"Gosh that makes me feel weird. Like I wonder what I sound like to you guys."
"You sound...excited."
"Well yeah."
"Yeah what?"
"I'm in a room full of boys, how can I not be."
He smiles.
That's Mark #1.
I am on molly and we are all sitting on the floor, the bed, the desk even. Talking. And laughing. At 4 am we are still wide awake and enjoying just the comfortable enjoyment of honest conversation and good company.
We just have come back from Lazy rich set where the gritty music demanded all of us to give it all. We are tired as fuck, sweaty and sticky, and have gone through a bowl or two, sitting in the living room is various positions, and playing vicious foozeball games which are so involved that we actually have to make RULES and stipulations on what guarantees a win.
In that time Joel has taken off his shirt. He is tall and slender, and the skull and wings chest tattoo is spread like an open heart over his skin. His slick back bangs are like a straight wave but curl at the end, like the Greaser style. Very ponyboy. In fact he is pony boy. Excitable, honest, sensitive, and very passionate. He's all about feel, he gestures with his hands when he talks. He gets so into stories that he bounces on the balls of his feet. His slim body is animated in every sense. And he is so fucking sexy. He's got so much rawness to him, even his woodsy caramel skin and his hazel eyes kill me to look at. He also is very touchy and flirty. He is one of the main boys who danced with me at the rave. To the point he was digging his hands into my hips and I would roll them extra deep so he can really feel my, well sex appeal. He skirted his hands over my backside and I laughed,
"Wow you're a frisky one aren't you?"
He laughs good naturedly. Not embarrassed at all.
"Yeah I guess so. But I don't hear you complaining."
And I have to bite my lip to that, because honestly I want his hands everywhere.
Back at the house Joel tells me in raw detail the last harsh breakup he went through. Because like a girl I overheard him telling Max, and I immediately needed details and to hear it for myself. Max is vaguely annoyed, laughing when I ask to be caught up.
"This is why we don't talk about this stuff with girls. It's too much story and you come in the middle."
But like a gentleman I could tell, Joel obliging gives me the spark notes to what was a very tumultuous relationship. He said within 2 weeks they both confessed to loving each other, and that within 3 weeks he had her key and they were planning to move in together. He said he had previously spent a year working on himself and his demons. That by the end of it he was finally in a place to date again and with the right intentions and an open heart. And he met her. Julia. A girl who he said was both as intense and open as him. And boom I understand. She filled the need.
We have now all migrated to the bedroom. And Joel just says, "I need a neckrub, can you give me one please?" and just plops himself in front of me. The rest of the boys look. I kind of laugh it off complaining about the cockiness of men to just expect women to do the work, but in reality I'm kind of nervous as hell. I want to touch this boy so bad it hurts. But Max is also here. And he's also asked me out a few days earlier. And although I turned him down gently this can't be a good situation and I don't want to even mildy hurt the sweet and trusting boy Max has shown to me. He is a true friend, yet I don't think I can force a relationship with someone I'm not attracted to, or to someone who feels so like kin.
But dutifully I begin to rub deep circles into the hard lines of Joel's neck and shoulders. I have to keep my libido under check because even just tracing his sinew makes me want to lick them. But I play it easy, asking formal questions like "Which parts hurt?" or "What part is tense?" and the boys stop watching and just go back to conversation. When I'm done he offers to reciprocate for me but I'm way too in the spotlight as the only girl that I shake my head and vigorously say no even as he keeps offering. Damn this shit.
The conversation turns funny now. I'm on the floor to give myself distance from Joel who lies back on the bed beside Max, further fuelling my confusion. Molly gives me the confidence to ask the group with honest boldness about what it's like to be the other sex. And they literally hold open the door for me into the other side.
Everything from wanting to know what is feels like to get a hand job..
"Nah you'd much rather want a blow job" Ryan says matter of factly
"Yeah..." We all agree.
To what its like going to the bathroom, and well HOW can you feel comfortable with another dude whipping it out beside you. They explain the one urnal apart guy code, and the never look at all rule. All mutually understood and known without ever having to talk about it. But I'm still confused how thats possible if you have to at least look to see which one is open and to walk to it without crashing into someone.
So no joke they give me a skit. 3 of them walk out the door and close it, like this is for legit. They walk in like the direction has snapped the scene, and they mock wait in line, mock go up to the invisible mirror and check their hair and push it back. Mock staring off into nothing while the others go. And then the VERY direct walk to their own urnal and the stare ahead at all times rule. I feel like I literally got the experience of being in the boys bathroom and weirdly it feels so interesting and well...cool.
I then realize how uncomfortable I am trying to sit up, on the floor. "Damn I'm uncomfortable, think I can come up on the bed?" Then both openly motion and move for me. Still though I take a playful dig,
"Jezz whatever happened to chivalry? Gentleman are a dying breed. I mean having me sit on the floor with no pillow or nothing while you guys lie all comfy." They protest
"Hey you decided to sit on the floor,"
"You could've asked for something."
"Oh yeah totally like I have to be like 'Hey guys with ALL the comfy shit possible, think you could throw me at least one.' "
"Hey you wanted the full bro experience, that mean fend for yourself man," Joel grins at me. I chuckle. I guess I did ask for it all. Even the sucky stuff.
Then it goes on, to asking what its like to know know, when you like a girl. Apparently it really just all is, erection? Yupp she's good. Well maybe not that pop up and go, I mean they're not 15 year olds with no control of the inflate button, but it really all is all about feeling that primal attraction. Here I am, and women in general, thinking their is some kind of formula or science behind figuring out a guy is really into you, and its just really as simple as "attraction" for them. Makes me realize really how we complicate things we should just leave as is. So much simpler. Literally.
I ask for a sip of water and Max reaches out for the bottle and hands it to me. I pass it Joel.
"I swear I don't have koodies." He just raises his eyebrow and his lips twitch. Like he's not even going to touch that.
The other boys pass it round after. Ryan asks with casual voice, "Did she have a sip of it?"
Mark # 1 nods. Then in hilarious show, Ryan basically fucks the water bottle with his mouth, while he's drinking from it secondarily.
I can't help it. He is so cocky and goofy at the same time. I hold my sides and I giggle like crazy.
"Nice Ryan, nice. All your moves are like schwooop..., " and I throw an air ball over the room up into sky, "just like a ring shot. Right into the hoop." He just bobs his head in a, "well obviously" agreement.
Then I ask about flirting, and wondering how it feels to have that nervous rush trying to pick up a girl. Mark #1 gets me into that experience in one story.
He says he was at a club with his buds once and like boys will be boys, they make a bet.
He has to pick up one of the hottest club dancers in 7 words or less.
He tells me he takes a good look at her. She's a smooth dancer, obviously sexy and exudes confidence. She's wearing a leopard print costume of shorts and bustier.
He walks up to her on the platform and asks,
"Did you kill that leopard by yourself?"
OHHHHHH MYYYYYY. Panty dropper.
Needless to say he won the bet.
In that one liner, he has both been clever, cheeky, complimenting, and suave. It's like with that one liner he's slid a tumbler of whisky smoothly down the bar and has it land perfectly into her hands. Smack. Satisfying.
I'm not even a guy but that saturation of victory is so well laid out, I feel again the experience of being in someone else's skin. And it feels fantastic.
"Oh my god Mark, Thank you. Thank you. I'm not even a guy and yet I totally got to feel how good that must have felt."
He gives me his satisfied half grin, like he knows he's done his job. He has that smooth confidence. The behind scenes assurance. He never has to assert it or prove it. With his closely shaved head, arm length tats, punch hole earrings, and thick rings, he is very much who he is. And he works it. And I love him for that.
Mark #2 now becomes more vocal.
"Ughh don't even get me started on girls. Like don't even let me think about it." he groans with such heavy irritation. He start rubbing his head roughly, pulling it back and forth.
I ask why. He fills in the blanks. And the other boys fill what he's left out. Basically he's be hooked and then dropped by a consecutive amount of girls.
"Like they get all excited about me. And then one day they just say they can't hang, and I never hear from them again. Like OKAYYYY..... Just UGH! UGHHH!"
He mimics wrangling a brain with such a manic face I can't help but laugh. It's good to know I'm not the only one who feels that way about the other sex. Guess we are all frustrated in one way or another.
I want to hug the shit out of him cause I know. I know
"Awhnn Mark..." I say that's all I can say and I look him straight in the eyes.
"NO! No. Seriously no." He's reading it as pity.
"I'm not pitying you. It just sucks I know. But you are such a cutie. It's just the wrong girls. Wrong choices."
Apparently I confirmed what is already know cause all the other guys pipe in with the same sentiment.
"I know, I know. But it's not even the wrong women. It's just that I fall too hard. Too easily. And then its like welll fuckkkk."
The room goes quiet for a bit.
"Well it's good to know you guys feel the same way about break ups. I always felt like guys are so whatever about them."
"No! No Man!"
"Guys go on benders man, thats their version of crying."
"I always have to spend like a few months before I can even feel like looking at another girl."
Again the egg has cracked, and that soft yolk of truth is revealed to me. We all hurt. We just all process differently. And an open hear is an open heart, regardless of which gender it's in.
Sunday, 7 September 2014
Saturday, 23 August 2014
My dear, My darling
Hearing that your dog has died two weeks ago, is like being told your son has been killed in drunk car accident when you didnt even know he was at a party.
I feel a bit betrayed. I know I'm being irrational because as my dad said it's not something you tell over the phone, it has to be in person. And he waited to do that for me.
But all I can feel is guilt. That I wasn't there for him when he took his last breath. For not being at his ceremony, but most of all for not being around more often.
Me and my baby where both sort of orphans when we were introduced to each other. I had come from a recently broke up family and was with an emotionally shutdown father. Darby was a shipped puppy who was rejected and sent back by the ass of a purchaser I will never know. All he knew for his first months of his life this was darkness, rejection, and isolation. Funny. Kind of like me...
Anyways we were both awkward beginner bonders. Trying to figure out where we both fit into each other lives and when we needed affection most. In my depression though I feel he pulled me out. Just by being him. A soul that was so pure, he would never hurt even if he was attacked. Who openly loved, and snuggled, and waggled his ass over to anyone worth willing a smile or second of attention.
He would proudly and fearlessly would run to other dogs, and I mean huge dobermans who would give him a look like "Are you fucking kidding? I could give you a stare that would kill you" and yet his playful butt waggle and perky ears would melt them all into docile lambs that pranced together. He had this fat little loaf body and teeny legs that are character of Cairn terriers. But that never stopped him from sneaky sweeps of toys under other dogs noses or snarky yaps at the dogs who were outrunning him when I would throw a toy, basically saying, "it's mine bitch!" and the other dog would instantly back away. Even my dad's dog Indra backed off. And just for reference Indra is literally 100 pounds, has the head the size of a soccer ball, and is tall enough to literally walk right over darby without so much as his dinkle slapping his face.
I love the way he would chase the cascading tide on the sand, like is was a running rabbit and he would try and snatch it even as the last lap hit the side.
I love that he could go up to ANYONE, and because he knew he was that cute, he'd roll on his belly instantly, with no fear, and more importantly with the certainty of getting his expectations met.
I love that he ate an entire apple. Like a human. As a I rotated it for him to eat.
I love that for some reason dog treats came second to cheese for him.
I love his scratchy rasta hair which gladly wore and refused to sit still for brushes.
I love how scared, and innocent, and just so dependant he'd look with those big worried eyes when I'd have to put him in the bath, and he'd scramble on his nails to get out but the porcelain wouldn't give him the grounding he wanted. Those moments his big black button eyes were like huge moons on his now skinny rat frame without all his hair to make him chubby.
I think I loved that the most, the first bath. Becuase he made himself vulnerable to me, and I felt deeply responsible and not only priveleged to reassure him, to coo and gently soap him down as he held my gaze the entire time, latching his eye into me like a lifeline hooks in a storm, terrified if he looked away he'd by lost.
I love that he wasn't smart about somethings. and too smart for others. He would actually look at my hand before performing a trick. If there was something (treat obvs) he would huff then dutifully perform. If nothing, he'd take one look at the empty hand, at me, and then turn and run in the other direction. Yes this was my dog.
I love that in the center of my depression era as a weird and confused teenager, he became my pal, my baby, my soother, and my comfort blanket. He could make me laugh by being himself, or just by doing something obviously silly when he'd notice I was down.
In alot of ways he was like me, small, compact, but fiesty and full of zest for life, and sometimes too trusting and too sensitive, getting him into a few bad situations. Mostly I love how goddamn happy he was with who he was. He didn't give a damn about his size, or his limitations, or his shitty upbringing. He would always be counted on to want to run with the other dogs even if it meant he'd be hacking and falling over from exertion at the end. To introduce himself to another dog and walkers a field away. Get to the ball first in a game, and to always come running with his ears perked and his pink palm frond long tongue sticking out, ready and awake for the next thing; with just the call of his name. He had joi de vivre. Positive outlook. A open and fearless heart.
And I love you my dear baby for loving me as best you could like I hopefully did for you. And I'm sorry for all the times I hid the ball so I wouldn't have to continue playing catch, or when I wouldn't let you snuggle with me after you dreads were particularly smelly. Or when I didn't visit as often as I should have when I moved to the city for school. Or because I didn't ever really give you a birthday present because we didn't even know when it was. Or because I couldn't have been the one to coo and talk you down as my beautiful stepmom did for you I hear, as you heaved from too much action, and into your death.
I'm so sorry. And I'll always love you my little bubba. I hope your next life is smooth sailing my dear, my darling, my good natured friend.
I feel a bit betrayed. I know I'm being irrational because as my dad said it's not something you tell over the phone, it has to be in person. And he waited to do that for me.
But all I can feel is guilt. That I wasn't there for him when he took his last breath. For not being at his ceremony, but most of all for not being around more often.
Me and my baby where both sort of orphans when we were introduced to each other. I had come from a recently broke up family and was with an emotionally shutdown father. Darby was a shipped puppy who was rejected and sent back by the ass of a purchaser I will never know. All he knew for his first months of his life this was darkness, rejection, and isolation. Funny. Kind of like me...
Anyways we were both awkward beginner bonders. Trying to figure out where we both fit into each other lives and when we needed affection most. In my depression though I feel he pulled me out. Just by being him. A soul that was so pure, he would never hurt even if he was attacked. Who openly loved, and snuggled, and waggled his ass over to anyone worth willing a smile or second of attention.
He would proudly and fearlessly would run to other dogs, and I mean huge dobermans who would give him a look like "Are you fucking kidding? I could give you a stare that would kill you" and yet his playful butt waggle and perky ears would melt them all into docile lambs that pranced together. He had this fat little loaf body and teeny legs that are character of Cairn terriers. But that never stopped him from sneaky sweeps of toys under other dogs noses or snarky yaps at the dogs who were outrunning him when I would throw a toy, basically saying, "it's mine bitch!" and the other dog would instantly back away. Even my dad's dog Indra backed off. And just for reference Indra is literally 100 pounds, has the head the size of a soccer ball, and is tall enough to literally walk right over darby without so much as his dinkle slapping his face.
I love the way he would chase the cascading tide on the sand, like is was a running rabbit and he would try and snatch it even as the last lap hit the side.
I love that he could go up to ANYONE, and because he knew he was that cute, he'd roll on his belly instantly, with no fear, and more importantly with the certainty of getting his expectations met.
I love that he ate an entire apple. Like a human. As a I rotated it for him to eat.
I love that for some reason dog treats came second to cheese for him.
I love his scratchy rasta hair which gladly wore and refused to sit still for brushes.
I love how scared, and innocent, and just so dependant he'd look with those big worried eyes when I'd have to put him in the bath, and he'd scramble on his nails to get out but the porcelain wouldn't give him the grounding he wanted. Those moments his big black button eyes were like huge moons on his now skinny rat frame without all his hair to make him chubby.
I think I loved that the most, the first bath. Becuase he made himself vulnerable to me, and I felt deeply responsible and not only priveleged to reassure him, to coo and gently soap him down as he held my gaze the entire time, latching his eye into me like a lifeline hooks in a storm, terrified if he looked away he'd by lost.
I love that he wasn't smart about somethings. and too smart for others. He would actually look at my hand before performing a trick. If there was something (treat obvs) he would huff then dutifully perform. If nothing, he'd take one look at the empty hand, at me, and then turn and run in the other direction. Yes this was my dog.
I love that in the center of my depression era as a weird and confused teenager, he became my pal, my baby, my soother, and my comfort blanket. He could make me laugh by being himself, or just by doing something obviously silly when he'd notice I was down.
In alot of ways he was like me, small, compact, but fiesty and full of zest for life, and sometimes too trusting and too sensitive, getting him into a few bad situations. Mostly I love how goddamn happy he was with who he was. He didn't give a damn about his size, or his limitations, or his shitty upbringing. He would always be counted on to want to run with the other dogs even if it meant he'd be hacking and falling over from exertion at the end. To introduce himself to another dog and walkers a field away. Get to the ball first in a game, and to always come running with his ears perked and his pink palm frond long tongue sticking out, ready and awake for the next thing; with just the call of his name. He had joi de vivre. Positive outlook. A open and fearless heart.
And I love you my dear baby for loving me as best you could like I hopefully did for you. And I'm sorry for all the times I hid the ball so I wouldn't have to continue playing catch, or when I wouldn't let you snuggle with me after you dreads were particularly smelly. Or when I didn't visit as often as I should have when I moved to the city for school. Or because I didn't ever really give you a birthday present because we didn't even know when it was. Or because I couldn't have been the one to coo and talk you down as my beautiful stepmom did for you I hear, as you heaved from too much action, and into your death.
I'm so sorry. And I'll always love you my little bubba. I hope your next life is smooth sailing my dear, my darling, my good natured friend.
Tuesday, 22 July 2014
Chillax
Going Going. Always running. Always rushed. Always in a hurry. To finish a task. To get out of work as early as I can. To finish a school project. To meet someone and still have time to get ready for school.
I got so stuck, get so stuck, in the rushing, the run to the finish line, that I missed the entire route. I forget the point, I miss out on the details, I blank out on any of the joy. Please stop tina. It''s not good for you. Being busy does not equal being productive, nor does it mean it will make you happy.
I just ended a photography course, a fun and playful colour print course. But being so beginner in a class full of advanced students, I felt and pushed myself to be my normal perfectionist. No border was ever good enough, no contrast was punchy enough. Prints that should have taken me 2 hours took 2 days.
Needless to say the final project I finished THE last class, when it was due. The only one in the darkroom hearing the others laugh and converse and look at each others work, I felt my heart sink yet again. I am so caught up in being as good, if not BETTER than others, judging myself against them that forget to even please myself. I could have been okay with being slower and less knowledgeable about the subject. Being forgiving of shots that were perfectly fine to most, but not to my ruthless unmerciful inner critic. I had missed the fun of the course, the room for experimenting, exchanging it for exactness. I missed the whole course or soaking in learning, because I was so nervous and anxious about just finishing the final project. And now its over. Done. And here I am still. Crying from another opportunity I should have enjoyed for once.
Lesson: Slow down. Make a meal and do nothing but savour it. Make time for friends. Put aside responsibilities if you are making them everything. Find balance. Find play. Enjoy THE PROCESS. Stop worrying about the end result. And if you are learning, be forgiving of yourself. I mean come on, even Beethoven had to practice to get good. And last, CHILLLLLAX once and awhile. Its cheaper than therapy.
I got so stuck, get so stuck, in the rushing, the run to the finish line, that I missed the entire route. I forget the point, I miss out on the details, I blank out on any of the joy. Please stop tina. It''s not good for you. Being busy does not equal being productive, nor does it mean it will make you happy.
I just ended a photography course, a fun and playful colour print course. But being so beginner in a class full of advanced students, I felt and pushed myself to be my normal perfectionist. No border was ever good enough, no contrast was punchy enough. Prints that should have taken me 2 hours took 2 days.
Needless to say the final project I finished THE last class, when it was due. The only one in the darkroom hearing the others laugh and converse and look at each others work, I felt my heart sink yet again. I am so caught up in being as good, if not BETTER than others, judging myself against them that forget to even please myself. I could have been okay with being slower and less knowledgeable about the subject. Being forgiving of shots that were perfectly fine to most, but not to my ruthless unmerciful inner critic. I had missed the fun of the course, the room for experimenting, exchanging it for exactness. I missed the whole course or soaking in learning, because I was so nervous and anxious about just finishing the final project. And now its over. Done. And here I am still. Crying from another opportunity I should have enjoyed for once.
Lesson: Slow down. Make a meal and do nothing but savour it. Make time for friends. Put aside responsibilities if you are making them everything. Find balance. Find play. Enjoy THE PROCESS. Stop worrying about the end result. And if you are learning, be forgiving of yourself. I mean come on, even Beethoven had to practice to get good. And last, CHILLLLLAX once and awhile. Its cheaper than therapy.
Wednesday, 16 July 2014
As in
Its funny how the smallest things can keep you alive.
A swim in the pool after the sun has set and no one is around.
An old movie clip of a family celebration
An email from a your kin
A funny text from an old love
An accomplishment for another of which you are proud of and not jealous (which is an accomplishment for yourself)
I need to be more okay and more thankful for the beautiful small things.
If I consistently look at life as to do lists or bad wake ups, then I will never be happy.
I read a mantra someone posted online the other day
it says:
I choose to happy
within myself
exactly as my life is today
I thought that was pretty powerful. I mean so simple. But the actual meaning, and the emphasis on believing what you are saying, when you say that mantra, is probably going to be the most difficult challenge of my life. But if I want to live, and I want to live long enough to enjoy it, I should choose to be happy. As in I have a choice. As in I can have that attitude. As in its possible. As is today, right now, I am choosing. To be happy.
A swim in the pool after the sun has set and no one is around.
An old movie clip of a family celebration
An email from a your kin
A funny text from an old love
An accomplishment for another of which you are proud of and not jealous (which is an accomplishment for yourself)
I need to be more okay and more thankful for the beautiful small things.
If I consistently look at life as to do lists or bad wake ups, then I will never be happy.
I read a mantra someone posted online the other day
it says:
I choose to happy
within myself
exactly as my life is today
I thought that was pretty powerful. I mean so simple. But the actual meaning, and the emphasis on believing what you are saying, when you say that mantra, is probably going to be the most difficult challenge of my life. But if I want to live, and I want to live long enough to enjoy it, I should choose to be happy. As in I have a choice. As in I can have that attitude. As in its possible. As is today, right now, I am choosing. To be happy.
Friday, 11 July 2014
Sometimes I have a hard time deciphering when I'm being kind, and when I'm breaking my back.
My sister is my heart. I love her and care for her deeply.
At the same time she can be one of the most airhead, flippity, unreliable people on the planet to me. Just to get this one acupuncture session arranged for her, a ride for her, and an appropriate time took an entire day of calling a friend back and forth for a ride, calling the doc to reschedule, and calling her to figure out when she could go.
Not to mention I just spent an entire pay check to get her the session. I love her but the heaviness of giving away a weeks worth of pay kills me a little. Does giving mean always sacrificing? Because lately that is how it has felt to me. Is it my shitty attitude that wreaks the giving? Or is it the fact that the giving has gone too far?
Who knows. I'm trying really hard to be okay with relearning a lot about myself. Particularly my intuition, my boundaries, and what I want and need from relationships, or more specifically friends.
All's I figured out in that department is that I want considerate, honest, unselfish, and playful people in my life. So far I haven't really met any, hence the drawing of my social circle is more like in the beginning dot of ink to paper phase. Not really there. But ready. Full of potential.
Don't lose heart I keep telling myself. God will attract the right people to me when I'm ready, and if not, again just take that time to focus on myself. What better excuse to be self caring, then having no one but yourself to care for. Just wish certain days I didn't feel so lonely..or pathetic…or lost. Dunno. Dunno. Just keep swimming at Dori would say.
Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming…..
My sister is my heart. I love her and care for her deeply.
At the same time she can be one of the most airhead, flippity, unreliable people on the planet to me. Just to get this one acupuncture session arranged for her, a ride for her, and an appropriate time took an entire day of calling a friend back and forth for a ride, calling the doc to reschedule, and calling her to figure out when she could go.
Not to mention I just spent an entire pay check to get her the session. I love her but the heaviness of giving away a weeks worth of pay kills me a little. Does giving mean always sacrificing? Because lately that is how it has felt to me. Is it my shitty attitude that wreaks the giving? Or is it the fact that the giving has gone too far?
Who knows. I'm trying really hard to be okay with relearning a lot about myself. Particularly my intuition, my boundaries, and what I want and need from relationships, or more specifically friends.
All's I figured out in that department is that I want considerate, honest, unselfish, and playful people in my life. So far I haven't really met any, hence the drawing of my social circle is more like in the beginning dot of ink to paper phase. Not really there. But ready. Full of potential.
Don't lose heart I keep telling myself. God will attract the right people to me when I'm ready, and if not, again just take that time to focus on myself. What better excuse to be self caring, then having no one but yourself to care for. Just wish certain days I didn't feel so lonely..or pathetic…or lost. Dunno. Dunno. Just keep swimming at Dori would say.
Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming…..
Saturday, 28 June 2014
This Truth
I was a dj.
I made music so thick it was like cream.
I made music that people made babies to.
That men fell in love
That women stopped worrying.
I was a dancer
with a kick so high
I folded my body in half
with rhythm so ingrained in my sinew
it was impossible not move
not to be noticed
not to be spellbound
I was an artist
who painted vivid dreams
so as all the dreamers could smile
so that i mimed life
and yet made it more beautiful at the same time
I could paint hope, and fear, and absolute wrath
and it was all
it was all fucking beautiful.
I was a writer
I wrote stories that were so extraordinary
they became ordinary
they were perfect reminders
of feelings understood
that they wept at ever having forgot
but they loved the pain
oh the exquisite pain
of my magic in bringing it back to them
I was a lover
of man
of animal
of plant
of space
I was open heart
bleeding connection
and gratitude
and joy
endless joy.
I was so big
I could not be contained
nor did I have to
because all was contained
in me
I was this. I was that. I was all of these things
and yet I never was any of it.
Because they were tricks of mind
dreams of imagination
in which i lived
and was so thoroughly
soaked
in satisfaction
of which I have none
And with this knowledge
this truth
I die
for never having lived
any of it
at all.
For in this truth of fantasy, I find my glory. I find my beauty.
But in that knowledge,
in that knowing,
of finding beauty only in fantasy-
that's my tragedy.
I made music so thick it was like cream.
I made music that people made babies to.
That men fell in love
That women stopped worrying.
I was a dancer
with a kick so high
I folded my body in half
with rhythm so ingrained in my sinew
it was impossible not move
not to be noticed
not to be spellbound
I was an artist
who painted vivid dreams
so as all the dreamers could smile
so that i mimed life
and yet made it more beautiful at the same time
I could paint hope, and fear, and absolute wrath
and it was all
it was all fucking beautiful.
I was a writer
I wrote stories that were so extraordinary
they became ordinary
they were perfect reminders
of feelings understood
that they wept at ever having forgot
but they loved the pain
oh the exquisite pain
of my magic in bringing it back to them
I was a lover
of man
of animal
of plant
of space
I was open heart
bleeding connection
and gratitude
and joy
endless joy.
I was so big
I could not be contained
nor did I have to
because all was contained
in me
I was this. I was that. I was all of these things
and yet I never was any of it.
Because they were tricks of mind
dreams of imagination
in which i lived
and was so thoroughly
soaked
in satisfaction
of which I have none
And with this knowledge
this truth
I die
for never having lived
any of it
at all.
For in this truth of fantasy, I find my glory. I find my beauty.
But in that knowledge,
in that knowing,
of finding beauty only in fantasy-
that's my tragedy.
Wednesday, 4 June 2014
In and Of
The world becomes bearable with friends. It becomes playful again. It becomes fresh. And yet familiar. Safe. Okay to screw up. Well, as long as you know you fall back on them.
This last year has been the most difficult in my life. Health issues so horrible I could not get out of bed. Mentally and physically I've been sick, and sick of myself.
I've also is a way moulted. In the sense that I've shed a lot of past sadnesses and past relationships. Friends have flaked out like old scales, and boys have trespassed in and then ran out.
I'm not complaining anymore though. That's it. I'm just learning to know that it is not all me. If my health is bad, then I have to look for the root. If friends are too self involved and too uncaring to care about who I am, then I don't or shouldn't even care. If the boys are still boys, then I have to be okay knowing that one day I'll find a man.
Today I had my first training session at work. With 7 other newbies ranging from 16- 50 it was an awkward group. No one was really talking or making conversation in between the quiet moment. SO of course I compensated. I made a general goof of myself. Made lots jokes, and lots of questions. Several crass ones actually. And it worked like it used to.
I made them laugh, and I could sense my craziness broke down the barriers, and they relaxed into getting to know each other. Maybe even to allow them to tease each other now, like playful otters as we each stood up to the plate for our training.
Afterwards one of the girls and I stayed back in the lounge and bought a few snacks to eat. Conversation flowed easy. This girl basically told me her whole life story, and I listened. In less than an hour I felt already proud of her, and also protective. Let's just say she had a hard life, and seeing that kindred fire in her to want a better life, had me hooked as a friend from the get go.
We ended up walking down to the marina and the sky was just turing pink and orange. The world became beautiful again. I just enjoyed being a observer again. We sat down and to our right was a bubbly group of salsa dancers practicing moves along with their cute spanish songs. An older chinese guy dancing with a young student with glasses, a dark haired woman being led by a tall curvy blond , a 6 foot guy in sandals and socks spinning a petite little puerto rican girl. They were all so different yet their laughter and energy was the same. And damn they were good!
To my left was a small group of college kids lying back on each other on the bench, and even right on the dockside. They were all fancy dressed, and with black cap and tassel on it was obvious they were recent graduates. And judging by fat cigars in their mouths, they were happy graduates.
The happy bliss of breathing out, and being free, was emanating from them. It was like I was feeling giddy. Like I could relive that experience of being young and carefree again just from being around them. And there is something just so awesome and funny when girls are doing such, well…"unlady like" things. Like when a chick can throw back a whole whiskey with out so much as making a face. Or when that delicate framed girl knocks a home run ball with such incredible and yet unexpected force. Or when like now, when this pretty brunette, with perfect straightened hair, and in her unwrinkled fancy dress, hold a sausage wide cigar in her mouth and puff so smoothly she was like the next damn Godfather.
That's why there is a difference of being "in" the world and "of" the world. And you need both to truly experience happiness. And having that new friend there with me, as we watched the sun go behind the light up city, and listening to romantic spanish music, and hearing hearing the giggles of the graduates, I felt like I was both in and of it all.
Lesson of the day: enjoy life. Don't rush. And lastly good friends are needed. And if they aren't good, keep looking. And if they are, cherish them.
This last year has been the most difficult in my life. Health issues so horrible I could not get out of bed. Mentally and physically I've been sick, and sick of myself.
I've also is a way moulted. In the sense that I've shed a lot of past sadnesses and past relationships. Friends have flaked out like old scales, and boys have trespassed in and then ran out.
I'm not complaining anymore though. That's it. I'm just learning to know that it is not all me. If my health is bad, then I have to look for the root. If friends are too self involved and too uncaring to care about who I am, then I don't or shouldn't even care. If the boys are still boys, then I have to be okay knowing that one day I'll find a man.
Today I had my first training session at work. With 7 other newbies ranging from 16- 50 it was an awkward group. No one was really talking or making conversation in between the quiet moment. SO of course I compensated. I made a general goof of myself. Made lots jokes, and lots of questions. Several crass ones actually. And it worked like it used to.
I made them laugh, and I could sense my craziness broke down the barriers, and they relaxed into getting to know each other. Maybe even to allow them to tease each other now, like playful otters as we each stood up to the plate for our training.
Afterwards one of the girls and I stayed back in the lounge and bought a few snacks to eat. Conversation flowed easy. This girl basically told me her whole life story, and I listened. In less than an hour I felt already proud of her, and also protective. Let's just say she had a hard life, and seeing that kindred fire in her to want a better life, had me hooked as a friend from the get go.
We ended up walking down to the marina and the sky was just turing pink and orange. The world became beautiful again. I just enjoyed being a observer again. We sat down and to our right was a bubbly group of salsa dancers practicing moves along with their cute spanish songs. An older chinese guy dancing with a young student with glasses, a dark haired woman being led by a tall curvy blond , a 6 foot guy in sandals and socks spinning a petite little puerto rican girl. They were all so different yet their laughter and energy was the same. And damn they were good!
To my left was a small group of college kids lying back on each other on the bench, and even right on the dockside. They were all fancy dressed, and with black cap and tassel on it was obvious they were recent graduates. And judging by fat cigars in their mouths, they were happy graduates.
The happy bliss of breathing out, and being free, was emanating from them. It was like I was feeling giddy. Like I could relive that experience of being young and carefree again just from being around them. And there is something just so awesome and funny when girls are doing such, well…"unlady like" things. Like when a chick can throw back a whole whiskey with out so much as making a face. Or when that delicate framed girl knocks a home run ball with such incredible and yet unexpected force. Or when like now, when this pretty brunette, with perfect straightened hair, and in her unwrinkled fancy dress, hold a sausage wide cigar in her mouth and puff so smoothly she was like the next damn Godfather.
That's why there is a difference of being "in" the world and "of" the world. And you need both to truly experience happiness. And having that new friend there with me, as we watched the sun go behind the light up city, and listening to romantic spanish music, and hearing hearing the giggles of the graduates, I felt like I was both in and of it all.
Lesson of the day: enjoy life. Don't rush. And lastly good friends are needed. And if they aren't good, keep looking. And if they are, cherish them.
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