crawling towards Reality...

it's so sad to be with someone while you're killing off what you were. it honors what you had, but it's like staring death and change in the face.

fuck. after this, i'll be able to handle anything, but i'll be lonelier than ever.

because the farther you go out from who you are and everyone else is, the more you're on your own out there in the desert, facing plants and resources that are mars to you. you're vulnerable and can be manipulated by hucksters.

i believe no one right now, and i believe everyone. absolutely everyone.

it doesn't matter, what the ultimate Truth is, because good design means you'd do the same thing whether it's holy or heinous.

as ruth gordon reminds us in "harold and maude," AIM ABOVE MORALITY.

i trust someone who's already fucked over his first million and clawed his back to some kind of "jesus" thing on the other side, over someone who's just politely waiting for the perfect shot. and those folks are EVERYWHERE. they're the little eichmann's that make the train go "choo choo" and make the shit actually go from megalomaniacal rantings at 2am after the bars let out, to our reality.

they are the worker bees for the hell we line up to for the thin, watery soup.

we buy back what was rightfully ours. we get what we deserve for being distracted by the flashing lights.

ah, back to screens.

which brings me to the end of things for me.

end of what i had with james and me. it's sad that we can't appreciate what we had, and look over our shoulders for More More More.

i'm a romantic, but to me that means adoring what i have NOW, with me.

i hate longing.

although i've lived my life longing for some greater future where everyone's feeling pretty good about their tits and guts and not bludgeoning each other.

but we pick our suffering. it's what keeps things interesting. i admit it.

i'm no better than anyone.

and so as i think about things i have to kill off, even though i don't want to, in order to open myself to larger things, then this is one of 'em.

when i think of nikkiana writing that she wished she'd been more present when we were hanging out in nyc, watching the bloated remains of my art career fester on the lower east side, i felt so sad that none of us are ever where we are.

i'm not, either. i haven't been, anyhow.

i've been living in the service of some "greater future" while i let the smaller precious moments slip by while i had 'em.

THAT's a fucking crime and a sin.

to me, anyhow.

and as i realize that it's a GOOD thing that james and i move on from each other finally, so that we can stop being vague as we "hold" onto each other. it's a waste of passion and definition.

what do i mean by "definition"? i haven't a clue.

i'm clicking over into "not giving a fuck who reads this" and maybe i'll net something good for myself in this search...

okay here goes


i worry that this blog internet SEE ME thing is a habit. it's a secret. a fake way of you and i feeling close, and i think it's a fucked up, attenuated voyeuristic form of intimacy that's creating separation and distance from each other.

so i'm doing the OPPOSITE of what i thought i was doing here. instead of facilitating understanding between different types of people, i'm just another outlet for a fake, CONVENIENT (read when i want) form of intimacy that isn't good for either you or me.

i think that in my desire to be small again, small and private, it's time to keep myself private and special for those who dare to face and deal with me.

not that any of you are pussies out there, i'm a pussy for only sharing myself in a one-way mirror where i imagine no one's really even out there.

so, in the same way that james and i must end this phase of our relationship,
i must end the way i ...i don't know...

words are lame these days and very flat and 2-d...

but there's no point to this. all this. for what reason am i blathering on here?

it's an illusion of closeness. i can't belong to complete strangers anymore. it's a metaphysical art fantasy that's not serving either you or me.

anymore, or if it ever did.

i look at art (fuck "entertainment") and even art is all "entertainment" now.

if everyone's writing books now (more books in print than ever is what's chanted when people wanna prove publishing's alive and well), then who's READING them?

no one. i can only make it through 3/4 of the flap copy before i've got the gist.
movie previews are the same.

so i think LIFE is art now.

i think it is the last bastion of true surprise and deneouments and red herrings, and philosophical epiphanies that're iridescent and change depending on the light and time of day.

so i need to stop living as a professional performance, and live as a clueless, surprised kid again.

i need to not know squat.

i'm way far out of myself here, and need to pinhole down my focus so that i can be more powerful and effective in my future.

i hate to waste time. 3-hour baths are not wasting time. they're what all that i work FOR!

so anyhow, i am really seriously going to start phasing off this thing so i can not just blather on endlessly for no good reason.

i think any insights you may have on needing such discussions would be best inspired in your own direct, analog world.

i think i do more harm being an emotional pornographer here.

i'm not a freak. "flaming iguanas" still sells after 14 or 15 years, and it's not because it's a freak show. it's because many saw themselves and their own truths. and that let me know i was never alone after all. i was just one of the ones trying to put words to feelings you didn't know you HAVE.

that's why your own emotions are important to experience, have, and enumerate, elucidate, educate, ameliorate, whatever -ATE you want. they are always new and surprising, but they don't have to kill you if you sit still and allow yourself to kill yourself LATER. that's where you can procrastinate endlessly and not ever regret getting it out of the way sooner.

stay. watch the credits. then roll your wheelchair over everyone else's graves and piss on the stones if you're so inclined.

anyhow, it's time to get to know my thighs now that i've thoroughly ravished my stomach.

but i'll be back here occasionally with art.

we're starting our own thing i'm keeping vague and secret and special so it can have room to become whatever it wants to be.

but we're making ourselves sex goddesses over here. we come together and spark new ideas that make us scream to zeppelin without ever, ever cracking on the high notes.

ever.

i have no idea where i am, but i hope that i've inspired you to feel fierce and do your own crazy little mad step.

the internet was a tool. not a crutch. go love more. look lustily at each other jerk off in private and DON'T SAY A WORD.

learn nuance of sex again.

bending a co-worker over, pushing aside her g-string and fucking her from behind in your mind and feeling the un-expected stubble of an unplanned fuck's brazilian wax, while she's telling you what to do ISN'T SEXUAL HARRASSMENT. it's being human.

you get to do what you want in your mind, at least.

will it leak out?

one can only hope so.

it makes all our lives easier when others step in and own this "being human" thing, and live as complicated interesting fully alive and awake people.

so that's where i'm going. going analogue. analogue and sweat. and teeth. if the snakefucker's not mine, then i don't believe in destiny and all the balls are in the air and it's even more exciting letting go and not having a fucking clue what's next. what's important.

it's all important.

it depends on the art you're making. the story you're telling.

i used to start a project with a vague idea of the question/answer i was looking for. they each surprised me with a smackdown or a decade of lessons compressed into charlie horse mind-cramping months.


and all i know is that i want my story to never have pining or regret. i already have nothing i look back on and seriously regret. only pain i've inadvertently caused.

but i'm okay with the beat downs, the realities, it all. it's given me courage and resilience to stay in this to the end and never blink. chin out. be the last one to leave and see the sun come up on a horrid, tinsely bar that seemed the height of elegance a few hours ago... and i've STILL seen the even more blinding beauty IN THE TINSEL's horror.

i've played dress up in the abyss.

and i think it's time to see sweat again. eyes. read faces that emote and move.

i'm just here, twirling on the coffee table for everyone, yet again.

it's time to stop watching. start EMOTING. i think if you sit long enough, you'll see that behind the lethargy is rage. rage that energizes and titillates. and you don't have to have a tantrum. there are other ways of expressing rage.

build your life around the energy that titillates and you'll never be bored again. when you're bored, there's death and staleness in the room. MOVE.

or as gangaji says, "sometimes MOVE means, be STILL."

you will always contradict yourself when you're thinking deep enough. everything's true.

i'll write until i leave. but then i'm gonna try to quit smoking this blog thing.

life feels stuck like deep peanut butter snow right now. i haven't a clue what's next or what to do.
i'm only realizing what i was doing is deathly still and stuck.

i want to fly more. laura said that. defy gravity. like an edict.

i shall, laura. i shall defy gravity. that's as good a plan as any.

x

time for the Real Adventure...

my mom and my grandmother on the white side have been adventure kitties since the '30s when my grandmother took off for europe on a ship by herself to europe for an adventure by herself.

and my mother planned for her first trip cross country with her best friend all through high school and took off the moment the graduation bell went off.

and my mother would save and put her money towards these epic month-long adventures on trains or to montana ranches.

so that's why i've gotta cut my moms slack on the "perfect mom" thing, because she was BEYOND perfect.

the older i get, the more i think we spit on our gifts and expect life to not burn our crotches when things are scalding hot and tip over.

you can't sue anyone for a bad time or a mis-delivery.

this IS life. it's not the accomplishments or accolades.

at least to me.

and now it's as if life really begins and i'm tested to see if i'm a pussy or i can wing it.

i thought i was tough enough when i went on my "flaming iguanas" motorcycle trip cross country after only a week of riding a motorcycle with ivan's 15-minute lesson. nah. that was just because i had nothing else going on. (when i'm bored, i know i'm being lazy, so i scare myself and up the stakes in some way. "burning ships," you'd call it. but i do it because i have a huge lazy pussy streak and would watch columbo and twilight zone all my life if there was a dedicated tv station)

(later ivan liebowitz cornered me after the book tours and wanted a cut of "flaming iguanas" royalties because he felt he inspired the story by giving me the motorcycle. he owed my mother cash for renting her house and i paid her off on his trade to her.)

anyhow, regarding american "success," i think i'll "lose" in your eyes. i'm that much of a cynical realist. not because Life itself is any kind of particular "bitch," but because the bandwidth for what's constituted as "success" is so small and limited.

yes. you don't appear to be streaking through the sky as a superhero when you're strung out and splattered on the bottom of an empty swimming pool.

but it's realizing there's not only no MAN behind the black curtain, but when there was, he was just as clueless and terrified as we were, and he ran through the night with his hair on fire from one of these existential crises to end 'em all.

i cry a lot. i start to leak through my eyes almost instantly wherever i am.

i feel things so intensely now, i can't control the leaks, nor do i care about the inappropriateness of anything much anymore. it's all lies. everything is appropriate except fucking with people, and that seems to be the game of the day in every aspect of business or art.

i didn't want to become bored like the python guys who said so little truly surprises them anymore.

i think my art isn't about manipulating stuff, crap, or lines on a paper, but to manipulate how i see things so they don't just sit there jiggling like congealed liver blood.

what's liver blood? i don't know. that gelatinous stuff we avoid even in ourselves.

fuck. i'm SO lost.

i have no idea what the point is of anything and it veers between everything and nothing and it's OKAY. it's fucking okay.

i just laugh for my trying to make something out of it all, and yet it's more wonderful than my little limited tiny brain can make of it.

and that seems criminal. like wasting an orifice.

i know, i know.

i feel shame for my ass never cooperating on shoving refrigerators up it while all the world is sitting atop fire plugs on street corners with ease. even terminally straight men are backing up to big long things to see what the fuss is all about.

but my ass is the one orifice i'll have to give a break, especially as i navigate wherever i'm going.

this is the true adventure. to not relax and let my feet rot in a tenement until i die, but to live my life in front, without paper and pen or something between me and others.

to go away and visit and meet others without some "art" i get to be distracted by or go home to.

what's life going to be like with no plans and just "hello, i'm just erika" and seeing what's next?

to be truly adventurous this time and not just a poseur pussy girl, i have to not have a fucking clue what's next or where i'll go.

i only have to know what i'll put up with or not.

the rest is terrifying as fuck because if i don't step up, i failed at the one thing that's guided my life since i heard it in my head at age 8: the voice that told me to not mess up this time. go all out shamelessly.

that's the motto i used to live by when i was fucking with people: feign ignorance and apologize later.

now i AM ignorant and oblivious, so now it's just trying to be kind enough to apologize if i end up needing to later.

things barely change with a breeze, but it feels like a tsunami in practice.

i'm so scared. all of this is like me standing on a diving board over a dry pool.

don't don't don't try this at home without a good friend checking up on you or keeping an eye on your quick twitch reflexes.

you can't do anything alone.

hell, just being your full self requires a fucking crew of hundreds.

thank you and good day.

x

p.s. and thank you, amy pie. you're the only girl i'd fall for anymore when we talk so long into the nights on the sofa. but you're beyond "girl." you're one of the keepers. and i love how you hang all your jeans on hooks. you're swaggery cool. thanks for talking to me all those years ago at the reading.

i love how you call me on my shit without a second thought. that's bad ass as hell to me.

(i've found the dearest people in my life from my work being out there, and then i think maybe THAT'S what publishing my work was all about. to find my people. they've become kin. even some of you, i've yet to meet.)

more details.

it's been a wild couple of weeks, let me tell you.

james claims he has PTSD and i feel like i fell out of an airplane and landed on the petal of a purple flower.

yes, i move things fast once i see there needs to be a correction. i don't have a day job, and haven't the 2-week vacation to get over a bad idea. i've gotta pay with my first born child.

and there. that's the REAL reason i never had children when i adore them at all ages, even the asshole ages from 13 to 95.

but just as i know there's the real Truth in humor, i know that entire universes of adventures lie before the one with the tits or balls to pay closer attention to one's own True Desires behind the crap you thought you wanted when you grew up. the orgasms behind the orgasms.

that's why people go insane after me.

people like me LIVED the movie "the breakfast club." every new meeting netted a great conversation ending in confession or passion, followed by embarrassed avoidance for one's slip showing.

i may be searching for the orgasms behind the orgasms, but i strive to be everything behind the slip that was showing.

i strive to be a true comfort woman. a mother, a fucker, and maybe if you're luck, even your best friend. i'm a great best friend.

i've never known how to be a girlfriend, and that's why i jumped out of the bed of My First One and never returned. i didn't know how to do the DAYS. i didn't mind to be clung to and flung around in private, but i didn't even want my mom to ever show up at PTA meetings, so i didn't even like public kisses on the cheeks because it all seemed too proprietary.

i wanted to be whomever i wanted to be and be as invisible or inscrutable as i could muster (ha!), and i didn't like to be around anyone who uncramped my lack of style. i didn't want to be figured out or pigeon holed, unless i was hustling someone.

but i go insane after me, too.

i move too fast, and after 17 years in san francisco---where i picked up and moved, sight unseen with only enough for a one-way flight from philadelphia---sometimes i'm driving around with my foot out against the side mirror, with the roof and all the windows, music blaring, good sunglasses on so i can see bright colors---and sometimes after 17 years, as recently as yesterday, and no matter how happy or sad i might be, i STILL am in shock and go, "wow...how the fuck did i not only end up in such a gorgeous neighborhood, great town, but man... i live in fucking SAN FRAN FUCKING CISCO."

and i get to do whatever i want in life. fuck up. get fat. get un fat. i get to be ugly, beautiful, mean, evil, sweet...

and i have the best people in my life. the biggest coolest fucking bad ass superhero people who PUT UP WITH ME, and i'm a total pain in the motherfuckin' ASS. i am. you know it. maybe you wanted to have coffee with me once, but you know that the moment i give a fuck about you, i'm in YOUR SHIT about how YOU SHOULD BE MORE OF YOURSELF and that's a pain in the ass when you just wanna get back to your life before me.

anyhow, so i went through the raging phase with james and thinking he's evil and i was, etc.

but i had to bring this to a boil in a hurry, and i did.

what i did will have to forever remain between james and me because we're BOTH still shuddering, as it's like condensed intensity, and it's like the nausea after the adrenaline of an ass kicking.

oh, i feel it.

but so does he.

and he knows i love him and it took a lot of that love for me to hold on and even GO there.

it's not about one love, love of life. this is about the verb part of "love." the part of being loving when you don't feel very loving. even when it appears hateful.

this is why you have to touch someone damn near holy, cross yourself, and let go and go with whatever god you're praying to in the moment.

so neither james nor i understand why i had to leave the room shortly after he arrived so that he could jerk off.

i can't POSSIBLY take any of this personally, either way. i know who and what i am, and what i'm capable of, so i do know that laura's very, very right: (i say this part: that even though it's usually always me in my eyes) this time it's NOT ME.

and james is very confused as to his own feelings, and that's okay. i'm not going to wait any longer for what i want.

i no longer want some openy vague weird relationship, all tentative.

so james and i will love and live together. and we will be more like room mate best friends.

no more blow jobs. no more fucking or kissing.

i'm grateful that he showed me there are orgasms behind the orgasms, and now i want MORE because i know that i will survive.

and i can't possible even BE betrayed. how can you be betrayed when you show up and do it how you want? and i want to believe in faery tales and magic, and everytime i get mopey and mad that i was wrong, then even BIGGER magic happens.

i'm still making sense of everything.

i've lost or trashed or given up everything i thought i was, and i'm so much more. it sounds  hokey as fuck, i know. but i think this is related to the artistic or creative process. spells. magic. manifesting. courage. imagination. daring. embarrassment. failure. embarrassment. absurdity. insanity. passion.

so i have not only james, but i have MORE of myself and a clearer idea of what is possible and how to get it. i'm letting go.

and the real secret again of losing weight, is to speak your mind, heart, Truth. no matter how messy.

i decided there was no money in being the white feminist's fat, broke, asexual, angry, over-worked butt girl.

i'm a fucking latina. a puerto rican girl. i'm white. i've been all over. i've BEEN.

and it's criminal to hide all that i am and know. it's criminal for any of us to hide who we are.

i show you how scary, but easy, it is to be yourself in public.

there's nothing anyone's got on me.

you say there are economic sanctions for being like this? social pariah status? sure. but when you've got yourself and dear, dear friends, all the stuff is extra crap. to have the extra crap without the freedom of yourself and those who love you even though you're an asshole?

nothing like it.

those are the ultimate orgasms behind the orgasms.

and why i'm not worried about a thing.

i'm giving myself until my birthday, august 10th, to fuck around. and august 10th has a grace period, as leo's take cancer and leo times--hell, leos feel entitled to the entire summer and fall because virgos and cancers don't know how to dance in the sun like we do.

the moon? on my best days i'm in bed by 10, so you can have the moon. i want to wake up BEFORE the sun. it's like arriving at the restaurant first. you get to have the seat facing the door.

i'm a jersey girl from the land of diners. it's not a mafia thing. even dogs want the booth seat facing the door.

anyhow, so james and i more solid than ever because now we know we'll just have to work it all out somehow.

i wish i had a hacienda.

that's what i want.

i used to just want a big dinner table to feed people and have good long after dinner conversations about philosophy and art and sex.

but now i want a hacienda so people can crash there for weeks at a time.

what happened to a world with more free time to visit people for long periods of time without being exiled?

anyhow, james and i learn so much and so fast, because just like the art life keeps you from wasting as much time as you'd like to, we live in a studio apartment and work at home.

we've become pros at respecting space and boundaries or getting over fights fast.

so james does need to find himself, and as his best friend, i will now be strong as he toddles out into the world as more of himself.

the drama was like a gun to our  heads, and forced us to be clear and HONEST about who we were and what we wanted, even though we're STILL NOT ENTIRELY SURE.

he just wanted the space to FIND it. and i want to be let go. set free.

and so it is also better for moi, because it's a lot of fucking work trying to keep a man well oiled when he's not your own, and still be open for your own thing, and try and figure out who and what you are and what you want to do with your life.

see? that's too much to indulge sheepish, muddy thinking. james needed to step up and be honest with himself so he won't crush me.

if he can't, he loses me. i love him, but if i'm not gonna commit suicide, i'm sure as hell am not gonna let anyone have at my tender little soul so carelessly.

so we will keep discussing what we want, and strive to further verbalize what were dulled desires. bringing them out in the open can be messy, surprising, scary, but always exciting when you try to be creative in making something work. even when you're out of ideas.

so basically, i'm now relieved to not have to be sexually responsible for james.

i want to jump him on occasion, and he does me as well, but i sense we're in for a bigger life lesson here.
and it's not about trading out someone.

it's about adding and refining to an already good life.

and i've not a clue what i'm gonna do when i grow up,
and i'm no longer the least bit terrified.

when you see my waist, you'll see why.

you'll have to look at your own superhero body parts that will carry you through to who YOU want to be, and you'll know what i mean if you don't already.

i love everything about me now. and i'm so sorry i've been so hateful for so many years.

i see how this translates into love for others every time i adore my own skin.

fuck. we're each such miracles.

watch harold and maude again.
that's what art is. timeless.
remember?

x

james is back here with me, but we're not "together" in the biblical sense even though he was confused as to how his libido was back after 10 minutes back in the apartment.

i love him and he makes me smile because he means well.  he's not found HIS thing, and as one who's been planning events and backyard shows since i was 6 or 7, i have to cut folks slack.

but now i'm without my "thing" now, too.

i use this clog as a guage of how much i'm still in the game of art and life. i try to come back to this clog because then i'm not dead as an artist as long as i care and love enough of the ones i'm writing to.

i'm okay. just lost. i've lost my muses, my reasons for living, and i actually like the free time to NOT KNOW squat. i like not being busy.

i'm leaving for trips soon.

these are the first trips i've taken without any big fucking epic plans.

i almost wanted to take my serger because i do want to clothe people wherever i go. like lisa? she's always had a beautiful tiny little strong body, and i'd love to make her tight daisy pants with actual silk flowers all around the hips.

i've lost a lot of weight, but i'm so distracted with real life, i can barely tell. i just like that i have a ton of stamina to dance a long time or pick the orgasms off the very tippy tops of the trees.

everything's better in the reality behind the illusions.

i'll post a photo of my new superhero waist later.

i didn't want to now that i'm loving my open privacy. i'll just hide my face when i ask someone to take a photo of my waist.

i used to fight with my tits and ignored my waist.

it is so strong now. i even love the stretchmarks. they are like jagged flames and knives as i won my way back to my sexuality and my humanity and my REALITY.

i'm more amazing than i ever knew. so i will never try to sell myself to anyone ever again. i will be as understated as i can possibly handle, and see what they know or see.

my superhero waist later. if i felt like my soul was strands of every person i have ever met, then my father, lisa, james, jeffrey, laura  and margaret and brad and james and randi and sayadian and you all are in my ability to take a punch and fight and LOVE. more importantly, LOVE as a verb.

LOVE as ART.

that is what i DO know now. and why i am afraid that i've gone insane. if insanity is departing from the larger society, then i have, because now i believe that loving others and having relationships is the most important reason we're here.

and that's why i think the internet is mostly over.
it's already getting to be like the old mall you only go to for radio shack when your phone is jacked up on the road.

not even beyonce and jay z can live a familial life as a corporate product. trademarking your newborn daughter's name? eeek! cripes. talk about wiping snot on the world. that's not winning. that's just heating up the iron and branding yourself as livestock so you can get closer to living in The Big House.

(told you black americans can "out white" white people. it's creepy as hell once you notice what it is.)

anyhow, waist later. it's not a shallow image like some sideways "look at me NOW!" like a woman on oprah.

nah. you SHOULD'VE looked at me before because now i'm learning how to move out of the way faster.

i love james and everyone who's played with me in my adventures.

and i don't understand where i am and how NO adventures at all is actually the biggest adventure of them all.

i still don't know where i am.

but the magic is there. we make it or deny or ignore it. it's on us how much we regret when--and if---we make it to the old rocking chair days.

not to love fully is like wasting perfectly good orifices.

leave my ass alone. i've given enough at the office and in my bed.

if you still need my ass after all i've done to you, it'll NEVER be enough.

more later.
x

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

i'm ok.

thanks for all the emails from friends i haven't heard from out of the blue. i'm overwhelmed with all the love i get. i'm telling you, i really still assume i'm a grade A shmuck, but i can't be all bad if i've got friends like you all.

where i'm at:

i run into the girls at the gym all the time now. it's serendipitous with margaret. she's such a love. she is a naked lover in the world and always toddles out anew.

after a hot bath last night, i wrote the snakefucker, willing to try anew.

but i won't hear from him again. writing him felt natural, normal. but afterwards it felt dead. like no one was there, and no one would BE there.

but i'm full of fluctuating emotions, so i don't know what is real, what is imagined.

it doesn't matter. what matters is that for my sex to come back, i have to always be reaching OUTWARD. not curl up inward.

so i put that aside and decided to go ahead and have an affair with margaret's friend. the one at the christmas party who overwhelmed me with his intensity.

i told margaret to give him my number tonight if he is up for a rebound fling while i'm in full on lover mode (verrrry rare. probably not had this time/attention since i was preparing for my first man). i can un-kink what has made his alpha-ness a little stuck. and i can put this opened up sexual energy somewhere safe and give him back to everyone else.

i miss james terribly. terribly. it's the little daily things that make up most of one's day that are hardest.

but now that he's gone a little pussy mad, i have to be less fluid and vague, and more decisive and quick.

so please don't think me mean if i'm compartmentalizing more like a man.

just because i can want to have sex with someone else doesn't mean that i adore james or even the snakefucker ANY less. if anything, i know i KNOW this sounds like absolute bullshit, but it's true:

in a way, the more you open up, the more you love EVERYONE.

yes, yes. i'm human, too. i want to ONLY EVER BE THE ONLY ONE.

but that'd make for uninteresting people, if i was everyone's ONLY ONE.

we need fresh water sometimes.

when i find a man i'm willing to be at his feet and serve him, and be his fucking SLAVE, then i will settle down.

for now, i feel like the ticking clock device has kicked in. life moves so, so quickly when you remember  you could die any moment.

fuck. whitney houston???

this is all so, so very wrong.

can't you all feel how insane all this is?

the waste? they're all human beings. we put them in the collisseum to cry for us, look beautiful, fuckable... laughable...  then when we're done, thumbs up or down, the lions always come in to rip 'em apart so we don't have to see our own tinsels fade.

whitney used to be on seventeen magazine with short hair. little stubby eyebrows. she was just a girl like all of us.

and oprah tried to get her to talk about how bad bobby was on national TV for all of us. the man who TAUGHT HER TO DANCE!

when she said that, i knew she was a goner for him.

the man who teaches you how to dance also teaches you to fuck.

but they didn't know how to come out of the hell they'd made. the darkness.

that's james, too.

togetherness is great, but sometimes you're not sure if what seemed light, is killing you.

like white sugar.

anyhow, i don't know.

all i know is that i've "crossed myself," checked myself, and i will be okay.

whatever happens, it will only come as long as i reach outward and inward.

that sounds all candle lit. ick.

sometimes i can't stand how i, myself, sound.

but i'm just typing. winging it before i re-read and change my mind.

anyhow, life is short.

now i have to wing it with the improv of saying yes and no and owning the next choice up before me.

so in the meantime, i must cry, fuck, dance, clean up this apartment. ugh.

that alone rekindles my ambition because if i had to be a cleaning lady, i'd have to do something at night to counter that. like break into peoples' homes and mess 'em up and leave flyers on their front door for my cleaning services.

so i love love love james and i'd fuck him only, and only him, if we were to be that way. but it really wreaks havoc on my energy to constantly deal with contradictory messages from people.

can i be swept away by even a rebound love affair? yes, of course. i SHOULD be swept away. but i try to plan what the boundary will be while i'm dry and aware so i can re-evaluate a little better later when i'm splashing around in the wetness.

james is having a hard time. but i have to let him be. find his way without me so that he can finally be the man he wants, and get the woman he wants.

that to me is eternal love for james and who he wants to be.

have a good week. it's gonna be busy for me. breakups are a lot of catchup work as you take over tasks i forgot to even do. like grocery shopping. i wish the full fridge would stay that way without ever rotting. it's like i forgot what to do with a head of lettuce.

thank you for your woo woo vibe energies and sweet letters.

x

ugh. the nausea and dry tears are back.

we're down to the sweet letters where you admit it's really finally over this time.

this is why i try to do things before i think too much.
this part is soooo hard to face.

the sexiness is gone when he wrote about all these amazing details of me, but said there's no (sexual) chemistry: "You have amazing sexual energy and when you find the right man he will be so lucky.  I wish it could be me.  I really do."

ugh. that's the worst kind of compliment. you've got it all...but it's still not enough...

the compassionate kiss offs are the worst because you fill in the blanks with evilness.

it's like, "at least you're smart. you don't have to be pretty."

i'm gonna try and let that roll off like nothing but i can already tell it threatens to resonate like a bell.
but i have to remember he's looking for something in particular. i always knew that. that's why i held back the kisses.

but, fuck you all... you still get hurt baaaad either way.
cripes.

anyhow, i think i've gotta hide away and be quiet so that i can focus on getting over this thing so that i can find a fucking REASON to give a fuck about being a part of regular, functioning society.

ugh.

thanks for the emails and phone calls.

that dull ache that i was expecting earlier is coming up.

forget the suitcase. i feel like the samsonite guerilla has me and my heart in his grip and is about to fling the fuck out of me around that cage.

i'm gonna try and get through this and just go to the gym.

so i hope to be quiet here for a bit. not risk being clear or "entertaining."

time to be small, messy, sad, and get back to what i've gotta handle.

yikes. gotta go now. it's late.

e

why i love latinas. (even if these aren't latinas)

http://www.youjizz.com/videos/amateur%20lesbians%20with%20natural%20bush%20-2260119.html

talk about santeria having to be an underground worship of the orishas, because this is the hottest, most dramatic movie i've seen in a long time.

i love that they're real. they seem spanish to me, not just because of the dark skin, beige aereolae, and dark circles around the one's eyes. nah, it's because of the ongoing intense solar passion. no one else is in the room and that one married girl (those rings go on left fingers, right?), you can tell she's been waiting to eat the other one out with every moment of her being.

this is how i have "orgasms" and why i wrinkle my forehead when people can COUNT orgasms they have with people. with another person, they're in waves and all over, even though i've tried to keep them contained in a playpen in the backyard.

but the "g" spot, fuck grafenberg--we're just hearing the trick a man figured out while trying to please a woman and as usual we follow who came SECOND.

cripes!

it was there long before he planted a flag in it and claimed that he was here in america first. and all these trying to cut out the clit like the africans, when it's EVERYWHERE. how do you contain the nerves? but manifest destiny spreads to women's bodies, so i hate to ever refer to that spot as the grafenberg or g spot. fuck you.

colonize my people, my land, my father, and me, our reproductive systems, and now my fucking pussy's joy.

but i've gotta PAY outta pocket for health insurance.

anyhow, it's all connected. mind, pussy, cock, hand, life, happiness, peace...

and so it makes sense that when all cylinders are firing, it's ALL an orgasm.

that's what i got after how james fucked me. there is no "lie." everything is true, and in conflict.

it's hard to be faced with the novelty and perfection of "newness" and have it compete against "solidity."

so i get that.

but i get that i am solid regardless of another's shakiness. in fact, i think we NEED to run through more airports screaming for LIFE and COMMON SENSE to prevail.

i think it's good to rebel against being managed and contained like a line item.

something in a playpen in the back yard when you're still in your forties.

fuck.

if reincarnation is true, then maybe i've been here a zillion times, and the old lady voice i heard in my head when i was 8, telling me to not "forget" this time what being here was all about. and have fun. go all the way.

i didn't know what it meant, and it evolves. but it has been my north star on never forgetting the terror of being young and surprised.

when you really look and listen, you've never really been where you are before. you are closing yourself off to the inspiration all around you, and you've wasted your time on screens, chaos, and phone calls.

that's fine. it just makes it hell for those who DON'T.

anyhow, the women in the video? their passion is amazingly quiet because for whatever familial set up they all have, it HAS to be. i get it. i'm not so different. i get what it is to live for the calmness and stability of the bigger family.

and that's holy, too. this is a beautiful example of how there are so many different levels of passions and needs and what people can SEE!

oh my god, i'm in awe that this video was even MADE. just like latinas, they're used to being viewed, objectified, sexualized. a little wasted lately in the expansive powers of our fierce, strong femininity and sexuality.

but with the casual flick of one who's used to being viewed at all times, they close off and go into their own worlds. they don't see us. or the men, video taping them (husbands?). there are three that you can glance in the mirror and that is soooo hot. 3 fat guys who've got NO idea what they're actually watching.

and it's an underground gift to me when its billed probably as "amateur lesbians with natural bush." ick. how can you foist your cock up to such dreck? talk about jerking off on the corpse you just shot. sheesh.

humans are not fashion. bodies are eternal.



it's like watching not just fire crackle, but human fire crackle. and they know, deep down, on some level, that they're living in a whole other flatter world than these women.

these women are mystical, powerful, voracious, gorgeous, alive, passionate. their orgasms are the ENTIRE thing. look at her!

fuck. that's how i have sex. that's how i want to LIVE. constantly in some state of awe, and never quite sure when the orgasm subsides and another slowly, or quickly, begins to build.

that, maybe IS the orgasm behind the orgasm. the big death behind the french little death.

maybe that is why i can have at myself so much right now.

i feel opened up in my little "tron" world. and i have myself. my strength and heart.
and i'm SOLID, even if the world seems not.

i've got everything i need.

and yet this is where i feel like i've teetered over into syd barret insanity (to you all), or heaven forfend--a FLAKE---because i still don't care about finding "work" or running to handle money issues.

i feel like i cracked over to some other side where i don't give a fuck... but in a good way.

i love james so much. the letters have already begun from him, and i want to be strong and do the right thing and hold him off for his own good. but with my sexual heart opened up so much, i have to be strong about what i want to go toward in my life.

fuck. i'm so ordinary! so fucking NORMAL!

eek!

because while i'll always imagine fucking damn near everyone i meet, and wonder what people look like nude or getting a blow job or a finger up their asses or on their backs getting rimmed or eaten out, because even though i want to fuck the world and twirl around in silver bracelets and big hair...

i just want one man. one man that i can serve and be for. for the rest of my life. as long as we are always living where we are each number one to ourselves and each other.

there would only be ONE safe word. it would be secret. and it would be the one where we promise to agree on the line.

what do i mean? i don't quite know, yet. i don't even fucking know who i am anymore now that my own myths are gone and i'm finding out i'm even MORE magical behind my own made up secret stories about who i was.

i stopped hating everything i was or did or had done. i was precious and a sweetheart.

so james. so's everyone.

and that makes me feel selfless in a way. like i have no skin. we are no different. and that FEELS better than feeling "victimized" (gross!) or like the world is bad and flat.

i've made the world flat myself in not taking the time to see and listen, worship the orishas in plain sight...

i didn't get that sometimes honesty really is about the art of artifice. that's art, though, right?

fuck... i DID it. i lived life according to my truest beliefs and obsessions, even when i wasn't paying attention.

it's time to put down art to go for the big game. the biggest game of all. being alone, private. away from the eyes of the 3 men taking blunt photographs in the blank guest room.

do you see how the small talk the cameramen partake in is so inane? like the level of "poo poo pee pee ca ca." and fucking holy love and fucking and the longest orgasms in the world are happening right in front of them!

and that is why i love latina women. because we learn how to live all in cheap sequins in front and pretend we're dime store goddesses to distract from the reality that we can kick a guy's ass and eat out another woman in front of her husband, and have everyone feel as connected as thanksgiving dinner.

the white culture will try to sell you amway or a timeshare or fuck, and jerk off to such a woman in private and take a shower afterwards as if it were a gay fantasy.

regardless of whether they're spanish, latino, arab, whatEVER, this is a family picture. i think this video is even about family. a really clever way of making something happen so that everyone can be happy. there will be, or was, a lot of drama and pain to ensue because when you have such an underground love, you can't wake up and have breakfast together ever.

and that is why this video is more dramatic and passionate and heartbreaking and real--and therefore hot--than anything hollytown, or even japan, has put out.

slow down. look around more. there's more fascinating life here on earth than constantly looking out at outer space for egg heads.

i wondered if i was a sex addict. my life is burning all around me, and i'm jerking off as the titanic sinks.
but it's THE energy thing! i got it!

it's creavity, life. as long as i'm in love with humans and can jerk off to them, there will be hope of a tomorrow, etcetera blah blah blah.

but it's true.

even though nothing i'm saying about james and love ALWAYS makes sense in my head at the time, i shrug and ignore it and just go jerk off.

sometimes even i need a break from thinking all the time.

and it's good james is out of here because i'd also save the "yeah, i'm mad, move out later, fuck me NOW" and that's not really "clear" if you know what i mean.

but i don't care about money and art or some shitty job now, anyhow, so i'll just hope that none of those other board of director "people" inside me will sleep while i jerk my life away.

talk about magical thinking. the shmata salesman inside me is smacking his forehead and throwing his hands up in the air like he really DOES care.
the "me" that's running things is like, "fuck it. i gave more than my best. fuck it. i'm gonna relax and have a good time for a change."

i feel like i've worked worked worked my whole life. why? to feel secure like no one could control me. but then i'd be confronted with money vs. art, and art won out and here i am jerking off and sounding like a flake.

i sure don't feel like a flake.

everything's so HARD. doing this right fucking thing so you don't put back magic in play that snaps back at you.

i love james so much. i'm glad i learned how to serve one man and see if i had it to love like i wanted to love, regardless of what anyone else thought.

so i feel like i've traveled all around the world and come back to what everyone else already came to:
it's a cool idea to try this intense thing with one person.

but i don't wanna do it the way most people do it, like with shackles, chains, and promises.

i wanna do it like i'm still there for james.

as long as i'm not involved, he can always try to come back. but he has to know himself.

and now he has to woo me back so that he can take the time to see if this is what he wants.
that's what wooing is about.
because i can feel the MOMENT the twinkle from the eye is gone.

for me to avoid a mundane life and live in magic, is to always fight for the twinkle.

that's why i'm glad i can jerk off even after a lot of tears or after just watching charles laughton in "witness for the prosecution."

god, his timing and delivery is so FUCKING spot on tight GOOD. it's incredibly TIMELESS.

how can you NOT jerk off after that?

anyhow, i'd give you some points in the video that i love, but study and discover the tongue fucking move vs. the one where you can see how her tongue has just found that GROOVE with the right level of open swelling as she licks right up on the raw clit.

they're wide open. it's all there. and the oblivious fucking cameras that always think they're seeing everything, is so hot.

because that's even what it feels like writing my guts out on HERE. like who's looking? i have to not care. i have to hope that at some point you will cease to even see ME, and only see YOURSELF.

this IS art! see how my not doing art turns on itself? that's all our lives. nothing is toxic or a waste if you use it anew with fresh eyes and a struggle for scabless understanding.

i sound so preachy i can't stand it. the shmata salesman and the little girl inside me. they think this preachy side is like my father taking me around giving me lectures on when to do things with my energy, and when not to because it was wrong against the other person in the long run...

and if it's wrong against THEM, then it's against me. because if i stab the guy in the eye with a fork, i have to lead a blind man around the rest of my life.

i love james so much. you can't imagine. he did lay down his rake and claim me as his own. i must now also belong to him beyond any tiny little earthly vow, and i must let him go and be there if he ever needs me, no matter what.

the sex thing, no. now i'm all monogamous.

i never was a multi-dick girl, anyhow. i couldn't even see how girls could jump from one boyfriend to the other to avoid the pain. you need time to air out the chocha from one man, and "0" things back out to neutral so that you can give the NEW man a fighting chance to even make HIS impression on you.

you can't be ushering men in like comic acts and expect to ever see anything except your soul in the bottom of a distraction.

it's all chaotic scratchy radio interference i think if you have too many "people" on or in you--mind or body.

anyhow, i'll be there for james for my entire life.

we never let our men go mad.
if we get to have all the emotions and open doors, paid dinners, and equal pay,
we need to give our men the place to go mad so they may find THEMSELVES on the other side.

yeah. this is what i saw in brad wyman and charlie sheen. huge wasted mystical masculinity, left to become a parody of itself so that we may feel safe in categorizing them like cartoons.

no. brad wyman. i don't fucking KNOW the man and he was a catalyst to a lot of what i've opened up to. let me write an entire fucking book ("the girl must die") in sobbing emails to him when hollytown's under water and everyone's fighting for their lives.

and i'm thinking of sleeping with wealthy men for the young girls who cut off shark fins and throw 'em back in the water? eek!

i'm still catching up but never will because the stories are true, and then again they're NOT.

no one's evil on purpose. but it's time to fucking face reality and realize ignorance isn't any excuse for breaking THE BASIC LAWS.

anyhow, our advance guard men need to go mad and find themselves as we do.

they have so few models for losing it. mid life crises? cars and pussy?

come ON!

watch this video and remember what you used to believe about the power of love and connection before the beige fog took over.

this is real.

i fuck this way, too. i can only tell the space between the orgasms when i'm fucking MYSELF, and i try to count so i can TALK and have something to SAY if i'm ASKED because this is the kind of shit people seem to CARE about...

did you come?

huh?

i'm STILL coming.

and if i can't find a way to come like you come, i'll find yet another way.

i swear. the small girl inside me is still cringing and so's the shmata salesman.

letting go and being free is a lot like doing angel dust and thinking you can fly with a towel superhero cape, and trusting that the pool's full below.

i still don't know. but maintain i can't lose either way, really.
e

i'm waiting for the big choking despair to bring me to my knees, but maybe it won't be so bad?

i don't get how any of this actually works. i'm awash in too much theory.

but i had a good day with amy. a REALLY good day, actually. i'm suspicious. surely i can be more melodramatic than this?


amy was right about us being in our forties and too tired to go all crazy throwing beer bottles at windows at 2am anymore. 

ah, but i think i spent it all on those deep wracking, soulful wails and sobs i accidentally fell into in front of him the day before he suddenly decided we were meant for each other for 24 hours. 

maybe amy's right about the in love thing, but i'll allow for the accidental manipulation of tears. i hate crying even though i now seem to cry all the time. they can be so manipulative. i don't mean 'em that way.  too obvious. 

anyhow, it doesn't matter. what matters is that i'm watching my reactions very carefully so that i'm not lying to avoid the pain and have it attack me later at a bad time.

but i think that there IS a dull sad pain, but i'm also amazed that the VERY fucking thing i FEAR--

to not only be left, but be left after someone fucks me and i kiss them passionately, opening myself to the moment without fear for later, then my fear was that someone would think it was "too much" and leave me with my tits in my hand again. 

they always do. they always go a little mad and run away to something more normal and come back later to talk about what happened with us.

and so i'd do that player girl thing of kissing with just enough obligatory wetness to be polite, but deftly turn my face and offer my neck, which was always surefire way to keep it kindly between the legs and out of my heart.

but james gave me a gift. a pledge to me for life and two amazing fucks that seemed to say "hello, who the FUCK are YOU?" instead of "goodbye, i just don't have 'it' for you," and a lot of kissing so amazing, i was trying to catch what his lips were saying so i could barely pay so much attention to his tongue.

and then the VERY next MORNING he says yeah, i'm not into you, we've gotta break up.

and if i hadn't whaled on him in the kitchen and while he was taking a shower, through the clear plastic curtain, i'd think i was about to snap. but nope.

maybe i've wailed from the deepest depths of below, fast and quit and hard, and raged, and come to understanding and love, and now so much damn GRATITUDE.

he also gave me the best of himself and the best years of his life.

there is no sweet and nice way to end. even deaths are more bitter partings than on TV endings.

so i learned that i dared to believe. i loved big and open and wide and my whole body shuddered and i came in ways i never have before. 

and i'm glad i waited to ONLY have TRANSCENDENT sex, for it WAS. it truly was.

because it was transcendent at the time, as well as now: it taught me that i can give and be my all, myself, and be nude, truly NAKED and unashamed and only big and loving, and then have my beloved change his mind the next day and deny it all... and i am OKAY!

i did not die as i assumed i would. i always avoided the nausea because i thought it would kill me. but the nausea is the bad story i made up. life is always better, infinitely more interesting, and bigger than my evil little small minded "stories" and imagination.

so james has left me with the greatest gift and lesson of any lover: he has armoured me with the innate awareness that i can handle my passion and open it wide, and not be decimated by rejection. i will be proud for my showing up and trying to meet the other person where he (or she) meets me.

and sometimes we cannot continue on our journeys together because we need breaks, detours, and rearrangements. 

i'm glad that i can be my sexually alive self and love and kiss wide open enough to talk into his mouth because i didn't want to leave. and i'm glad that i can toddle back out into the world and know that i can take more rejection and maybe learn to bypass most of the nausea of despair, for my showing up and being as aware as i can be, will be the goal. 

i don't want the goal to be "staying with" someone just for comfort or to keep him docile and mine. 

maybe you think i act too swiftly in getting him out of my home. 

no. 

if you're giving this up for a five-date girl, you've gotta go figure what that's all about. and without me. that's their journey. i was one part. now mine is done and it's time to live MY life. 

i want to not worry about anymore complicated relationships right now.

actually, i have to think about WORK. relationships will  have to take another back seat. 

so i'm really glad to have been fucked so well before i return to the take-out quickies of the magic wand.

he will be fine. i believe the MOMENT you realize what you truly want, you shouldn't waste another second of your time or anyone else's time. make a choice and own it all. 

man, that is SO the only way.

i jerked off something fierce last night and this morning.

i only jerk off that good when something's RIGHT, good, and scary as hell.

i was ashamed that i could jerk off during such a tragic event. but the fuck was THAT good. 

it was still resonating.

that's TRANSCENDENT!

life is funny. who knew my transcendent fuck would be my own james' good-bye fuck.

but i can take the heartbreak. in fact, i WELCOME it. i'll dare it. and then i'll twist its arm and fuck it right there up the ass, on the sidewalk.

x

and so it is done.

(ugh)

right quick, 'afore i leave...

just in case i die in a flaming car accident out there on my way back in the dark, i wanted to tell everyone thank you for making me okay even when i'm alone. i never FEEL alone. i realize that the angels i always feel are the investments of love i've received throughout my life.

i may sound cynical, but i'm way more in love with everyone EVERYONE than you'd believe. i've never ever seen a truly evil soul and i've kicked myself around out there a lot. and when i think about how safe i feel about now and the future, it's because someone who loves, or WILL love me, always kicks in in the nick of time and i'm okay.

whether it's my father's supernatural love, or james' beautiful wild domestication of me, it was good to settle down. meditate wildly in the WAY i lived my life. not just 20 minutes a day or an hour at friend's meeting somewhere, or even some nouveau buddhisty thing with yoga wear.

so thank you. you've all been collaborators with me. that's why i don't feel like ONE person. i feel a maternal, deeply maternal and ETERNAL responsibility to anyone who comes into contact with who and what i'm trying to be.

i have to be there to figure out what happened because fuck if i EVER know. i'm just winging it like everyone else. i'm trying to put words to my intuition with words that never seem to fit. there isn't even a chinese way of pronouncing what is this whole other mystical magical side of life that is actually the REALITY that we avoid seeing.

and underneath it all, we're so fucking holy, no one's bad. not even you, alison. you're beautiful inside and out and time and dreams and accomplishments and your husband and your children can never take that very basic essence away. you are alive therefore you're holy.

no stories are ever really bad.

fear, fear everywhere. it's so, so dangerous. it kills hordes of people as well as tiny bad deaths within ourselves and whom we love.

i feel like i speak in bird chirps and i think i'm talking in english.

but i suppose that IS the eternally nagging thing that makes us strive to be ever clearer to each other. be seen. be understood.

the other side of plastic adoration is maccaulay culkin's current look. i never wanted the bite back from what there was to offer in the way i offered up my art, so i am finding peace in my sandpainting's immediacy and invisibility.

invisibility is also very, very freeing.

we all have to lose it. spin around. run through airports ranting about how fucked up everything has to be. that is when we know we are doing the rain dance and are TRULY alive.

we are not to use our time here to submit ourselves as line items in another nazi record book of deaths.

i don't see getting to our essences as getting beneath like layers of an onion, anymore. nah. all these "voices" are starting to come together, all of you, and all that i feel even from the unseen you, and my friends and parents and family---what i see is that you are in me and make me, and integration for ME is when they come together more like strands of a rope. and that feels like my soul reacquainting itself with the reason it is here.

to love and feel and experience you all, whether from afar or up close.

i know i've always been a catalyst in others' lives. i was the foster kid or the odd kid at someone else's house at christmas, and somehow, some little fucking observation that i thought was a meaningless joke or blather, would just make everyone go KABOOM!

and out i was.

i scared people and thought i was linda blair in her movies.

but i'm not.

i really am a sweetheart.

and when james fucked me like i've never ever been fucked before, i realized, "yeah, i'm a sweetheart."

and we ALL are.

so here i feel connected to everyone. like i am still living according to some bigger IDEA. i don't wanna be a line item. god no. it's so amazing to feel and struggle to find the beauty underneath.

THAT is art to me. art as life. art as religion. and yes it rapes you. again and again, if you're lucky. and it's hot as fucking hell even in the agony.

oh, i FEEL the agony. believe me. but it is also a form of ecstasy and letting go.

shibari. being tied up and dangling there with a ball gag in my mouth and getting rope burns that dot blood as life fucks me against the plaster wall.

gotta go. james will be here to get his stuff in 25 minutes.

x

today.

i calmed down a whole lot yesterday after i talked to my friend, amy g. she's up in sonoma county, and i'll be taking a nice sunday drive up to see her in the sunshine, with my left foot out the window (i love automatics!) and the music up loud and all the windows opened wide.


i'll come back with some yellow meyer lemons, blue dreams, and play with her dog, polly, in the green green grass.


the sunrise was beautiful this morning.


it's all okay.


amy also started out as a fan of mine, and like 14 years ago or so, offered to do t-shirts and i came over with a 6-pack and we printed in her garage and we've been tight ever since.


she can see a lot and tell me the future or what's going on now.


she said james is scared to death and is madly in love with me, and is enjoying this because in addition to other complications, a lot of this flip flopping drama is coming out of his resentment at feeling like my "butt boy" staying at home while i go out and do things, and i come home and give him blowjobs and don't kiss him.


she put it THAT way, and i immediately GET IT. because james isn't a "butt boy," and i remembered i'd noticed the same fucking thing in the beautiful couple in the far, far away land. he loved her sooooo much, he'd give his wife the world. but it wasn't enough. and he knew it'd all distilled down into something that was wrong for him, and unhealthy.


i believe that we can take a lot of fucked up shit, but the body and our soul KNOWS when it's just not "right" or FAIR. and there WILL be retaliation. it's HEALTHY!


so i love james dearly, and he's been a fucking HERO to me so i need to give HIM the space and room he's given ME to run around and fuck up and rage and not know what i'm doing.


so that's what i can do for him.


i won't catch onto the despair and drama because that's a distraction from the fact that it's probably james' turn now, to find HIMSELF.


if i'm to be any kind of real friend, real lover, i must love when i didn't feel like being loving.
and so i'll protect myself still and let him move out, but i won't fuck with him.


i'll take the high road and watch myself, and leave the space for him to act out and find himself. 


he wanted to be friends again and i'd said "never" because it was a betrayal like mark, to me.
but not really.


i need to let this one go and just roll with it. 


the kitty just came up to cuddle with me, and she's probably a little needy (like we ALL get---we're HUMAN, even the kitty). 


have a good day. 


it'll be rough i imagine, when i get home tonight and try to fill the holes.


but i'll try and buck up.


(smile)


thanks for all the kind words and emails.


x