so amy (and a lot of people) think james and i are like romeo and juliet or something.


james tells me yeah, we had amazing sex, but there's no chemistry.


he doesn't get it.


i don't get it.


i've fucked a lot of people, and it's NEVER like that. and if and when it is, you don't let that shit GO without thinking you're insane. 


and we're solid and have good conversations?


amy asks me for clarification.


that's what i'd asked him incredulously: "what's ...'chemistry'?"


"i don't want to rip you apart."


the guy who gets aroused if i mention the word head.


"uh, but...good. i don't want to rip you apart either."


and amy finally gets what i've been explaining to her all along: 
when someone has a fantasy about that kind of love, you've gotta move on because from our experience, most of that rip apart love ends up in ordinary monotony. she got it immediately because she also lives in passion.


that's why he and i are so different. he needs a more suburban thing. he was an accidental tourist.


but a wonderful one. changed my life and gave me myself. even with the good bye fuck.


i made it out and want to do it again!
i want to challenge myself to get a broken heart and be able to hobble away like a three legged dog happy to hump again another day!


passion is usually disguised in the most stable, mundane seeming shit.
boring clothes because just to match socks takes too much time away from your real and true art.
that's the only way anything decent has solid, steady roots to go wild and branch off.


how i viewed getting a more tedious classical art education. learn to draw and SEE before i rage and splatter.


suppose i view emotional life and living that way, too.


because of how we are, amy and i live in the constant eye of life "ripping us apart," and the last fucking thing i want is an insane relationship with another person.


they fizzle into white trash crust.


those are the ones where you want to rip each other apart. those are whitneys/bobbies, and will make you a slave crack whore in a second unless you wise up.


but i'm careful not to judge james on what he wants, but how he went about opening me up to find it.
it's a careless move. like cynthia having a tantrum at the theatre and leaving me behind to pack up her gear and close up at midnight in manhattan, in high heels and a push up bra.


so i have to love him and move on, too. because we've been here before and as much as i'd love to go back to the illusion of not even a week ago, when everything was ....


fuck... 


i was gonna remember the orange sunrise i wrote about, but that was the one moment of solace i'd finally allowed myself in a carnival of despair.


everything was BLEAK.


cripes. i wanted to hold onto the bleakness i had so i wouldn't trade it in for the bottom.


but i get it about this LETTING GO.


it really IS an act of suicide, and even my words are "poo poo pee pee ca ca" to what i'm truly experiencing over here. you have to be IN the raindance to get it. you can't read or watch. you have to look into my eyes and ... JUMP.


i look back over regrets, and my two are even dissolving.


when i recalculate the results of the mind fucks without james, the snakefucker's only sin was that he merged art and sex into one person, which is the holy grail for an artist, and we will dive into meat grinders for.


his only other sin was that he made me jerk off until i got a callous on the right side of my pussy above my clit. i kid you not. i've been embarrassed about it for a year and a half, because while tiny asian women may be sports about waxing all of our american asses and secrets, then filing down your dead toes, 


i don't want to spread my legs on the sexy crinkling doctor paper and ask if she can file down the callous on my clitoris.


it's not like a construction worker, YET. but it's there and i noticed in the tub once, when i was touching myself to clean everything because you never ever know if one day you'll be called upon in an emergency to pull back every fold and make sure you cleaned under every cranny.


that's MY version of always being caught dead in clean underwear. if those paramedics DO check between my legs to see if my hair is naturally curly, then i want to have the most delicious pussy dead or alive, right there sprawled out dead on the bathroom floor. 


that's where ALL this is headed, isn't it?


anyhow, it's not like a daddy callous. it's more like a definite ...fold. crease of the lip. like origami.


tiny. no one would ever notice. only my fingers are like, "hark! who goes there? what stranger lurks near the red phone?"


but when i run my finger, i'm proud. it reminds me how i got it and it's one of those badges of honor that don't ever end up as a tick mark on any bed post or to show how tall the kids got against the kitchen wall. 


and the snakefucker's only true sin was that he inspired that, and that would take me from james.


so i've proved to myself that i am the woman i thought i was,
and MORE.


but in seeing how i never wanted to truly let go and risk change for something that i have no idea what it looks like or even is or where it will come from etcetera ETCETERA, and seeing how i wanted the kitty cat sunday paper moments to never end.


and when i told amy that james wants to rip a woman apart, she got it INSTANTLY.
we can't have love like that and get anything fucking DONE because when you live your life as your spontaneous or free self, it's ALL drama.


just writing an email with full out emotions can be like an operatic tragedy to me.


colors are rich and i strive to not be dull.


but i concede it's so much EASIER to be dull because you can control the flow of information into your head.


you can go insane from this stuff. from trying to wing it, do improv with life, because you never quite catch up.


over the past few months since i've been back from a dead tour and book biz idea, they've been the ONLY moments i've given myself to even STOP and look within and get to know myself.


i've always been looking outward, trying to hide who i was in the hopes that a few of you out there would love me.


but i'm NOT a monster seething with maggots for nauseous emotions inside.


i feel like clean water.


i have moments of terror and horrendous "of fuck..." doubt.


you see them here. i show them on purpose. 


and i see the ways i've kept, and continue, to keep myself small and ...dull.


i love dull. 


when i want dull, i watch movies or go out.


it's a break from living my life this way. 


cripes.


anyhow, i see again how i never live in the now as much as i'd like. or how i've been a chicken shit to love.


and so for that, i also no longer regret my second regret about money with james.


i'll be fine.


i don't know how.
but it was a good thing to cut this breakup short.


when you live like this, you have no choice because to wait and languish actually costs too much money and energy.


this is why artists inhale people who give them life. there is nothing more holy to an artist than a muse who inspires. 


and i see how i want everything back to how it was. but for MY sake, it's time to stop being with tentative PEOPLE.


so therefore, it is time for ME to stop being so fucking tentative all the time. 


that is how i find my way to MY form of bodice ripping passion.


i don't want the stuff that starts out too heady anymore. that's that crack whore stuff. chasing highs that left years ago.


so i have to love james and realize he's way somewhere else than i want to be. and as much as i'd love to fuck him and have what we had that one day, it has to remain a gift. a gift that tells me what is possible, yes... without him.


and i hate having to OWN that decision. and if i falter, i have been weak. but i remember how i got the corner on my pussy. the tiny origami callous, just a little too firm at the right of my clit to be soft, unmauled skin.


i got the callous by keeping my family intact and remaining focused through my work.


so i can love myself and not turn over all that i am to a man who cannot see me.


wait, james SEES me. he doesn't want to get lost with me.


none of them have. that's why they go insane.


but then i realize, NEITHER DID I.


and now i see me, and am getting lost in me, and whoever's not along has to go. no. there are no "keeping in touch." anyone who knows me knows i don't "keep in touch." 


i say thank you and move on to whatever adventure's next.


speaking of which, i'll be gone in a little while.


going to go outside and play with lisa and go see a santero with my papi.
he doesn't truck in that stuff, but i asked him to for my sake. 
a lot of things that don't make sense in other systems make sense in that one,
at explaining nature and balance.


i feel lost. but it feels like this is actually FOUND. 
like i'm here. where i'm SUPPOSED to be.
it's not supposed to be furnished. it's SUPPOSED to be like the "Tron" grid in space.


(eeeeek! but then, not really...right?)


thank you for giving a damn. 
i'll be okay. 


and now my next desire is to love our kitty, tora, as if she never has to leave me and go live with james. 
i have to not close off and love her like every moment is the last.


it's soooo hard to do.


x