this mindful mindfuck stuff is so dangerous, and words only lie and imprison the real meanings and depths and expanse of this kind of experience.
you can't go around teaching people lessons randomly because it's arrogant and smacks of vigilanteism.
but sometimes people come into my life and "ask" for certain teachings/lessons/experiences. it is not a simplistic sadistic or domme thing.
i have to actually give in and go into their madness because such hatred and contempt at another's vulnerability (especially when you're welsh and wales hasn't yet seceded from england lately) is usually just one's own terror and vulnerability twisted and turned outward.
and if a brilliant artist comes to me like that, then i consider it an important teaching, because whoever has the means of showing us to ourselves, they'd BETTER come correct or they feed us their poison, no matter how well-disguised (see hollytown's vision of women and how well "Feminism" has done with this botox/fake tit/grown-woman thing).
i take what i put out there seriously but i can never write enough, explain enough, because my words don't always mean the same things as your words.
that's why you have to cut funny people a break, like michael richards. when you pull the string, we're supposed to channel all that's out there, and in the process we can leak some pretty horrid things you all try to hide.
so that's the safety valve on all that i tell you. you have to actually go into another's madness and pain to understand them. you can only do that with love or you will set yourself on fire or they will kill you for being in their head.
when you're in such heads, you see we're all just adorable frightened little children and you see how basic all this madness and hatred is. that's why i charge us women with being indignant pillow queens less, and learn how to invest in your own fucks and stop whining about not getting enough of EVERYTHING. time stuff attention blah fucking blah.
and my fear since childhood was being reincarnated into a future holocaust, so i try to help bridge understanding between people who think they're so different.
i'm mixed, i've lived between the cracks and boundaries. i've had to step lightly or swagger. i've had to wrap my pussy lips around my teeth and play my james brown bass riffs like you're safe and nothing will happen.
and hitler has become a punchline, a distant cartoon distraction from the reality that he was just the face of a whole fucking IDEA. the entire country was pissed off, hurt, feeling terrified and they blamed the jews for their bad childhoods and bleak present, and wanted revenge.
it's very true that we must never forget. we must never forget that we are each jewish, palestinian, black, arab, mexican, homeless, poor, weak, young, old.
and we must always watch the magic that tells us otherwise because it will come back to us. there are no true "smoking sections" or corners of the pool that are best to pee in.
it's more colonializing white crap to teach blunt lessons. i swear people come to me because the intense ones say they were lost or asking the universe for something. i've never ever been the marrying type. at least not by regular earthly standards. i love deeper than the way people marry each other like buying lawn mowers or blow jobs.
my vows can't be broken, even though they're rarely ever even said.
especially with words.
i'm coming to hate words.
even my own.
they're beginning already to trap me.
i can feel it.
e
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Friday, January 20, 2012
this thing has teeth...
i'm planning a new leather jacket for my new life back to my forgotten self and my new self.
it's gonna make my original jacket nothing in comparison.
i'm also reconsidering my rule for holding out for transcendent sex. i realize that's too passive when i see what's out there and what kind of time i have left where i'll even give a fuck about this stuff.
i shall BRING the transcendent sex and make whatever i want TRANSCENDENT.
The Snakefucker woke me up to my ancient old self because it was never too much for him and i kept on going. well, eventually it was too much. it usually will be.
but now that i'm awake and see how much time i've wasted on hating and apologizing for myself,
i'm gonna pick up that piece of chicken i put in the fridge. i thought was me just being slutty.
now i'm gonna pull it back out and not ask any questions... just dance.
i'm not slutty. and if i am, so the fuck what? i'm a goddamn motherfucking sweetheart and i'm gonna go get ready to make my old days new days again.
he's strong, tall, got brown skin and an old timey swagger that comes from deep down inside and from his ancestors. you don't see that much anymore. especially in california where everything's new.
i don't care if we never know each others' last names.
he's big and i can crawl all over him like a tree and make a tree house so we can fuck in it.
i'm realizing that when you try to be honorable, you can't ever fuck anybody. there's always an anvil waiting to crush you. so i'm gonna go back to fucking people not in any of my own worlds. i don't even have secret worlds anymore.
this was it.
even if you knew what i was doing while i was doing it, you can't stop it unless you leave. i tell people what i'm doing all the time and they get car crashes in their heads.
but
you all know mostly everything. gods are always always always in the details, so you can't crash into a wall without the details. it's all just watching at this point unless you know what i'm talking about. some of you do. i know you. (smile)
some of you think this is a swaggery cartoon. and you'd also be right.
all the stories and assumptions are right and none of them are.
i don't even know the real story and never will.
but i do know i'm a fucking pussy. and we're gonna start listening to my own pussy more. she's impatient. foul mouthed. hungry. her teeth are sharp.
but she can kiss like a james brown bass line riff.
don't wait for the magic. bring your own "transcendence" because there's a whole lot of high fructose corn syrup out there.
i'll post art later. i don't want to talk too much anymore. i've gotta focus and keep myself contained for one person. i can't fuck more than one person at a time. i just can't.
i always want the man in my head to match the one in my body or i'm doing this thing wrong.
x
it's gonna make my original jacket nothing in comparison.
i'm also reconsidering my rule for holding out for transcendent sex. i realize that's too passive when i see what's out there and what kind of time i have left where i'll even give a fuck about this stuff.
i shall BRING the transcendent sex and make whatever i want TRANSCENDENT.
The Snakefucker woke me up to my ancient old self because it was never too much for him and i kept on going. well, eventually it was too much. it usually will be.
but now that i'm awake and see how much time i've wasted on hating and apologizing for myself,
i'm gonna pick up that piece of chicken i put in the fridge. i thought was me just being slutty.
now i'm gonna pull it back out and not ask any questions... just dance.
i'm not slutty. and if i am, so the fuck what? i'm a goddamn motherfucking sweetheart and i'm gonna go get ready to make my old days new days again.
he's strong, tall, got brown skin and an old timey swagger that comes from deep down inside and from his ancestors. you don't see that much anymore. especially in california where everything's new.
i don't care if we never know each others' last names.
he's big and i can crawl all over him like a tree and make a tree house so we can fuck in it.
i'm realizing that when you try to be honorable, you can't ever fuck anybody. there's always an anvil waiting to crush you. so i'm gonna go back to fucking people not in any of my own worlds. i don't even have secret worlds anymore.
this was it.
even if you knew what i was doing while i was doing it, you can't stop it unless you leave. i tell people what i'm doing all the time and they get car crashes in their heads.
but
you all know mostly everything. gods are always always always in the details, so you can't crash into a wall without the details. it's all just watching at this point unless you know what i'm talking about. some of you do. i know you. (smile)
some of you think this is a swaggery cartoon. and you'd also be right.
all the stories and assumptions are right and none of them are.
i don't even know the real story and never will.
but i do know i'm a fucking pussy. and we're gonna start listening to my own pussy more. she's impatient. foul mouthed. hungry. her teeth are sharp.
but she can kiss like a james brown bass line riff.
don't wait for the magic. bring your own "transcendence" because there's a whole lot of high fructose corn syrup out there.
i'll post art later. i don't want to talk too much anymore. i've gotta focus and keep myself contained for one person. i can't fuck more than one person at a time. i just can't.
i always want the man in my head to match the one in my body or i'm doing this thing wrong.
x
Thursday, January 19, 2012
to those who're studying the art of the mindful mind fuck...
(that 9/11 remark how the plane wouldn't have gone down if he were on it, made me think about what i've done with things like that.)
if you don't use your skills, they get flabby and die. so if you're turning from hustling and manipulating for small gains and want to start trying to teach epic lessons on the mindfuck level, you "get permission" from people to return to your old, evil bad side... but you must always strive to do it in the service of good, or what you spin will snap right back on you and you'll have a hard time finding footing in magic that's dark and bigger than you because others dogpile on drama and chaos from their own unexercised demons being bored and needing a high fructose white trash drama fix.
i say "un-exercised" as opposed to "un-exOrcised" because i think that even bad behavior learned from having to adapt to sick circumstances, can be turned into another direction. i no longer wish to try and rid myself of my demons. they are my friends when i treat them right.
fuck, that's when they're my PROTECTORS.
i used to think "manipulation" was bad and i strove to be naked and blunt at all times in a world that has perfected its own more sophisticated, layered forms of "manipulation," rendering me toothless without a jujitsu game to bat that shit back in another way.
if you don't get what i mean, move along.
anyhow, part of the reason i'm sobbing so much is out of mourning the constant monster i always believed i was because no one wanted me around for long. they either adored me or were horrified or irritated by me. nothing was rarely in between and life is still very much the same out there.
and now that i look back, i see how adorable we all were before we tried to behave and fit in.
i got fat as a way of hiding not only my sexuality so i could get some peace, but so that i could be quieter, more lethargic and complaining about my body with my mom.
(a part of me also thinks i added fat to my challenges as i never wanted things to be easy like when you've got privilege of any kind you didn't EARN yourself. i wanted my work to be tight and solid. i didn't want to be successful because of charm, personality, or anything i inherited.)
it was like i can look back and almost see as clear as a knife cut that it was like i had a choice about whether to be with lisa (and therefore, my father, who was nearby), and have an active life of adventure and lovers; or behave more like a white person on a focused trajectory even if it's in art (ESPECIALLY if you pick something self-indulgent like art).
and i may not have chosen the deadening cubicle corrals, but i chose to make my own body and mind a deadening cubicle that kept me down and from flying.
i remember how i used to dress after i got back from the bronx, when i was at that special school for high school bad kids in cherry hill. i was junior high age. but it was "little LA" and they didn't plan on having bad white kids yet in junior high.
and i remember sometimes seeing some of the older guys just confused as fuck about how to even take me IN their eyes. and then we could actually have a philosophical conversation?
being different is already hard. being different, sexual, and female, and obnoxious and loud and un-buyable is damn near impossible at times.
and i've had to learn more nuance than you'd believe, as crusty as i seem.
but nuance must be explored because there is more nuance in the nuance, and as you see, stories turn in on themselves and mean something else, then what you originally thought, but it's actually a GOOD thing if you change your paradigm, your GOALS about where you're going as a human being on this earth in this incarnation for only a tiny spec of time.
and what will you REALLY leave behind to even yourself if you have to come back and do it again but need reminding of the lessons you need to rediscover?
this is what i already mean to some of you.
i'm reminding you of who you always were but forgot.
many of us are waking up like the kids in the stephen king story, "IT," and now we have to deal with that scary clown we saw so clearly when we were young and didn't buy into some fucking manufactured reality that keeps us locking ourselves in our own cages for the night.
the scary clown is all this that we've made and inherited.
and so the followers of the mind fuck will have to learn how to gently or harshly teach us ourselves and sneak up on us because with the cacophony of shit everywhere, it's hard to LISTEN.
you have to listen in different ways than four or even five senses or six.
you have to focus and be quiet and hear yourself, and see how your own magic has worked in your life.
fuck that "rational" shit we buy into because none of THIS world is "rational."
go sane.
and use the art of the mind fuck to humble and teach. but you must also be humble and learn.
so here's how and when i got to use my old blunt, sadistic side that doesn't get a lot of run-around time in my life now that i strive to be more conscious and loving in a laid back way.
when i was with a welsh porn director who was so sexy i lost my mind, and he once said that the jews were basically pussies because they "allowed" themselves to be taken away in box cars, while welshmen would've gone down fighting.
unlike my mother, and more like my father, i said absolutely nothing.
(fuck...this is sooo much like my father, i'm just realizing. only he would never EVER cop to it, even under penalty of death. he does this with both men and women in the world without thinking much, anymore. but when he's mindfucking the hell out of a woman, i know he's "breaking" her because women try to colonialize or control him---i love them, but i see it all the time--- and it's impossible IMPOSSIBLE with my father. and he'll jujitsu someone's controlling energy to snap back on THEMSELVES. so i love love love men who tell people to fuck off even now.)
so i said nothing.
i actually was surprised because i don't come up on anti-semitism at all, except my own casual anti-everything-ism. jews really are like white people with a dash of cinnamon to me now, and so it took me aback as if i were with old people who talk like you're back in time.
i wanna hear what it was like, so i just listen...
but i see what people DO.
when you're colored in an uppity social climbing white family, you know you're not gonna be the one claiming your membership to the D.A.R. (daughters of the american revolution is--or was--like this old white pride thing in white families. i hate that shit.)
anyhow, like my father, i knew my work was cut out for my sexy welsh man, and i checked to see if it was a momentary spew or if he really was that much of a racist asshole.
he said it again later when i casually asked him about what he meant exactly, and he elaborated with a straight face without a trace of absurdity.
so like my father, i worked with it. in order to teach him humility, i slowly moved out of an "equal" learning thing and into a more of a sadistic domme thing and by the time we were done, he was curled up in the fetal position wondering what the fuck happened.
i didn't know. when i go into the mind fuck mode, i'm actually letting go and taken over by the whole thing as well. that's when larger ideas work themselves through me with the best of long-term intentions.
i never can care how anyone thinks of me in the short term. i know from the numbers of people who come back, that my love has always BEEN supernatural, and it gives all along, but they really know later when they can catch up and FEEL it.
and i broke the welshman gently but deep and hard. one fat puerto rican girl with no money and a huge open heart, because i still love him even now. i was not the gestapo or a whole fucking SYSTEM of mass insanity taking everything away little by little.
he will have shuddered for awhile. and unlike the jews ghettoed and eventually corralled into cattle cars, he will have the tools to immediately come back to himself whenever he is ready.
and that is how and why i can quit art. it is just what i show you all. what i tell you.
i have done my best work behind the scenes to only an audience member of one.
you can't find this on match.com.
this is the shit that just "happens" and you've gotta catch it when it appears. that's why i can't do "returns" on people. we had our moment then the magic moves on once we try to "prepare" for it.
waste nothing.
focus. get over this looking away and calling things "toxic."
the most annoying things net the most gold.
stop looking away.
something about the scary clown being sweet after all.
i don't know what that means. it's an image, a feeling.
back to what i said that things are often what you originally saw when you were sweet.
that all the extranneous bullshit is dressing to distract us from being overwhelmed with the holiness of our sweetest and most innocent selves.
that's why i cry when i read the letters from My First One.
all this time i thought i was slutty. i tried to be "FUNNY" and beat everyone else to the punch.
that's what you do when you're the fat comedian or the old slut. beat 'em to the punch.
fuck it.
i'm sooo over that tearing myself down and what i could be. it's a waste.
those of us who remember when MTv was amazing and new know that you can't fake talking like a valley girl without talking like one. it's contagious like bronchitis.
i sob because i was so much more than i knew. we all were and are.
i thought i was shit and struggled to not wanna die.
i was a fucking amazing experience even then. no wonder this poor man is going insane. he forgot about the scary clown, and how we dared to toilet paper him while we were dancing and fucking.
but he grew up and got a straight corporate job and it was all a dream, but i come up out of nowhere to remind how he fucked a 12/13 year old girl wildly on the floor and held her hands over her head.
and you know what?
she's okay.
in fact, she's way more than okay.
she jerks off to the memory every now and then when she wants to feel at home with when her body was more than enough and she wasn't "too much."
what more can you possibly give a girl like her?
it's a benchmark that keeps her in the game, hoping it can be passionate enough to not know our last names and still have a passion that rebels against decades of stupid flat stories.
and she wasn't raped, killed, etc.
no less or more attempts made, like anyone out there in the big wide world.
be smart. you only get fucked over when you go for the security. the short cuts. when you forget all that archaic stuff like honor and love and nurturing.
invest in your own fucks.
invest in your own WORLD.
use what you know to show people themselves so they can see they're actually not so bad after all.
we're all adorable and amazing.
when we know it, then we act like fucking sweethearts for a change.
x
if you don't use your skills, they get flabby and die. so if you're turning from hustling and manipulating for small gains and want to start trying to teach epic lessons on the mindfuck level, you "get permission" from people to return to your old, evil bad side... but you must always strive to do it in the service of good, or what you spin will snap right back on you and you'll have a hard time finding footing in magic that's dark and bigger than you because others dogpile on drama and chaos from their own unexercised demons being bored and needing a high fructose white trash drama fix.
i say "un-exercised" as opposed to "un-exOrcised" because i think that even bad behavior learned from having to adapt to sick circumstances, can be turned into another direction. i no longer wish to try and rid myself of my demons. they are my friends when i treat them right.
fuck, that's when they're my PROTECTORS.
i used to think "manipulation" was bad and i strove to be naked and blunt at all times in a world that has perfected its own more sophisticated, layered forms of "manipulation," rendering me toothless without a jujitsu game to bat that shit back in another way.
if you don't get what i mean, move along.
anyhow, part of the reason i'm sobbing so much is out of mourning the constant monster i always believed i was because no one wanted me around for long. they either adored me or were horrified or irritated by me. nothing was rarely in between and life is still very much the same out there.
and now that i look back, i see how adorable we all were before we tried to behave and fit in.
i got fat as a way of hiding not only my sexuality so i could get some peace, but so that i could be quieter, more lethargic and complaining about my body with my mom.
(a part of me also thinks i added fat to my challenges as i never wanted things to be easy like when you've got privilege of any kind you didn't EARN yourself. i wanted my work to be tight and solid. i didn't want to be successful because of charm, personality, or anything i inherited.)
it was like i can look back and almost see as clear as a knife cut that it was like i had a choice about whether to be with lisa (and therefore, my father, who was nearby), and have an active life of adventure and lovers; or behave more like a white person on a focused trajectory even if it's in art (ESPECIALLY if you pick something self-indulgent like art).
and i may not have chosen the deadening cubicle corrals, but i chose to make my own body and mind a deadening cubicle that kept me down and from flying.
i remember how i used to dress after i got back from the bronx, when i was at that special school for high school bad kids in cherry hill. i was junior high age. but it was "little LA" and they didn't plan on having bad white kids yet in junior high.
and i remember sometimes seeing some of the older guys just confused as fuck about how to even take me IN their eyes. and then we could actually have a philosophical conversation?
being different is already hard. being different, sexual, and female, and obnoxious and loud and un-buyable is damn near impossible at times.
and i've had to learn more nuance than you'd believe, as crusty as i seem.
but nuance must be explored because there is more nuance in the nuance, and as you see, stories turn in on themselves and mean something else, then what you originally thought, but it's actually a GOOD thing if you change your paradigm, your GOALS about where you're going as a human being on this earth in this incarnation for only a tiny spec of time.
and what will you REALLY leave behind to even yourself if you have to come back and do it again but need reminding of the lessons you need to rediscover?
this is what i already mean to some of you.
i'm reminding you of who you always were but forgot.
many of us are waking up like the kids in the stephen king story, "IT," and now we have to deal with that scary clown we saw so clearly when we were young and didn't buy into some fucking manufactured reality that keeps us locking ourselves in our own cages for the night.
the scary clown is all this that we've made and inherited.
and so the followers of the mind fuck will have to learn how to gently or harshly teach us ourselves and sneak up on us because with the cacophony of shit everywhere, it's hard to LISTEN.
you have to listen in different ways than four or even five senses or six.
you have to focus and be quiet and hear yourself, and see how your own magic has worked in your life.
fuck that "rational" shit we buy into because none of THIS world is "rational."
go sane.
and use the art of the mind fuck to humble and teach. but you must also be humble and learn.
so here's how and when i got to use my old blunt, sadistic side that doesn't get a lot of run-around time in my life now that i strive to be more conscious and loving in a laid back way.
when i was with a welsh porn director who was so sexy i lost my mind, and he once said that the jews were basically pussies because they "allowed" themselves to be taken away in box cars, while welshmen would've gone down fighting.
unlike my mother, and more like my father, i said absolutely nothing.
(fuck...this is sooo much like my father, i'm just realizing. only he would never EVER cop to it, even under penalty of death. he does this with both men and women in the world without thinking much, anymore. but when he's mindfucking the hell out of a woman, i know he's "breaking" her because women try to colonialize or control him---i love them, but i see it all the time--- and it's impossible IMPOSSIBLE with my father. and he'll jujitsu someone's controlling energy to snap back on THEMSELVES. so i love love love men who tell people to fuck off even now.)
so i said nothing.
i actually was surprised because i don't come up on anti-semitism at all, except my own casual anti-everything-ism. jews really are like white people with a dash of cinnamon to me now, and so it took me aback as if i were with old people who talk like you're back in time.
i wanna hear what it was like, so i just listen...
but i see what people DO.
when you're colored in an uppity social climbing white family, you know you're not gonna be the one claiming your membership to the D.A.R. (daughters of the american revolution is--or was--like this old white pride thing in white families. i hate that shit.)
anyhow, like my father, i knew my work was cut out for my sexy welsh man, and i checked to see if it was a momentary spew or if he really was that much of a racist asshole.
he said it again later when i casually asked him about what he meant exactly, and he elaborated with a straight face without a trace of absurdity.
so like my father, i worked with it. in order to teach him humility, i slowly moved out of an "equal" learning thing and into a more of a sadistic domme thing and by the time we were done, he was curled up in the fetal position wondering what the fuck happened.
i didn't know. when i go into the mind fuck mode, i'm actually letting go and taken over by the whole thing as well. that's when larger ideas work themselves through me with the best of long-term intentions.
i never can care how anyone thinks of me in the short term. i know from the numbers of people who come back, that my love has always BEEN supernatural, and it gives all along, but they really know later when they can catch up and FEEL it.
and i broke the welshman gently but deep and hard. one fat puerto rican girl with no money and a huge open heart, because i still love him even now. i was not the gestapo or a whole fucking SYSTEM of mass insanity taking everything away little by little.
he will have shuddered for awhile. and unlike the jews ghettoed and eventually corralled into cattle cars, he will have the tools to immediately come back to himself whenever he is ready.
and that is how and why i can quit art. it is just what i show you all. what i tell you.
i have done my best work behind the scenes to only an audience member of one.
you can't find this on match.com.
this is the shit that just "happens" and you've gotta catch it when it appears. that's why i can't do "returns" on people. we had our moment then the magic moves on once we try to "prepare" for it.
waste nothing.
focus. get over this looking away and calling things "toxic."
the most annoying things net the most gold.
stop looking away.
something about the scary clown being sweet after all.
i don't know what that means. it's an image, a feeling.
back to what i said that things are often what you originally saw when you were sweet.
that all the extranneous bullshit is dressing to distract us from being overwhelmed with the holiness of our sweetest and most innocent selves.
that's why i cry when i read the letters from My First One.
all this time i thought i was slutty. i tried to be "FUNNY" and beat everyone else to the punch.
that's what you do when you're the fat comedian or the old slut. beat 'em to the punch.
fuck it.
i'm sooo over that tearing myself down and what i could be. it's a waste.
those of us who remember when MTv was amazing and new know that you can't fake talking like a valley girl without talking like one. it's contagious like bronchitis.
i sob because i was so much more than i knew. we all were and are.
i thought i was shit and struggled to not wanna die.
i was a fucking amazing experience even then. no wonder this poor man is going insane. he forgot about the scary clown, and how we dared to toilet paper him while we were dancing and fucking.
but he grew up and got a straight corporate job and it was all a dream, but i come up out of nowhere to remind how he fucked a 12/13 year old girl wildly on the floor and held her hands over her head.
and you know what?
she's okay.
in fact, she's way more than okay.
she jerks off to the memory every now and then when she wants to feel at home with when her body was more than enough and she wasn't "too much."
what more can you possibly give a girl like her?
it's a benchmark that keeps her in the game, hoping it can be passionate enough to not know our last names and still have a passion that rebels against decades of stupid flat stories.
and she wasn't raped, killed, etc.
no less or more attempts made, like anyone out there in the big wide world.
be smart. you only get fucked over when you go for the security. the short cuts. when you forget all that archaic stuff like honor and love and nurturing.
invest in your own fucks.
invest in your own WORLD.
use what you know to show people themselves so they can see they're actually not so bad after all.
we're all adorable and amazing.
when we know it, then we act like fucking sweethearts for a change.
x
TIGER (BLOOD) BEAT
so all the hijackers would've had to do was say he was an asshole and he'd sit back in his first class seat like that italian ship captain in the making.
LOOK AT WHAT PEOPLE DO, NOT WHAT THEY SAY!
and the eternally boyish wonder, risky business guy, tom cruise, did the same thing. he apologized for too many things. that's a pussy move. not a true movie star hero move, y'all, to apologize for not spouting the over-edited lines of a team of writers who never go outside (or even inside) to play.
never a fan of pretty boy stars (i've had my kid movie star crushes on people more like david brenner and jack klugman) tom cruise only got interesting to me once he started jumping over sofas for getting to fuck and fall in love with eternally young and impressionable fans and started showing his opinions and ranting about all the drugs people are taking (i actually totally agree) and how he can do anything.
fuck yeah! that's how you start to get interesting and get interesting things done! i'm all for bluster, but you've gotta follow through or it's nothing more than punching a white suburban girl for fucking with your little sister when she didn't even know that was POSSIBLE.
like i once did. it's just punching babies with candy.
pick something hard. not easy.
this is what i mean when charlie sheen fucked up IN PUBLIC again and again and went back out with his chin out. that's the real thing, you all. get your head out of your corporate lackey asses and stop re-tweeting the press for another IPO.
this is how you do rain dances to get things to move, happen, change, evolve. you go tits out or chin out or whatever out. but you go alone and lose your previous mind to get the wisdom of the more current mind. but you can't just sit there and talk.
you've gotta scare the shit out yourself.
that's why you cross yourself and wink to your best friend. because that's all you need, really.
when i look down at my monster girl pussy and ask who's the real thing, it's not the first two boys--mark wahlberg or tom cruise. i'm putting my money on charlie sheen as a more truly interesting and powerful trajectory of a man and artist because he only says sorry when he hurts feelings. he doesn't apologize for being an asshole. and that is beautiful.
and he's also BEYOND his own being "beautiful." he's beyond it. he'll use it in a human pinch, but he wants something flayed beneath the skin. that's where he is and that's why my own pussy senses about that kind of man.
and when you look at his family, you see he IS the side they suppressed for so long, coming out to fruition. his brother and father also go chin out, but they pull actually their punches because they want to be invited back so they can do MORE.
charlie sheen's got his own, harder way that takes a little patience and focus to even SEE. he's testing you to see if you're for real or a bullshitter so he's more likely to distract you at first. he's impatient and more idealist and romantic and gets more broken hearted and pissed off and it crackles and sparkles and confuses with intensity and force.
that's why you can tell he winks at brad wyman, and i wink at james swanson or lisa.
but on a less spectacular level, a more "who's got your back and for how long" level, charlie sheen is the kind of guy you could fuck once 12 years earlier when you were adorable, and end up at his house all haggard in a snow storm and need a jump in your VW bug and he'd grumble complain and help you get back home the next morning with a good breakfast.
tom cruise would likely call someone to actually do the winching work but dress the part in expensive flannel and nice boots, and feel really good about all he'd done; while mark wahlberg would see if you were still cute enough to fuck, and if you weren't, he'd make a snarky remark to his old cronies next to him in bed (or curled up at his feet on the floor), and roll over and go back to sleep.
that is why with a mere smoking of a cigarette on dateline, charlie sheen quietly fucked us all up the asses because we're terrified of smokers now that we're all screen names and stuck on our iphones.
smokers who aren't sorry and huddled outside in the cold. unapologetic smokers on TV are like motorcycle riders used to be. to even do it on tv with sweaty hair and amazing abs. that blonde interviewer lady probably made a suction cup sound with her pussy when she got up after the interview. she was starting to sweat under those lights, herself.
i looooved it.
(if sheen had an entourage watching out for him, his lights wouldn't have been too hot or too garish. the faceless blonde interviewer lady had her own entourage and she looked great. you have to look behind the scenes. at the pussy juices she left on the chair. at how she had someone to powder her face while the rest of us were under our beds shivering at what would happen to him next)
mark wahlberg has been surrounded by too many in his own yes men entourage because the airplanes that crashed into america's sense of itself were not led by smokers waiting to die of emphysema and fuck virgins when they could no longer breathe all over them.
when you're face to face with a whole other culture, playing catch-up in a pinch will snap your neck.
that's why us colored folks and mixed ones are the future. we're the sewer rats who've been taking notes as we served america mojitos while america was floating in its way over-priced swimming pools like hungover, bloated corpses from the great gatsby.
besides, if mark wahlberg was such a fucking american hero who missed his real shot at showing his true heroic character, or lack thereof, he would've gone and joined EVERYONE ELSE and kicked up some of the dust in the country next to the actual one we were having trouble with.
but to me, if he were the kind of hero we need NOW, he would've gone AGAINST everyone else like michael moore has again and again to black-tie boos and hisses.
and i don't care how fat michael moore ever gets...
when a man exists to love you enough and fight for you to not even ever suffer an unfair flat tire in the snow, that's supernatural love and you let it go when he forgets to pick milk up at the store because that kind of epic, supernatural, shameless, yelling love?....
THAT is truly mad white hot.
e
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
careful with that axe, eugene.
actually beautiful acts of rage are often acts of sudden SANITY. i hate how i've internalized the judgement against who i am and how i, and others, see or communicate differently.
ugh. it's everywhere. you can't escape the self-hatred. it's like walls all around you. time to re-listen to the lessons of pink floyd.
i'd love to rent syd barret's little home and avoid people altogether.
james is dating and as smart as he is, he's clueless about women and i teach him things to avoid his irritation and indignation and jujitsu it into interest. fights are the best ways to get past the small talk and he hates the dragging out games that they do so he cuts 'em off and they get pissy. i say, "USE THAT!"
it's all a fucking game and sometimes people need you to play the role to bring them out of themselves. so then you take a deep breath and play the fucking game. get into it. it's a performance. just check yourself before going in.
i told him that. i said, set you mark where to stop because you see the signs, and reconsider if it gets surprisingly interesting. but most people need to go through the same first 7 pages of tedious small talk dialogue.
but this is a chance to play, test, push. but people lose their mind in ebay auctions and do the same thing with lovers, and end up marrying people they knew would blow them off when they're busy because that's how it started, but they just had to WIN them over.
thing is, when you've gotta do that, you've gotta KEEP doing that. it's exhausting.
ugh. it's everywhere. you can't escape the self-hatred. it's like walls all around you. time to re-listen to the lessons of pink floyd.
i'd love to rent syd barret's little home and avoid people altogether.
james is dating and as smart as he is, he's clueless about women and i teach him things to avoid his irritation and indignation and jujitsu it into interest. fights are the best ways to get past the small talk and he hates the dragging out games that they do so he cuts 'em off and they get pissy. i say, "USE THAT!"
it's all a fucking game and sometimes people need you to play the role to bring them out of themselves. so then you take a deep breath and play the fucking game. get into it. it's a performance. just check yourself before going in.
i told him that. i said, set you mark where to stop because you see the signs, and reconsider if it gets surprisingly interesting. but most people need to go through the same first 7 pages of tedious small talk dialogue.
but this is a chance to play, test, push. but people lose their mind in ebay auctions and do the same thing with lovers, and end up marrying people they knew would blow them off when they're busy because that's how it started, but they just had to WIN them over.
thing is, when you've gotta do that, you've gotta KEEP doing that. it's exhausting.
my sex drive's back after a more subdued past two weeks where i was too tired and sore to do anything but an every-other-day check up to make sure it's still working.
anyhow, so i'm jerking off to the past and the future, and stretching and dancing and i was ruminating on a lot of things in my thoughts. sort of like paging through the times magazine on a recumbent bike...
and i remembered how the comic, patrice o'neal, died after roasting charlie sheen and i remembered thinking that seth macfarlane had better watch his pudgy little steps because it's like a curse on the tomb of king tut. they got bee stings and fucking DIED.
so anyhow, i was dancing and pondering creativity, sexuality, humor and how i agree with what i said earlier about high sex drives (and humor) correlating with a higher-than-average intelligence. i don't mean ingrown needs that are about other things, because most times sex is actually about something other than sex.
phyllis turned out to be right and that's why i check myself.
anyhow, so i was wondering if i should change my name now that i look so different (or so i'd like to think as i re-create myself!), and i was thinking about where i'd go. when you're an artist, it's like instant family wherever you go so i can go wherever i want in the world and just be "erika" with no last time but good art and you can see it in the eyes.
artists, and their true patrons/family, are like biker people, particularly harley riders. harley riders are like puerto ricans because they figure they're each family somewhere down the line (and they often are). so when you travel you have a place to stay and more generous connections than a frat boy.
quakers and activists used to be the same way when i was a kid, so the world never quite stopped being that way to me.
anyhow, so i was thinking of charlie sheen, and how anyone who publicly slams him goes insane publicly or dies, and that's magic. that's true art and creativity and destruction and rebirth, and yes, tiger blood is real and certain people have it. that's why we want to stare at them and try and emulate them.
but you can't. just stay on the sofa and watch or you'll kill someone if you don't work your way up to playing with bouts of insanity like trips to the cave with a sack full of peyote buttons and paper. you don't need a pen because when you live like this, only your own blood will do to cement the pact.
so yeah, all that's true, but if you watch, he's showing you how to come back to yourselves. be embarrassed, try everything, fuck up, swagger, apologize, then swagger some more. watch. that's your REAL reality shit.
the other stuff is all fake.
just everyone trying to out-source the content so they don't have to pay the wages.
this is the inevitability of capitalism.
it's hilarious and creativity in its own odd ball direction.
but it's not working and ripping down.
and we don't need baby faced movie stars who still have the tan lines from their diapers on, as we enter a new terrifying fucking era. this is worse than the thirties and we need movie stars who took punches in real life and taught us how to transform and TRANSCEND the unfairness, the agony, and come out a fucking hero.
and back in the 30s they did it in concert with the writers and producers who now look like fucking kitty cats next to the fucking zombie dead bean counters with starlets sucking limp fucking dicks controlled by limp minds propped up on those fucking blue or purple pills.
fuck! ONE foray into old age and he used the fucking blue pill i think it was. no fucking way. he ate beans out of a can over the sink and he fucked that way. this is what i get for not even BOTHERING to mind fuck the other canadian biker who came back from the "flaming iguanas" story.
fuck. aim high. don't fuck for the barbecue story. that's so small.
TOO small. there's no time for any of that anymore. fuck so your future comes back and makes it even BETTER on all sides.
man. i'm so lucky. i always get it coming and going. i just get more and more.
so charlie sheen was ahead of you all. he, too, wanted to see where the inevitability of ALL this shit is going. that's why you spark a rage and clear the table. you cross yourself, wink at your closest ally, and let GO. and you see what's left when the dust settles because you don't have the fucking deadening zombie patience to wait the inevitability of a long dragged out sentence.
and so while he is the past, he is also the future, because i'm seeing too many parallels happening EVERYWHERE. it's like we were ALL in a fog these past 30 years. not just me. and we need to see a hero come back in a more honorable, loving way.
why did i just write all of this?
i have NO idea. but i had a visual in my head as i was dancing that made me laugh and laugh like when i get a really, REALLY good idea in my own work. and the image was of charlie sheen smoking on that dateline interview.
it was charlie sheen stabbing the flag of victory up her ass and all our asses, and she fucking loved it. she flipped bad and saucy in a suburban way like shelly long on cheers.
and when i tried to imagine sean penn smoking and having the same effect, i couldn't bring about the same laughter. he tries to hard to reject because like us all, he actually gives a fuck about approval and respect. he's got tons of honor.
but charlie sheen was too naked, gaunt in that moment. he wins. he fucking LIVED his art at high speeds and in front of us all and we saw and are SEEING ourselves.
watch. i don't know where he's going or when he'll get there, but i've got a feeling about this.
and whenever he, or someone well-meaning like him, mouths off, just imagine "MAD DOLPHINS."
be quiet and LOOK at their deeds and what they do. if they are the ones with "tiger blood" and always blow your mind in bed or in life, they also need lots of down time.
mad dolphins, meaning they're actually ahead of you and speaking telepathically and when they say "fuck off" it usually means they're just profoundly broken hearted that you didn't see they were trying to make the world a better place for YOU.
take the 90 seconds of supernatural and add water to the rest of your free time YOURSELF. it challenges you to be what you love so that you may be with it at all times. it will be with you.
that's how you build up and not take down because you're too small to catch UP.
jeffrey had to cover a marilyn monroe calendar with a post it because it hurt a woman's feelings. another complained because his voice got too deep and scary when he was irritated. jeffrey's like 8 feet tall. he can't talk in a squeaky voice to make anyone feel safe.
but i'll tell you that jeffrey will have your fucking BACK and that's safer than the scariness of marilyn monroes archaically sweet an innocent tits winking at us across time.
and that is what charlie sheen is coming up on. what it really is to be an artist, a movie star, a leader, a father, and put stories out into the kind of world he wants to leave for his kids.
he's got a lot of heart.
and there are a lot of bogarts like him out there and you all just have to add water.
that's what this was with james. add water.
they're so beautiful.
don't play it for the safe sense of security. those days are long over.
get sweaty. don't try to take down your heroes. when you do, look at what we're left with.
a zombie world. no sex, no sweat, no complexity, or humanity.
put down the fucking computers screens phones and SEE each other.
dare to fuck up.
and you young ones out there, taste your own juices so you don't wince when you suck an older man's cock first thing in the morning to wake him up and taste yourself. practice.
and dare to break rules. live a little. be wrong. give yourself something to jerk off to in the rocking chair. it's hot. it's right. it's healthy. it's necessary.
rome is burning.
x
anyhow, so i'm jerking off to the past and the future, and stretching and dancing and i was ruminating on a lot of things in my thoughts. sort of like paging through the times magazine on a recumbent bike...
and i remembered how the comic, patrice o'neal, died after roasting charlie sheen and i remembered thinking that seth macfarlane had better watch his pudgy little steps because it's like a curse on the tomb of king tut. they got bee stings and fucking DIED.
so anyhow, i was dancing and pondering creativity, sexuality, humor and how i agree with what i said earlier about high sex drives (and humor) correlating with a higher-than-average intelligence. i don't mean ingrown needs that are about other things, because most times sex is actually about something other than sex.
phyllis turned out to be right and that's why i check myself.
anyhow, so i was wondering if i should change my name now that i look so different (or so i'd like to think as i re-create myself!), and i was thinking about where i'd go. when you're an artist, it's like instant family wherever you go so i can go wherever i want in the world and just be "erika" with no last time but good art and you can see it in the eyes.
artists, and their true patrons/family, are like biker people, particularly harley riders. harley riders are like puerto ricans because they figure they're each family somewhere down the line (and they often are). so when you travel you have a place to stay and more generous connections than a frat boy.
quakers and activists used to be the same way when i was a kid, so the world never quite stopped being that way to me.
anyhow, so i was thinking of charlie sheen, and how anyone who publicly slams him goes insane publicly or dies, and that's magic. that's true art and creativity and destruction and rebirth, and yes, tiger blood is real and certain people have it. that's why we want to stare at them and try and emulate them.
but you can't. just stay on the sofa and watch or you'll kill someone if you don't work your way up to playing with bouts of insanity like trips to the cave with a sack full of peyote buttons and paper. you don't need a pen because when you live like this, only your own blood will do to cement the pact.
so yeah, all that's true, but if you watch, he's showing you how to come back to yourselves. be embarrassed, try everything, fuck up, swagger, apologize, then swagger some more. watch. that's your REAL reality shit.
the other stuff is all fake.
just everyone trying to out-source the content so they don't have to pay the wages.
this is the inevitability of capitalism.
it's hilarious and creativity in its own odd ball direction.
but it's not working and ripping down.
and we don't need baby faced movie stars who still have the tan lines from their diapers on, as we enter a new terrifying fucking era. this is worse than the thirties and we need movie stars who took punches in real life and taught us how to transform and TRANSCEND the unfairness, the agony, and come out a fucking hero.
and back in the 30s they did it in concert with the writers and producers who now look like fucking kitty cats next to the fucking zombie dead bean counters with starlets sucking limp fucking dicks controlled by limp minds propped up on those fucking blue or purple pills.
fuck! ONE foray into old age and he used the fucking blue pill i think it was. no fucking way. he ate beans out of a can over the sink and he fucked that way. this is what i get for not even BOTHERING to mind fuck the other canadian biker who came back from the "flaming iguanas" story.
fuck. aim high. don't fuck for the barbecue story. that's so small.
TOO small. there's no time for any of that anymore. fuck so your future comes back and makes it even BETTER on all sides.
man. i'm so lucky. i always get it coming and going. i just get more and more.
so charlie sheen was ahead of you all. he, too, wanted to see where the inevitability of ALL this shit is going. that's why you spark a rage and clear the table. you cross yourself, wink at your closest ally, and let GO. and you see what's left when the dust settles because you don't have the fucking deadening zombie patience to wait the inevitability of a long dragged out sentence.
and so while he is the past, he is also the future, because i'm seeing too many parallels happening EVERYWHERE. it's like we were ALL in a fog these past 30 years. not just me. and we need to see a hero come back in a more honorable, loving way.
why did i just write all of this?
i have NO idea. but i had a visual in my head as i was dancing that made me laugh and laugh like when i get a really, REALLY good idea in my own work. and the image was of charlie sheen smoking on that dateline interview.
it was charlie sheen stabbing the flag of victory up her ass and all our asses, and she fucking loved it. she flipped bad and saucy in a suburban way like shelly long on cheers.
and when i tried to imagine sean penn smoking and having the same effect, i couldn't bring about the same laughter. he tries to hard to reject because like us all, he actually gives a fuck about approval and respect. he's got tons of honor.
but charlie sheen was too naked, gaunt in that moment. he wins. he fucking LIVED his art at high speeds and in front of us all and we saw and are SEEING ourselves.
watch. i don't know where he's going or when he'll get there, but i've got a feeling about this.
and whenever he, or someone well-meaning like him, mouths off, just imagine "MAD DOLPHINS."
be quiet and LOOK at their deeds and what they do. if they are the ones with "tiger blood" and always blow your mind in bed or in life, they also need lots of down time.
mad dolphins, meaning they're actually ahead of you and speaking telepathically and when they say "fuck off" it usually means they're just profoundly broken hearted that you didn't see they were trying to make the world a better place for YOU.
take the 90 seconds of supernatural and add water to the rest of your free time YOURSELF. it challenges you to be what you love so that you may be with it at all times. it will be with you.
that's how you build up and not take down because you're too small to catch UP.
jeffrey had to cover a marilyn monroe calendar with a post it because it hurt a woman's feelings. another complained because his voice got too deep and scary when he was irritated. jeffrey's like 8 feet tall. he can't talk in a squeaky voice to make anyone feel safe.
but i'll tell you that jeffrey will have your fucking BACK and that's safer than the scariness of marilyn monroes archaically sweet an innocent tits winking at us across time.
and that is what charlie sheen is coming up on. what it really is to be an artist, a movie star, a leader, a father, and put stories out into the kind of world he wants to leave for his kids.
he's got a lot of heart.
and there are a lot of bogarts like him out there and you all just have to add water.
that's what this was with james. add water.
they're so beautiful.
don't play it for the safe sense of security. those days are long over.
get sweaty. don't try to take down your heroes. when you do, look at what we're left with.
a zombie world. no sex, no sweat, no complexity, or humanity.
put down the fucking computers screens phones and SEE each other.
dare to fuck up.
and you young ones out there, taste your own juices so you don't wince when you suck an older man's cock first thing in the morning to wake him up and taste yourself. practice.
and dare to break rules. live a little. be wrong. give yourself something to jerk off to in the rocking chair. it's hot. it's right. it's healthy. it's necessary.
rome is burning.
x
i think that i've thoroughly freaked My First One out.
i let go and i was falling in love remembering everything and i was falling in love again, and fuck! the poetry. he writes with such knee-capping poetry because it's almost accidental, but you can feeeel each thought in each word.
and it's like we're all these kids in some dirty stephen king story, like "IT," where a bunch of kids come back together to fight the return of the clown in the sewers. we were lap dancing the clown in the ABYSS, and humping his shiny red nose.
stephen sayadian did the best and scariest nose-fucking scene in the arty porn, "nightdreams." filmed like a dirty noir, a girl's in an attic getting fucked by a guy in a mask with a loooong, scary nose.
my head split right then and there and i spent years tracking him down just because of that scene alone.
stephen had the same memories and we'd never even met.
i digress.
anyhow, it was like a lot of us moved on and it was all a dream, but when we see each other or get in touch, there's a moment of silence in the realization, "you thought it was an amazing time, too?"
we were all so smart. we were the progeny of folks affiliated with the college. even the janitors had sexual prodigies for kids.
yes, i think sex and humor are definitely related to intelligence.
for example, many of you probably think sheen's not that smart. he's actually smarter, but those guys are smart like mad dolphins. they don't speak in english when you confront them. they're likely to tell you to fuck off for even asking, because usually if you cycle back around to what they were doing, it usually comes back to them doing something for YOU.
i'm not kidding.
my father's like that. it's 70 steps to the final bow, and in that time, you'll be the one to foot the bill. but it's the INTENTION and you have to learn to SEE it.
like my father does all this because he really does want to make the world a better place for his daughters. but he gets caught up in the steps to get there and when i call him on it with a look, it's the only time he actually gives in to me. when it's about the 90 seconds to the car because that's EVERYTHING.
i don't need him to give me 2 constant weeks of staring at each other and calling that "keeping in touch." that'd be agony for both of us.
anyhow, my poor first one. he probably never knew my last name, and now he's surely googled me and in the fetal position.
to be honest, i think he went ahead and played with me because i was on the cusp of turning thirteen in about 10 minutes.
13 seemed to be the age that kept everyone around longer. 12 didn't even have the word "teen" in it.
and i remember i never actually told anyone. i didn't think it mattered in the least. but i do remember lisa always was sure to say it at the beginning, because i hated that. most actually stuck around but the ones i was interested in stayed away.
there was the guy named "brad" with the green eyes and the porsche. i didn't care about the porsche, i thought it was ugly, but it was how i knew he was around. black men with green eyes were...
well, if you don't know, i won't explain it to you. they're like unicorns everyone wants to impale themselves on.
pretty eyes can make you lose your footing, make you lose everything. so you've gotta be careful with eyes and take responsibility for all that you call to yourself with eyes.
and when lisa told my first one my age, i think he was lifting weights and i was staring at his back and i wanted to claw her out of the picture but i looked at him hard and soft and all the primary colors i knew, in between. and he reconsidered for a moment. but something about the soon 13 and he stayed.
he was the one. i'd spent years planning this.
and in hindsight i cry because i've always had more holiness than i knew i even had at the time. i thought i was slutty and fast and wrong but it was sweet and hot as hell. it was RIGHT.
and when i read his letters now, the letters we were too in our hot and sweaty faces to WRITE, i fall in love all over again and i see this shit is timeless. everything you did in the past is here in the NOW. fuckin' hell, it's trippy.
it's made my first time even more magical and richer to see who this REALLY was, but without the words, the time, the heart brake the bigger visions.
and for that, Life constantly knee-caps me with wonder. like "you're fucking kidding me. what's next?"
and i haven't a clue.
but i'm feeling really good for james and i feel confident he's on his way.
i don't know how you all do that internet dating thing. i'd rather go back to new york with my menstrual cup over flowing everytime i move, me bleeding through my costume in front of a room full of men on opening night and blow my lines all over again.
i can't imagine sitting across from someone i've never met and hoping they are the love of my life because we've met from a few words that i'm probably clueless about being my best assets.
i'm constantly surprised when i'm out there, what people say that they think makes them look amazing. i think most people make themselves actually sound like assholes. so that's when you have to see the condition of those around them and all those other little shows of respect (or not).
anyhow, you all are bad asses. i'm glad that i'm a natural recluse and don't want to ever have to meet anyone again.
that's the thing about being like this. people "appear" to me as they need me, and i need them. of course i go to a lot more work than an online dating profile. it took "flaming iguanas" to be lived, written, illustrated, published, toured, and then on a library shelf, for james to find me.
james wrote me a fan letter in the midst of the busiest time in my career, and there was something so elegant and PURE about his fan letter and i had this "feeling" that i had to know this person. that he was a total monster sweetheart.
and i couldn't have possibly even SEEN him in real life. in real life, before i got even more reclusy, only the loudest and most obnoxious people could sandbag me and wear me down.
and getting micro famous really fucked with my sex life because it'd gotten habitual to keep my personal and very personal lives, separate.
so then i got to fucking people on the fly and i think that i was getting to be like one of those habitual old players who're great starters and can't finish a thing, and that's when james came around.
it's not as simple as all that, my pat reasonings. it's just wednesday and how i see it right this morning.
anyhow, the sky's finally on fire and i want to look out the window at the sun rise.
but i feel a new adventure coming on. i have no idea where i'll go or where i'll land next.
but i want no one to think of even googling me. i just want to smile and say, "my name's erika" and see what happens next.
things are better when no one has a clue who you are or where you both could possibly go.
but my toes curl with feeling love again. i loved the floor parts the best, but for visual memory, i prefer the morning i woke up in gloria's see-through gauze dress. i was shy. it was see through, but soft and if it were pragmatic and not like wearing motorcycle boots to bed, i'd wear jewelry around my toes, my ankles, my waist, my wrists, arms, neck, and in my ears.
so i love seeing bits of clothing on during sex, and so it was morning, and was i 13 yet? i don't care. in my memories, i'm still on the side of 12 and that shit is hot as hell to me.
and he's massively long and strong to me. and he's sleeping but i sucked on him hard and climbed atop and i remember how i got how all our little girl fantasies of riding horses were sooooo very badly misplaced because i was riding a god
and he was so happy, so sleepy, but so happy to be woken up by a girl with the gauzy dress from the night before falling off her shoulders
and i loved how powerful i felt watching him and trying to stay atop him on this rickety springy lisa's brother's single bed and my thighs were beautiful and soft and i was growing up
and i remember how beautiful he was when he came because we were in front of the window and with the morning light all these years i still can remember EVERYTHING even though it's actually one of my least favorite positions.
but i'd prepared. i wanted to be able to do anything and everything and be interesting. i thought to be an interesting lover was to be versatile. but now i see it's to be STABLE. to be present. to face its eyes and be taken over just by first names all over again like when we were kids and we found each other with hollers and mind reading.
we could mind read back then. we didn't watch TV. we watched each other.
and for that, nothing is wrong. it was magical for us then. and like in stephen king's "IT," the kids had to come back and face down the scary clown.
it's like we didn't fuck him into submission so we've gotta come back, too.
i don't know what's next.
but all i know is that i'm in love with him, with myself, who i was, who we ALL were, and who we actually are and CAN be.
god, we are all so beautiful. even when we think or act like assholes, there's usually the most holiest of reasons underneath.
it's time to beware of the ones who seem too calm, composed. they're the ones who don't snap because they're usually already very insane. i've had the long conversations with them. and yeah. they're the ones who end up on the cover of "time."
x
i let go and i was falling in love remembering everything and i was falling in love again, and fuck! the poetry. he writes with such knee-capping poetry because it's almost accidental, but you can feeeel each thought in each word.
and it's like we're all these kids in some dirty stephen king story, like "IT," where a bunch of kids come back together to fight the return of the clown in the sewers. we were lap dancing the clown in the ABYSS, and humping his shiny red nose.
stephen sayadian did the best and scariest nose-fucking scene in the arty porn, "nightdreams." filmed like a dirty noir, a girl's in an attic getting fucked by a guy in a mask with a loooong, scary nose.
my head split right then and there and i spent years tracking him down just because of that scene alone.
stephen had the same memories and we'd never even met.
i digress.
anyhow, it was like a lot of us moved on and it was all a dream, but when we see each other or get in touch, there's a moment of silence in the realization, "you thought it was an amazing time, too?"
we were all so smart. we were the progeny of folks affiliated with the college. even the janitors had sexual prodigies for kids.
yes, i think sex and humor are definitely related to intelligence.
for example, many of you probably think sheen's not that smart. he's actually smarter, but those guys are smart like mad dolphins. they don't speak in english when you confront them. they're likely to tell you to fuck off for even asking, because usually if you cycle back around to what they were doing, it usually comes back to them doing something for YOU.
i'm not kidding.
my father's like that. it's 70 steps to the final bow, and in that time, you'll be the one to foot the bill. but it's the INTENTION and you have to learn to SEE it.
like my father does all this because he really does want to make the world a better place for his daughters. but he gets caught up in the steps to get there and when i call him on it with a look, it's the only time he actually gives in to me. when it's about the 90 seconds to the car because that's EVERYTHING.
i don't need him to give me 2 constant weeks of staring at each other and calling that "keeping in touch." that'd be agony for both of us.
anyhow, my poor first one. he probably never knew my last name, and now he's surely googled me and in the fetal position.
to be honest, i think he went ahead and played with me because i was on the cusp of turning thirteen in about 10 minutes.
13 seemed to be the age that kept everyone around longer. 12 didn't even have the word "teen" in it.
and i remember i never actually told anyone. i didn't think it mattered in the least. but i do remember lisa always was sure to say it at the beginning, because i hated that. most actually stuck around but the ones i was interested in stayed away.
there was the guy named "brad" with the green eyes and the porsche. i didn't care about the porsche, i thought it was ugly, but it was how i knew he was around. black men with green eyes were...
well, if you don't know, i won't explain it to you. they're like unicorns everyone wants to impale themselves on.
pretty eyes can make you lose your footing, make you lose everything. so you've gotta be careful with eyes and take responsibility for all that you call to yourself with eyes.
and when lisa told my first one my age, i think he was lifting weights and i was staring at his back and i wanted to claw her out of the picture but i looked at him hard and soft and all the primary colors i knew, in between. and he reconsidered for a moment. but something about the soon 13 and he stayed.
he was the one. i'd spent years planning this.
and in hindsight i cry because i've always had more holiness than i knew i even had at the time. i thought i was slutty and fast and wrong but it was sweet and hot as hell. it was RIGHT.
and when i read his letters now, the letters we were too in our hot and sweaty faces to WRITE, i fall in love all over again and i see this shit is timeless. everything you did in the past is here in the NOW. fuckin' hell, it's trippy.
it's made my first time even more magical and richer to see who this REALLY was, but without the words, the time, the heart brake the bigger visions.
and for that, Life constantly knee-caps me with wonder. like "you're fucking kidding me. what's next?"
and i haven't a clue.
but i'm feeling really good for james and i feel confident he's on his way.
i don't know how you all do that internet dating thing. i'd rather go back to new york with my menstrual cup over flowing everytime i move, me bleeding through my costume in front of a room full of men on opening night and blow my lines all over again.
i can't imagine sitting across from someone i've never met and hoping they are the love of my life because we've met from a few words that i'm probably clueless about being my best assets.
i'm constantly surprised when i'm out there, what people say that they think makes them look amazing. i think most people make themselves actually sound like assholes. so that's when you have to see the condition of those around them and all those other little shows of respect (or not).
anyhow, you all are bad asses. i'm glad that i'm a natural recluse and don't want to ever have to meet anyone again.
that's the thing about being like this. people "appear" to me as they need me, and i need them. of course i go to a lot more work than an online dating profile. it took "flaming iguanas" to be lived, written, illustrated, published, toured, and then on a library shelf, for james to find me.
james wrote me a fan letter in the midst of the busiest time in my career, and there was something so elegant and PURE about his fan letter and i had this "feeling" that i had to know this person. that he was a total monster sweetheart.
and i couldn't have possibly even SEEN him in real life. in real life, before i got even more reclusy, only the loudest and most obnoxious people could sandbag me and wear me down.
and getting micro famous really fucked with my sex life because it'd gotten habitual to keep my personal and very personal lives, separate.
so then i got to fucking people on the fly and i think that i was getting to be like one of those habitual old players who're great starters and can't finish a thing, and that's when james came around.
it's not as simple as all that, my pat reasonings. it's just wednesday and how i see it right this morning.
anyhow, the sky's finally on fire and i want to look out the window at the sun rise.
but i feel a new adventure coming on. i have no idea where i'll go or where i'll land next.
but i want no one to think of even googling me. i just want to smile and say, "my name's erika" and see what happens next.
things are better when no one has a clue who you are or where you both could possibly go.
but my toes curl with feeling love again. i loved the floor parts the best, but for visual memory, i prefer the morning i woke up in gloria's see-through gauze dress. i was shy. it was see through, but soft and if it were pragmatic and not like wearing motorcycle boots to bed, i'd wear jewelry around my toes, my ankles, my waist, my wrists, arms, neck, and in my ears.
so i love seeing bits of clothing on during sex, and so it was morning, and was i 13 yet? i don't care. in my memories, i'm still on the side of 12 and that shit is hot as hell to me.
and he's massively long and strong to me. and he's sleeping but i sucked on him hard and climbed atop and i remember how i got how all our little girl fantasies of riding horses were sooooo very badly misplaced because i was riding a god
and he was so happy, so sleepy, but so happy to be woken up by a girl with the gauzy dress from the night before falling off her shoulders
and i loved how powerful i felt watching him and trying to stay atop him on this rickety springy lisa's brother's single bed and my thighs were beautiful and soft and i was growing up
and i remember how beautiful he was when he came because we were in front of the window and with the morning light all these years i still can remember EVERYTHING even though it's actually one of my least favorite positions.
but i'd prepared. i wanted to be able to do anything and everything and be interesting. i thought to be an interesting lover was to be versatile. but now i see it's to be STABLE. to be present. to face its eyes and be taken over just by first names all over again like when we were kids and we found each other with hollers and mind reading.
we could mind read back then. we didn't watch TV. we watched each other.
and for that, nothing is wrong. it was magical for us then. and like in stephen king's "IT," the kids had to come back and face down the scary clown.
it's like we didn't fuck him into submission so we've gotta come back, too.
i don't know what's next.
but all i know is that i'm in love with him, with myself, who i was, who we ALL were, and who we actually are and CAN be.
god, we are all so beautiful. even when we think or act like assholes, there's usually the most holiest of reasons underneath.
it's time to beware of the ones who seem too calm, composed. they're the ones who don't snap because they're usually already very insane. i've had the long conversations with them. and yeah. they're the ones who end up on the cover of "time."
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