Thursday, May 25, 2017

Rings of Saturn

I logged off my work computer with no intention of logging in again until Tuesday. With all the personal drama winding to a close and only lingering feelings of either inadequacy of loathsomeness, it's time to move on and look forward to the upcoming weekend.

"What are your plans for the day?" The Electrician asked.

"I'm going to the airport to pick up Hellion, and from there the plan is fucking."

"Those were pretty much what I expected the plans to be."

Someone, currently in the air, is a young man I adore to the end of the world and back. I can't wait to see him. Somewhere, in the upcoming weekend, is an adventure that is not quite spaced out but that I suspected will be a lot of fun. International Mister Leather is almost always a good story generator.

From Alpha male doggy Doms to jock strops and cock rings, the entire thing is a good time. I want to get implements of destruction and pleasure and wander around rooms that smell of leather and rubber. I want to laugh with friends, and dress casually in corsets, and go to leather balls, and dance, and laugh and just...

Take a moment and breathe.

Nick Cave, as usual, has recorded a song to describe my light at the moment. He always seems to have the music ready for me, although sometimes it takes me a moment to realize, or a moment to catch up. The Boatman's call was not an album I had ever liked before last year, but last year it became very much what I needed to get by.

The Skeleton Tree is beautiful and brilliant and for most of the last few months I thought Jesus Alone was the song I needed. As the life I was working through. Then, yesterday, I was caught but the words and in my sadness, and in my happiness, and in my grief, I realized that the song had changed again.

       Her eyes that look at me through a rainy hair
       Two round holes where the air buckles and rushes in
       Her body, moon blue, was a jellyfish
       And I'm breathing deep and I'm there and I'm also not there
       And spurting ink over the sheets but she remains, completely unexplained
       Or maybe I'm just too tongue-tied to drink it up and swallow back the pain
       I thought slavery had been abolished
       How come it's gone and reared its ugly head again? 
     
       And this is the moment, this is exactly what she is born to be
       And this is what she does and this is what she is
       And this is the moment, this is exactly what she is born to be
       This is what she is and this is what she does

And I thought to myself, yes, that explains me. On the cusp of changes again, on the edges of love and loss, on the edges of amusement and debauchery, on the edges of a stopover and a flight, on the edge of my art and my muses. All of it out there, and inside me, and me...Still figuring it out. Still loving, and losing, and breathing and fighting and dying.

The weekend should be fun. There will be adventures, love, smiles, wine, tears, friends, dancing, amusements. All smiles. And exactly who I am. Exactly where I have always been. Right there on the edge. On the edges. 



Wednesday, May 24, 2017

Musings in the Arms of Others

It all ends eventually anyway.

"Have you ever been with more than one person?"

How to answer that question?

Is it just sex when you are in love with all the people you are in bed with? When ever minute with them is a minute that you wouldn't trade for the world. When the beginning was wine and kisses in a kitchen, that turned into wine and kisses on a couch that turned into a relationship with two humans, relationship. Relationships.

When does the answer to that question begin to make sense when everything you believe says that sex, life, love, is to be enjoyed and shared.

It's not just sex.

"Do you think you fall in love easily?"

How to answer that question?

When you aren't afraid to let you heart wander and create fantasies of futures that can never be with a person you know for only a few hours, days months? When in your future you lay in bed reading pages of each others novels feeling inspired, feeling in love, feeling the emotions of a city or town and that moment just as real as if it had happened.

And if it only happened in the mind. Isn't that love? And wasn't that worth it?

Maybe my problem is I fall and keep falling and will be falling and have ever been falling in love...falling in is a constant state, but I never seem to fall out. Even when it all comes apart, the depth of my affection is still there. It is there, it has been there, it will be there, it was ever there.

"Doesn't it hurt, though?"

How to answer that question?

If it stops hurting, what's the point? If you know in the beginning that it will only end in tears and you avoid the tears? I'd rather all the loves I've ever had than avoiding them for fear of the pain. It was always worth it. Each love, a walk in the park, pink trees and the wet cool temperature of spring, in love, falling in love with the people who love you, the people who save you. No matter how fleeting. Worth all the hurt.

It's never been finite, in my eyes, it's not a resource you use up, and it's worth losing yourself in it sometimes.



Monday, May 22, 2017

Post Trauma Script

Echos of the past. Every single micro moment of every single event playing out in my head like it is real all over again. Ever single feeling of shame coming to the surface.

Wait

Today I was very good at who I am. I was very impressive at being me even when being me meant an international stage for an audience of thousands at six a.m. The sun rose behind me and there was an aura and there were feelings of being angelic and there were feelings of being above it all someone.

And it was very good.

And I felt good about it. Almost immediately crushingly guilty for feeling good about it. Buried in work today, being good at all the work I do. There is no emotion there, but everyone who interacts with me describes it as "passionate, energized, excited"

Wait

There feels like nothing today and that is the hardest part, but I'm almost through it. I spent the night waking up almost every hour, my heart racing through the entire night. Each dream the same dream, fighting, chasing, losing, fighting, chasing, losing, not quite, not quite there, but

Wait

That's the thing about the way it triggers. It's all just past emotion pulled to the surface with a mirror light. The details you don't want to know. I have five years of details in one of my past lives. I have a year in another. And in another a year more. Put that all together and it becomes a little past anchor rooting you to the spot of it and you want to just circle around and around and around and...

Wait

Some days I have to remind myself that I am so far past my past. I look in the mirror and very little has changed. To my advantage. To my detriment. Sometimes I wonder if there were more changes if it might be easier to let go and move on. What I really want some days is to look in the mirror and be a different person. Some days I look in the mirror and I see the red highlights that come out in my hair and I remember a different face and a different name and a different person and her different traumas and her loss and her suffering and how strong I have been and how easy it is not to be strong and yet, and yet, and yet...

Wait

Tomorrow. I get through tomorrow, and then we find our way to being okay. From there it is a hope skip and a jump.

Writing helps.

People will help more. This weekend there will be nothing but people and we can write new stories together and this will be the best of all. In the end it's five minutes, not five years. Five unexpected minutes, but I refuse to be held hostage to it. The processing time is hard, but lingering is worse. And so, it's just a few more days. I...

Wait.





Sunday, May 21, 2017

Then There Was Dinner

I'm in hyper processing mode and not sure what to do about it. Having had my rape shower it seems like what I want the most is to spill out a series of collected words where it suddenly makes sense. But all the words that seem to come to mind are coming from that dark place in the back of my head.

Sometimes I have crazy fun adventures like having sex in the Sears Tower. I'm a stranger person and I do weird and strange things when I want to, when I like to, when I like the people I'm with, when it all seems to come together in a way that makes me thing "this will be an adventure."

Sure, sure, why not. I'm enjoying who I am right now, and who I am includes a lot of people, good dates, a minor amount of anxiety, and for the first time perhaps in my entire life thinking that I'm entirely attractive enough to be worth peoples time.

Not that I never felt that way before. Just before there was always a stronger self-deprecating side of attraction. That dark shadow again telling me that anyone daring to take a second look at me, not to mention a third, must be out for something. 

Then there was dinner last night. It was a second date. The first date ended in my bed. I am unapologetic about that. I wanted it to end it my bed, I liked the gentleman in question, we had a very good night and I was feeling good about what I was doing. I never felt as if I was making bad decisions or was in any way doing anything I didn't want to be doing. I think that is fine. I think every woman on the planet should feel okay about wanting to sleep with someone when she wants to, assuming she has the freedom, interest and intent do do so. That's where I am.

At dinner, which started thirty minutes late and which I was almost certain was I going to be stood up for, I met my date again. He was still charming, still just the little but of accent, still smart and intelligent and I was still happy to be there. As we dug into why he was late I realized two things 1) I like this person, they have a career and responsibilities 2) this date is not going to end in bed.

My reasoning for number two was entirely valid. I have no shame in saying I went out to have dinner and have a nice round of sex number two with my date. We worked well together and had a good time. However, when the date has a medical issue they are dealing with and surprise emergency that require sleep and full cognitive function I don't feel comfortable going to bed. It would be both selfish and inconsiderate of me. And so, sex was - as it were - off the menu.

The date was fine, the good good. We had nice wine. We talked about life and art and travel. I was happy to be out on a date. I felt beautiful and desired, even if I knew the date was not going to end in bed and that was okay.

I was okay with that.

And as we walked away for me to get a cab.

And as we walked down the street.

And as I finished paying for dinner so we could walk down the street.

And as the couples passed and we held hands for a moment.

And as he kissed me and I enjoyed the warmth of it for a second.

All of those moments were okay.

And then he grabbed my hand and tried to pull it lower and I pulled away.

And then he said come on, let's just go to your place.

And then I said no.

And then he grabbed my face again, pulled me into his lips again. His mouth tasted rotten and like meet.

And I said no again.

I smiled.

I fucking smiled.

And I laughed. And I pushed him away and tried to explain to him why this was not going to happen tonight.

My heart was beating.

My heart was pounding.

My phone was in my hand and I got a car.

Come on. He said.

I have a hard on he said.

It's your fault he said.

The least you can do is take care of me he said.

As long as I leave by one a.m. he said.

And I smiled.

And I laughed.

And I tried to be coy while desperate for the car to come.

That car is big enough for both of us.

Let me come with you he said.

You should take care of me he said.

Next time, I slammed the door.

My wrist were sore from where I wrenched off his fingers. My mind was swirling. That's all fine, I thought.

Fine.

It's all fine.

There is nothing wrong.

Everything is fine.

I drank a shot of vodka when I got home.

Everything is fine.

And then I slept and had uneasy dreams of all the times this has happened before, of all the times I have let this happen before, of all the times I have acutely believed that I have somehow brought this on myself before, on all the times I have believed that I deserved this before, on all the faces, and names and smiling teeth that gnash in the dark corners and I think, I think, I think...that's fine.

This morning I realized it wasn't fine.

I'm mostly fine, because that is what I do, but somehow I feel so drained by it all. Like there is just an emptiness there that doesn't understand what is going on around it. Like somehow this is all my fault and I should be ashamed to have these feelings and even more so I should be ashamed to write them down.

If you write them down anyone can read them. Anyone at all.


Saturday, May 20, 2017

Passing the Time

It's easy to watch the time go by. Not noticing until it has all but slipped from the hand into the wild and beyond, beyond that, beyond and forever. It's not that there are no words, simply the words I write keep staying hidden between walls. Employer walls, personal walls, my walls.

Several posts of self doubt and pity have been composed.

My fear of everything is acting up again. Fear of accomplishment, fear of failure, fear of love. The first is the easiest to address, the last the hardest.

Loving and losing. A cycle.

I'm repeating that cycle again, my brain screams to me.

Shut up brain, I scream back.

My heart ignores the drama and just goes on loving all the things it wants to love.

The past takes shape like in the corner. A dark shadow creature with a blank face. It stands, clocked in darkness, curly hair, a woman's shrill voice. Mocking, belittling, demanding. It wants me to know that I am inadequate, will always be inadequate, will always be stupid, will always be too used up for anyone to really be interested in me. It tells me I will always be broken.

And I smile, and I walk on, and I ignore it.

Shadows have been chasing me for weeks as I try desperately to do what I do, be good at who I am, be good to those I need to be good to, be good to myself most of all. All of this while constantly battling my internal demon, the one that never lets go.

In the meantime the days keep flying on. I keep flying on. Time keeps flying on. The upcoming weekend will be full of adventure, fun, old lovers, perhaps new lovers. Smiles and memories that will be sweet in the moment, sweet after. Bittersweet as time wears on.

In the meantime, the stories continue.

Sunday, May 07, 2017

Sometimes I'm not even Me

I was in the car with my date, having decided that his stomach and improved in my company after some amusing PDA.

As one does in these blissfully modern times, I took an Uber. Uber has made traveling in Chicago like traveling in Korea. Jump in a car, pay a few dollars, get to where you want to go. Being able to order a car makes it even more blissful. I can't wait to see how this thing gets taken from me, but for now, I'm going to enjoy it as much as I can.

We jump into the back of the mid-grade little car, some guy, driving around, just trying to figure it out. At first he wanted to pull a u-turn on Belmont on a moderately busy Sunday afternoon on a game day.

"I don't mind the few extra minutes, honestly, to just turn around the street."

"Yeah, yeah, I guess, yeah."

He turns down the street.

"It's your money, anyway, though right. I just spend my day sitting in traffic." There is little bitterness there, but I spend my time pointing out things in the neighborhood, the boy on my arm being recently transplanted to Chicago and not knowing anything about the area.

"Parking around here is a nightmare. I honestly don't know how or why people do it."

"Man, if I lived in Wrigley there is no way I'd own a car," the driver chimes in. I smile.

"So damn expensive though, man. I used to live in Wicker Park, man, you know Wicker park?"

I do since I worked there in one of my past lives. At this point any period longer than two years ago feels like one of my past lives. Past lives strung all over the city of Chicago, and slowly, very slowly, being strung all over the world.

"Man, I had this place. Guess how much I paid for this place? Twelve-fifty a month, man. Twelve-fifty, can you believe that shit?"

"That's a great price for Wicker park."

"Yeah, yeah, how I did it though, man. Had the whole place to myself. I moved in my my buddy and his girlfriend. Then they broke up. Then she moved out. Then he moved out."

"That will do it."

"Yeah, I may...I may have secretly wanted them to break up and just like told him he should do it."

I smile, my date slips his hand under my bag, against my leg. I smile at him.

"It's just, you know, my buddy keeps telling me he wants to sleep with all these women, and I'm like, man, just break up with her and then go sleep with all those women. Don't cheat on her though. It would break her heart."

My smile is even more amused. The hand of my date creeps higher.

The driver continues his story. Moving eventually out of the city, quitting his job, taking up Uber. Taking LSD.

"Man, that's my favorite joke with tourists. One of them.  I'm going to take LSD is that okay. And just the look on their face."

I giggle and we have to explain to my date the meaning of LSD in Chicago. The lake is beautiful as the sun goes down, waves smacking against the shore. The day is bright, and sunny and clear, but the lake is acting like a restless god in the mild amount of wind, smashing, thrashing. The hand on my leg is warm. The laughter in the car is intoxicating.

"Sometimes, I pretend. You know, I just make up this whole person. I'm never going to see this person again. They don't know me. So I just make up a person, make up a story. Sometimes, man, sometimes I tell them this shit man-"

He pauses.

"Between us, right?"

I'm telling his story, in my own way, but you will never find my friendly driver who sometimes makes up stories about who he is. He's not alone. I've made-up whole characters to play on trips abroad when I'm amusing myself. My date confesses later he has as well. Sometimes, it's nice to be someone else for a few minutes, a moment, to make someone else's life just that little bit of weird. Bringing the wild fantasies we want to be real to life. We are the people that contribute the hints to the dark narrative you want to believe in. You want to believe. Some of us want to help.

"So, like, one of my stories I tell people that I had to get out of some shit, you know. That I used to do these 'deliveries' in town. Was making 5,000 dollars a week, but you know, that's just not the life for me. I like this, it's honest. Man, the look on people's faces. It's so funny, man."

We all giggle. The car is getting closer to my house.

"You know, the next time you tell that story, I have something you can add to that."

"Yeah, what's that?"

"Okay, just do the whole story just like that. Then get real quite and start looking in the review and then, be like, 'Hey, do you think that car is following us. No, don't turn around!'"

"Oh my god, oh man, oh man. That's brilliant. I'll be all like 'just be chill, be cool, it's cool. I might have to drive you a little out of your way.' Oh, man, oh man I love it."

"This is us, on the corner here."

He pulls over and we hop out.

"Yeah, thanks guys, man, that's so good. Thanks for the laughs. You have a good night."

I slip my hand into the fingers of the young man standing next to me and proceed to have a good night.