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last night: is this a plan? i wanted to ask him. one of those things i guess. made love, lost love. no to love and death to taxes. hello, i have nothing to say, but let me put my moist lips there and we'll enjoy this silent moment, save our own breath. three's a charm. congratulations. you will not be forgotten. did you consider looking into my eyes and saying one syllable of hope? no congratulations, i have no hope. it's a race to the west coast and we'll see who runs into who first. but for now, don't stop.
All the world's a stage and I just wanna play my part, so I'm here hoping for magic. I flew from 5:30 â€“ 10:30pm. First plane I met a Swedish guy who researches and writes about terrorism and world issues. Tobias. Lack of sleep made it surreal. Slept next plane â€“ that's a first. By 1am I was at a parental nightmare of a party in LA where everyone was drunk, cept little me. And I knew I was getting close to somethingâ€¦ Finally back at Erin's place I fell into a fitful sleep. By then, 50% sure I will move here.
Even the hardest of us need it. I wanted you to look at me from across the room during one of those wine and beer parties we've attended on behalf of our careers and mouth words to a song we both know. I thought â€“ god help me â€“ that you might like the feel of me enough to let me love you. I hoped you needed more than a night. I thought the best for you. I wanted you to see I am beautiful in your arms. I wanted to melt back into your skin when I returned from the beach.
in the evening when erin's out back rehearsing with the band, i've sat with mike and reyna watching videos on the couch. mike is mr. mom, complete with kind eyes, a knockout physique and a mind that makes me sad i am not better at math. reyna adores him. i marvel at the luck of my friends (erin, candy, donna, and steph) who have incredible husbands. but i feel darkness in their togetherness that's surely born from misunderstanding. clearly, these men are beautiful. i guess it's easy to find trouble when you are looking. i pray love blinds me permanently.
Saab took me on a hike. beginning, i was high on the prospect of making this lustful city home. celebrities who thought they may be recognized trotted by and i felt thankful that nashville taught me to embrace the reality of what a lie media is. i belong here at some point. but the trot turned into sweaty embarrassment when i discovered the LA hills are mountains to an okie. flipflops do not make for good traction. even the dogs were sorry for me. i was deleriouis with jokes, most even funny. saab must've hoped for a clear drive home.
i was flying all day. missed my flight out of LAX due to traffic. in 15 years i never did that. something new to ponder if i move there. Navy was to pick me up at BNA, but "something came up" in the form of a new girl who looks a like a potential wife. it's ok. i wouldn't pursue a girl who didn't want to wake up next to me either. maybe move this back to the Friend file. i'll need him when i want a good steak or shoulder for my head when i've had just enough wine.
i wish cigarette smoke wasn't toxic, because it's so damn sexy. where there's smoke... New York had my attention. but the first cig that he didn't need â€“ then he had me for the rest of the night. they want me to be ashamed, to apologise for not playing the game. they thought i was One Of Them. those shits. good for a laugh, i'll credit that. but NY, he's mine. my mouse in pocket before my feet even hit the floor at pre-coffee hours. so we don't have paris. ok. but we didn't care about Anything. apologise for that? never.
the worst is knowing that this is just another place i've been. it held no healing magic, no romance that i could not kill. like a lover that i have gotten to know too well and i'm unwilling to see him through to the alter. so moving on to the next, LA, that has lost it's promise. it's merely a clean table in which to roll the dice. i shouldn't kid myself. LA is not eastern europe. gabi will not be there and i already hate christmas. i long for a stamp in my passport. confusion is unpacking in me.
i wish i would lose my voice for a week. spare me the frustration of attempting conversation about "what's going on with me", that results in my feeling cheap and exposed. i am too open about who i am, what i think. it was an experiment in the beginning. i thought everybody wanted honesty, deep down. give them what they want, and they flee like birds. i guess i secretly wish someone was listening and wasn't afraid. so many men live every day on fears i can't visualize. my fear is that i'll settle oneday for that kind of death.
burbank is the brady bunch area of la. erin and mike have this large house with the studio in back and outside the back window , just over the fence is the wb studio. i lay there on the couch last week, letting myself believe in the possibility of walking to work â€“ a job in which i am important and creative. a wet dream of sorts. i would also like to have coffee and a croissant for breakfast at the local mom and pop cafe that has white curtains with red fringe. but that seems unlikely here in the us.
I looked through my notes today from my interview with Monroe Jones and at the bottom of the page I had written the quote " I don't believe in chance." Wow. So that's the trick. Believe in your own destiny. And what is my destiny? If I knew the answer to thatâ€¦ OK maybe I do know the answer but I'm afraid to say it. Afraid that my destiny takes me away from all the things that my feeble mind says are good. Away from Nashville's live shows, away from the beaches of LA. And then who would I be?
Welll. After all this time I finally saw the image of dear jeff koyen. First the eyes, the mouth, an average physique. A touchable person. But the arm, jeff. The arm with the track marks. You gave away your weakness so quickly. If you weren't such a readable writer, I'd ignore you. I can see him now, thinking he will go down with the likes of chaplin or parker or â€“ Hemmingway â€“ dear god, surely not! We're all here to reveal our weakness, I suppose. Throw it out there and stamp it to bits. We all want to murder our selves.
Beautiful enough to hang with. Sexy enough to screw. Mum and dad will hate that. It's incredibly enlightening to find I do want to be rescued. I want a man on a horse to pull me from a burning house. I want the command of a knight, the intelligence of an astronaut, and the looks ofâ€¦.somebody. I want strength, dammit. I fear there is no man like this. I fear he doesn't exist. If you want to know what keeps me awake at night, it's that all of these men in my life are just as they appear to be.
even after all this i'm still amazed at man's ability to give himself completely to someone physically, while not allowing himself to experience intimacy on an emotional level. only an ignorant man would think that physical intimacy and freedom like mine can be maintained by bedroom tricks. women who are adventurous in bed are only that way for one of two reasons. either they don't care at all what happens to their bodies (which should send up some serious red flags to any sane man) or she trusts him completely with her most precious physical possession - her own body.
what woman eats cookies for lunch? apparently a woman who is 31 years old, has no real exercise other than cat stretching and still manages to be a size 6 at 120 pounds. thank god for this gift. well, and the eyes. can't forget the eyes if i'm going for the vanity cheer. i arranged a trade with karla for new photos for my site. i look like an earth science teacher in the current ones. i must remove them asap! the hope is this shoot will produce real images of me. it will be my first creative shoot clothed.
reading the damn journals again this morning. obviously i have been deficit of intellectual stimulation, emotional connection. i have been lacking in the waking up to making love. lacking in something better to do than avoid the shame of not being whoever it is these people wanted me to be. most of all, angry that who i am, what i have to say, has no home. some michael in portland said my sentences are full and i have such longing. how humiliatingly correct. i am full. i long to be in prague where someone else, at least, is longing too.
i feel stupid for having used any real names thus far. even more daft for having mentioned one i don't know at all. if my readers supposed to know me from my memos, i'd be a rather incomplete opinion. so i best not assume my way into electronic snapshots of people's lives. this isn't a pub in didsbury, now is it? "we spend all of our lives goin' out of our minds. lookin' back to our birth, forward to our demise. even scientists say everything is just light, not created / destroyed, but eternally bright." â€“ Live, the distance to here
the former attachment says he loves me. says this maybe because he sees that other men want me. other men will be allowed to rest their head in my arms, drape an arm around my waist. how long should one wait on love to fight back? six months? 31 years? bell suggested i wait. absurd, like saying "why not buy a vibrator to fill that need?" which is the next thing she said. yes, me and my vibrator, curled up in bed crunching cheetos, watching "star trek" while the rain blows the deck chairs. why didn't i think of it?
some of my entries never made into the site. it appears to be the entries that weren't really worthy of web space, but still. i didn't keep a copy â€“ which was daft of me, but i figure this is what was meant anyway. now i have to go back and search my journals for something better. like uncommon sense. here at work today rachel did her usual ranting and raving about nothing with susan and i had the urge to push the monitor off my desk. i wanted to see something shatter â€“ get to the point of the matter, really.
sex is the ultimate vulnerability, the infinite connection, the final yes. but a needle in the arm? that's fucking without the pretense of dinner and light conversation. not that i ever enjoyed light conversation. drugs are the rape that make a whore. jeffs' arms should not be blue and sad with track marks. i want to tell him this, explain that he's not a mark on the sidewalk. boredom breeds depression â€“ and so does truth. it's hard, walking with your eyes open, staring into a blinding light all day, i want to smooth his forehead, hear him whisper. but why?
i received a figurative head pat yesterday. my readers are concerned i push to far.... but i'm not the girl you throw over your knee and spank. no, no. i throw you up against the wall and rip your belt off. the next day, i'll light a candle at st. andrews for your ailing cousin. and i'm not even catholic. i must have done a bang up job of kissy â€“ kissy â€“ makeâ€“nice these last three years to get shit about my last memo. i want to feel me in budapest, tipsy and patting Manhattan on his blue jeweled face.
Bell has been telling me Wuzzy stories over the net making me entertain thoughts of living on a boat off the coast of South Africa. it is so much easier to dream than to live. a little surfer baby with sun streaked brown hair, thick lashes protecting the bluest eyes. ahhh, i could live with that. i think maybe i could live anywhere as long as i could write, nurture the masses and touch the face of god. simple things make me happy. i could incorporate all my interests: sun, warmth, sex, love, writing, god, the beach, seafood, blue eyes...
downtown last night i Gumped myself backstage of the convention centre for a TobyMac performance. ironic that as I begin an article on the death of this music that i end up there. not the last hurrah, but we're getting there, eh? after, Navy and i met Lucido, his dad and Ayron for drinks. Ayron is stunning every time i lay eyes on him. some are just that way. tonight begins at 10:30 for drinks. i stopped by the brew and wrote a press release for Stakelbec. NY will meet me later. happy he's home early- i am. ya ya.
autumn with ny. i smile, letting this memory soak in. the warmth was good; it made me sleep better, i think. everybody else disappears in those moments. a real person of new voice, new thoughts, new scent right here in front of me. i want this to BE. i want it to be without our attempts to control it and lay it down in some mental scrapbook. i want it to live and go on without a thought to anything but our gratitude to the God who makes love out of curling smoke, honest sentences and a glass of water.
i realise i write about men. it is my subject, my forte. men and god. i admire them both for obvious reasons. "but which one", they will want to know, "do you love?". i think the better question is which one really loves Me? I mean â€“ really? let me tell you something. love is not borne of promises and confessions or great sex. love is action. love says "here is what we can do to be in each others lives." love is the man who wants to get me pregnant. love buys plane tickets. love makes coffee in the morning.
It's like reaching out a hand for a shake and meeting air with a dead stare. Whatever. Whatever. Whatever ails you. Don't say I never tried, Manhattanâ€¦â€¦â€¦â€¦â€¦â€¦.. I've caught quite enough grief over NY. Already I'm fighting for him and I've yet to find out why. But that's how I work. I enter into things with the best intent. A friendship that will get us both through a move to the west coast. Conversations that don't leave us empty. As I said this I dropped a tomoato pestso melt on my electric blue shirt. Of course, of course, of course.
last night at the slow bar Friz packed us in. good for lucido, nate and brad. felt a bit like a reunion with so many of us there. Clearblue was pulling the same tog-o-war he's played for almost a decade. i spoke with a new guy, Oklahoma, who was really cool. these are confusing days. how do you stay in love with someone who loves lazily? lazy loses. I might've been content to go talk to NY all night instead. who's to say what is right for me anymore? i need love that screams my name out to the crowds.
the day began dark and early. as i watched his frame walk away i hated him. i hated myself for wanting more time. "And everywhere I look there's something to learn A sliver of truth from every bridge we burn A hatful of quarters and a naked song Don't answer the question of where we belong" i thank god for my freedom while i wish he would take it away. freedom can be the marvelous illusion of a woman like me. dazzle, dazzle, tip, tap. and on your way out the door. thank you for coming; come again real soon.
i've decided to start taking donations from my milk memo readers. if i do this, i feel obliged to put the money right back into my work. the assumption is that the quality will improve. how to do this? get out of the routine. i'm tentatively planning a trip to eastern europe near the end of winter. presently trying to make contact with prague, but will visit romania too. i need conversation with gabi, as he is the only voice next to NY that can soothe me right now. how i hate the holidays that remind me what i love.
NY suffers from a heartache that manifests itself as an overly confident, aloof mystery who can seduce but not sustain. this transparency reveals the potential for deep connection while his actions betray us both. there. that is the cold hard truth. in a moment, which will forever be branded in my memory, he looked at me with real admiration, compassion and respect. his mouth peculiarly resembled the lips of my jimmy A portrait. i looked right back as if to say "feel this. this is what can make or break a man." think positive. we could be more than this.
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