luscious face through
the heavy room.

Touch, retreat, caress

Afraid.
Draw it in, lavender through your body
Absorbed.

Orange

I love orange. Always changing, doing its own thing.
I can't, so I let orange do it for me.
It's great.
Look at orange some day, it'll take you places,
fill your head with great thoughts.
Try it. Orange is wondrous.

Orange is backwards and forwards
inside and out
good and bad
bright and dark.

Jan, 1995.

spooky at ten

For some the fear does not stop
when the fighting does...

[Li'l Satnaum, grade 5...]

back to purple people eater town