Time's gone

I took some time out from everything, the program, the writing.
Just away. I needed some time out to realize so stuff. And to fuck up a bit more.

But the program found me again, without trying. That is to say, though a serious dry patch. Peppered with the most unlikely events and meetings that I could imagine.

That was the darkest winter I have ever had. Mixed with old friends, new friends, lesbians, married men, midgets, giants and some serious witchcraft.

But now I am coming out of it, with something that I don't want to write about here. I could break the spell. Instead, I am going to continue with something a little different.



This is what has been going on for the last week or so. The doctor told me I may have a drinking problem. He also said I was depressed. That's just a fucking cliche. I don't want to be depressed, it's boring. Isn't everyone depressed? I prefer to say I am working through my shit with the help of my medicine. But this song makes it all better. John Lee Hooker is the devil and I will dance with him tonight.

why are people right? part 2

OK, so read the bullshit that I wrote just a few days ago and saved to post up today.
I had no internet and couldn't post it up.

What a stupid wanker! It's really funny to think that one can fool oneself of a situation.
I'm not angry with myself. but I think it's quite a funny thing to look back on. The fact is I did it so easily. There was hardly any resistance. But that means I wanted to break the programme, in my heart of hearts I know I did manufacture this. I wanted it, made this happen. And I enjoyed every minute.
And over a cup of tea with a friend last night before I met with the particular, he predicted my fall.
I never like people being right. Ever.

But now I have to go on to say, if I had to be involved with any one, I'm glad in some ways that it was him.

I am also glad that I have withstood two months, and as you can see from the evidence, it has been very challenging.
I am really proud of my time, thought and discussion. I do think that I want to keep my sexuality close and a bit more sacred. God that does sound very like my mother. But it is true. It's been difficult and heartbreaking, but I have learnt a hell of a lot of stuff.

why are people right?

I haven’t concluded because I haven’t finished. And I haven’t written because there has been too little, yet too much to write about.

Things got easier and easier. The desire, the taste of impulse has died as it does with any sort of addiction. Yes, I can admit now that it was becoming an addiction. There was this haze around my sexual morals that wiped out anything that I cared about. So I guess in some ways it was an addiction. Although that word makes me feel fairly uneasy. I mean, Eureka Johnson was a sex addict. And I never found myself in really dodgy situations, more just stupid and uncomfortable ones. Ones where I knew I was hurting people and damaging any sort of friendship with my self.

Now I have plateau somewhat. The days of drawing people into a luscious sense of dark desire have died down. But still there burning, just a little. Now it has become much lighter, everything has. Even the common flirt. I can do it with who I want because I know there can be no continue into anything else.

The other day I met again with my rain man (ref. back to ‘Rain Man’ chapter) and there was a spark. I liked the spark because I could fantasise without any repercussions. He knows my situation, although with one touch on my arm he can make me weak. And he did as we were talking to a friend in the street. We were talking about work; the mundane chatter that happens on Friday lunchtime. Trying to finally round up the week and fill in time before you can peel back into lights and long walks in the dark and rain and bed. And all I could feel was his arm on mine and the longing of his touch sent me somewhere else.

bitter finish?

Yesterday was meant to be my finale, the end of it.

A brilliantly enlightening ending. Instead I only wished it to continue.
The beauty of chastity, or what ever this has now become, is that it? Something to hide behind?
Just another way to control a situation, to be on top (excuse the pun).

It has become a vail, a form of protection from a part of something that I'm not sure how to control. And I don't want to stop it just like that, not for just anyone. I guess this experiment has taught me the beauty of not jumping so soon. To keep a distance from those who with all good intentions have leached somewhat. Maybe it is the sex that leaches.

I was quizzed that night on why I was doing it. At my age I should indeed be in the prime of my sexual adventures, but I have realized that this is exactly that. It is an exploration of my own boundaries.
I've noticed much more the eyes that I first started writing about. They follow me, but before I was blind to it. The only problem is, how to deal with them. How do you turn them away, all I want to do is stare back at them.

But that is just not done.

Will I now have to be the demure virginal thing, with eyes to the floor, covering the face with hair?

The reality is walking down the street getting abuse for some guy on a bike while I talk to my mother on the phone, or get shouted at by the road workers when all I want is a light for my cigarette. I just scream back.

a book often read

Someone asked me today, what is it that you want?

I paused on my cigarette and felt the smoke burn the back of my throat. The inches of life it must be chipping away, the age it was shoveling upon my skin. Not that I cared in that moment, or do I care now. There is so much that I want in life, the indescribable things, the things that draw you nearer to someone while they speak to you of their life. The feeling you get as you walk out of the house in the morning and see the buildings so solid in their place and lift up into the sky that is peppered with birds.
For so long one can look for it, what ever it is. I have tied myself in balls, so unreachable these thoughts, this thing that we try to capture. But I now ask, why capture it? It only flies away with the slyness of a cat to another. For then we look greenly on others who apparently have it.

Today, I can happily say that I have it, and I do not have it. I can pause and feel that the life rides through me and around me and it is OK.

I do not wish to keep this, as I will only fail.

But have I failed? On a kiss, on a touch from another? No it is me that sets the boundaries that contain me.

I have, regrettably carried on with a particular that I do wish to let go of. Why is it so easy to fall into something and so hard to fall out? This is not a mistake, but something to learn from. Not to fall into something that I know from the moment it reaches my thoughts.
It is an interesting musing. That one knows the moment they embrace someone the way it will end.

It is like racing to the final page of a book while you are standing in the bookshop waiting for your change. Why then proceed to the door? For kicks, for the knowledge that you have conquered that person, that moment?

No, because we have a little faith, that some how we can change something in our own fable. Transform our story to another's, for a happier, rosier life.

I hope one day I will arrive at a place, maybe a cafe in Russia, or in a dive in San Francisco where the lights are dim and the music is loud. And meet a stranger. He will look up and order me a drink with all but a gesture. And I will not read his last line to me, because the book will never be quite finished.

a place to hide

A sense of contentment has descended upon me over the past few days. Maybe that is why my writing has become sporadic. In someways I have become used to this, it is a completely different way of approaching a situation. Before there was a duty, now there is but a suggestion, sometimes not even that.

Although some days I do feel like the femme fatal of many a french film, batting my eyes at the lapping men while I know there is no chance in hell it would happen. Just for kicks, just for kicks. It does sound awful but it's fun. Why not when you are young an unattached.

But then you realize that the men that have been and gone, or so you thought, are still clinging on with their bleeding fingertips to the last humane feeling left in you, guilt.

I was at a party and it was going particularly well. The people, music, atmosphere, drugs, dancing and so on were up to scratch for once. And I had brought along a new girlfriend to introduce her to the lot. Half way through the seemingly successful evening I spotted him arriving. The danger approached, with his hair and his face.

From his eyes I knew this was bad news, they swam like children; skipping with glee and intoxication. He span me on to the dance floor and for a moment it felt like the old times. We would escape our friends and gossip into this dungeon club with sweat seeping from the walls and dance with tequila and beer.

He was the man who only last week told me he had fallen in love with another woman and I was so happy for him. Now he clasped his arms around my waist and filled my ear with nonsense. Like a love potion poured in by a witch.

All I could do, as it is that all I can ever do these days, was run.

I think my legs are getting a little tired of the run, maybe I should rest where no one can find me.

to last but a summer

True love?

A dear friend of mine sat looking out into the street, watching the passing traffic. The lights became patterns of thought that jumped into our seemingly normal catch up. It had been two years since we had seen each other and his face had sharpened, brighter and stronger.

He looked noble as he turned to me. I'm marrying her. A police van scattered tourists in the streets and the blue set off the red of the bar. His eyes looked alive, and I could see that he was for real. He is still very young but there was such a true tenderness and honesty in his look that he really believed in it.

It got me thinking. I remember when someone talked about me in that way. And there maybe someone who still does. With that true abandon.

It was winter and a small group of us had huddled in a kitchen with tea and cigarettes. It was dark and had that incredible feeling of intimacy you do when it's warm inside and you know you have escaped the bitter.

Me and this respective boyfriend hadn't been getting on all that well in those past few months and I had the feeling like it was coming to a close. He had the habit of making public declarations, whether it was about having an argument or the great sex we were apparently having.

So he turned to the group who were discussing relationships and declared, I could rob banks with this woman, I could steal a horse.

I don't think I understand that purity. I could feel it, see it, almost taste it. From both of them, this boyfriend and my friend in the bar.

Does this make me heartless?

I don't think I understand that complete trust and surrender that they felt. To plunge so deep, so trusting. I can't believe it is my age, as I have concluded that there are things that go beyond age and experience. And I think especially in this case in particular. Maybe it is just a youthful feeling that may have passed me by.

Or maybe one day it will smack me in the face and I will be a stumbling idiot proclaiming my love and surrendering my everything to, even my grandmothers silk shawl!

No, I think I have something else. And my friend could see it, even through his beautiful haze of love for this most fortunate woman, that I am practical. I can't do that, I want independence.

Not that I want to ridicule him for his courageous jump into matrimony. He will be happy. I even stalked his couple facebook pictures and smiled to myself at their loving looks. One had an arm around the other, the other holding the camera up for all the world to see, their deliriously happy world of beautiful bed linen and shared cups of coffee with the papers of a Sunday morning.