i felt helpless standing there in the doorway. having yet to decide to take him up on the awkward invite, i hear the building door slam shut. my body seems to acknowledge tonights events far before i decide upon them. as my mind is still wondering where this man is from. clearly there is nothing wrong with having an expresso at this hour, with the nameless man? how jaded have i become? holding out his hand to walk me into his corridor, as i flush realizing that i have stared at him deliberating my escape upon entry. i enter. he says cooly ‘is everything alright?’ well what should i say, i want a white russian not an expresso, i want some music not silence, i also would like to know your name. but no. i continue to stare into his eyes pathetically. i manage to blurt out ‘hi’ and he smiles. the smile turned into a grin of sorts. i usually possess the effect of making people uncomfortable and prudish, although now i am the one with sweaty palms and bad breathe. i throw my bag on the floor, holding onto my cigarettes. he lets go of my hand and the smile. engaged completely i am compelled to speak. utter something, anything. though he hasnt, and for that alone i want to say nothing. lighting my cigarette i celebrate the several orally fixed minutes i have won over conversation. the damp air mixed with my cigarette had suddenly burnt through my confidence. i must have been standing in his terracotta tiled corridor for almost ten minutes and only a ‘hi’ was exchanged, and somehow i feel like an unveiled virgin. my mouth tastes even worse, my mind skipping from logic to disney, as he grabs my hand again leading the way. moving onto his patio he sits down on one of three chairs. his chairs so large i wonder if i should occupy his space, or create my own. i sit opposed to him, as he exits, and i wonder. my silent charades of desire are only postponing pleasure. where did he go? i can hear his footsteps as he walks onto the patio barefoot returning with a bowl of strawberries and champagne. i am amused. the strawberries so deliciously ripe, that it erases any tart taste from my mouth completely. ’do you still want that expresso?’ he says leaning into my ear handing me a flute of champagne. looking down at the bubbles rise to the top, i wait for him to fill his glass. i want to catch his eyes staring at me, but i know like all my physiological expressions i will flush as red as a strawberry. his intensity rises my insides. i want to knock it back, but shouldnt i wait for him? just so, his hand lifts my chin to match his eyes as he raises his glass. our glasses’s touch clicking off, and im quenched entirely in one gulp. he continues to stare without having taken a sip. i grab for a strawberry and bite the tip slowly. he crowds my face with his intentions. i know if i kiss him first that i forfeit any trace of restriction. i know the same goes for him. or does he not even speak english much? does he even care much for conversation, or just sensation? either way, lighting another cigarette i sit back down in my chair as he corners me from above. tipping off my glass, he kneels down to hand it to me to get me tipped off. he looks straight into my eyes, and mistakingly i blow smoke right past his face. less then aggressively he uncrosses my legs with the palm of his hand, gliding his way up to my panties. suddenly, i went from warm to wet, slowly pulling his hand out i knew whatever this was he won, completely.
happy feet. touch down, you found $20 in your pocket. you surfed a 30 foot wave. you won a free McD’s meal. you won my heart, i found yours. lionel is playing ‘all night long’ at an intimate party. you avoided getting a parking ticket. you tasted the most delicious Mango. you made sand angels, or snow angels. you swam in the ocean or played in snow for the first time, or simply so. whatever you do, do it with pleasure. let it bring you joy, so you forfeit any residue of pain.
13’ in Review.
Reflecting is my forte. Hindsight is a bitch. My balcony is a witness to all my emotions, whilst my bathtub soothes them. It has been a terribly terrific year. I haven’t at all lost my touch as much as reality. But then again, I subscribe to the philosophy that, ‘If your dreams don’t scare you, they aren’t big enough.’
I must say, on my balcony is where I dream big. I sit back and imagine all the endless ways of falling in love again with a Brando typa guy. With music playing into the storyline, and either the crescent or full moon giving way to my moods, I fall in love with myself through the endless thoughts maybe in life. The themes of my dreams I have learned become more and more of what I haven’t yet overcome or achieved. And hunger becomes me, hopefully before the flame dies out.
All 360 days into this year, (and Yes its Christmas Day), and I recognize everyday is a blank canvas, but heavens why does the New Year signify NEW? Before I review this year, before I mark the up n’ downs, the bruises and bangs (yes I got bangs), I must first say it feels like a blur. As this time next year will too. It isn’t so much that my memory is failing me, or my interests, but the expectation of a significant change in my/ones life is. The ones I dream of, the ones that possess my soul.
I wrestle constantly with my everything. Internally and externally. Its a lateral contribution in life to shut-up and wrestle less, and be more pliable. It can even serve as a hot dish for the less desirable. Ironically, I find myself more desirable served cold. That may not even be who I am, but I won’t exude the warmth of your Grandmother’s Apple Pie to flip me the finger later on when its least expected. It’s not exactly a lateral move when your desires don’t match your needs.
More importantly, as much as I anticipate 2013 mirroring 2014, every year there are slights. I never announce any resolutions for the New Year. I find solutions as I go along. And yes I know I have a lot to do from actually quitting smoking, to learning how to run (looks hilarious, forget the gym), to managing money, men, thoughts, desires, the list is ridiculous. However, resolutions are a premeditated disappointment. Because the truth is, I can’t manage men (why should I), managing money is hard (when I barley make any), managing my mind (are you kidding, the labyrinth of crazy). So managing is hard, but just being is better.
And yes, I see what you are thinking now. This phony romantic slacker wants to watch French, Italian Films all day long and unwind from what exactly? But only really on Sunday mornings, or late night (no justification for foreign film needed really!) But there is more I think, to just being…
Far more. I have developed a sense of self over the past couple of years. I never felt it at first, yet I recognized it over a period of time. It is like developing a pallet for your mind. You are the gatekeeper, and remember to only let in what you want to develop. Somethings I have kept in my mind, never produced; almost like a roll of film. My mom always reminds me, that break-ups are like a funeral; you always glorify the good parts.
I have learned to do this with most of my life. I keep close tabs of the crap, but keep it far too close to my heart and not the waste-bin. I never dispose of the shit that broke my heart, dirtied my mind, or made me lose it. But whatever it was, I thank it too, for it helped me grow.
This year I have a lot to be grateful for-
Last year I dreamed a dream. This year I made it happen.
This year I had my dream job. This year I quit my dream job.
This year I learned patience. Next year maybe I won’t be so tolerant.
This year I sacrificed myself. Next year it won’t be me.
This year I turned 30. Next year I won’t cry about it.
This year David Bowie released an album. Next Year Bowie performs…?
This year was a gift. Next Year will be too.