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November 2017

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Beautiful Creatures

November 30, 2017

The compulsion is back.

It never really left.

Panda has gifted me with some time alone and this new chair I have for my desk is not comfortable.
I have to get up and drag my sad ass to the couch.
I have to buy a new chair.
Also I am sick of looking at my clothes.

I have been home for days and the remnants of my trip, the unpacking, has yet to leave my bed. Chipping away, slowly.

I am on auto pilot.

I have written probably 6000 words in the last few days. I cannot stop, I don’t really want to.

I met a boy.

When my ears heard Swain, my mind said Wate.

A quiet bell of recognition rang out. Took me a few days to place it.

Ethan Wate: There’s no way that what Lena and I feel for each other is going to turn into something wrong and evil. There’s no way.

Macon Ravenwood: As long as I live I will never understand you creatures. You have no real power, you live at the mercy of forces outside of your control and yet you believe that what you feel, will somehow make it alright.

There it is.

Anyone following up until this point knows I have a rather embarrassing and prolific love for supernatural teen romance. Warm Bodies, City of Bones and ya the evil that is Twilight.
But in reality, I simply have a fondness for movies wherein they figure it out at the very end.
Garden State, Silver Linings Playbook and Notebook come to mind.
They wait, they miscommunicate and then suddenly everything is okay.

Wait.

Wate.

I watch these movies. 90 or so minutes for one moment. The end.

I have a few that top the rest. Where lightning strikes at the end and after a maddening build the promise of happily ever after begins and the credits roll.

If you haven’t seen Beautiful Creatures and you want to, now is the time to stop reading. There are 400 other posts in here without spoilers, read them instead.

It’s a star-crossed love story, aren’t they all?

I mentioned it to him when we were lying in bed. “There was a boy and there was a witch”. I didn’t say any more than that, one of us smiled and the other came in for a kiss. We must have kissed a thousand times in one day.

I watch these movies that I have seen one hundred times before and I know the moment is coming. I feel the build, my synapsis stand at attention, my mouth curls up or down depending. It’s like a rush really. Funny how I can see something over and over and it still elicits the same response, the same rush of emotions. I am addicted to feeling things. With the ones I mentioned before, it is almost always at the end. But in Beautiful Creatures there are two such moments.

In the middle when everything is a mess and they have been forced apart, he comes. Breaks through a barrier meant to keep them separate delivering an eloquent speech about everything he has been through to get to her and poof, blockade gone. It satisfies me. I like the idea of someone trying instead of giving up. As he holds her, a witness says “It’s not us who protect her now. It’s the boy.”

Thunderpunch to the heart.

I want to feel that safe, that wanted.

And for a while, everything is alright. Until it isn’t. Wouldn’t be a very watchable movie without some kind of conflict now would it?

A curse has to be broken.

She makes him forget everything about them, to keep him safe.

“There are many ways a person can die.”

“We don’t have words for all there is.”

And in the end, when he has been forced to forget her, he breaks through a spell again and remembers.
Calls her name and she hears him.

My chest is forced to expand and my heart just grows you know?

Ethan Wate: Most people spend their entire lives waiting for a moment that’s gonna change everything. It never happens.

I disagree.

It happened.

Now I am in the vexing part where I don’t know what to do or what is going to happen next. I haven’t seen this movie before because, despite all the beauty and the moments and the damn fine dialog, this isn’t some neat and tidy thing that gets wrapped up in a satisfying bow after 90 minutes. This is my life.

Amma: Close your eyes, say with your mind what you’re looking for as if you’ve already found it.

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Hearts & Darkness

November 29, 2017

 

Ironically I only go dark when I am shut out.

The Last One smiled and I saw a future in it.

The one who might have seen my future and knew I had things to do that didn’t involve him.

He who went dark and I can’t say his name because he won’t hear me anyways.

He is no longer listening. Even though my voice soothed him too.

It soothes them all.

I have seen various versions of varying futures.

No often. I usually know they are not mine to keep. Just to enjoy.

But those rare times I do see something that looks like staying, when they go, it about kills me.

I’ve found rib cages I wanted to crawl into and call home because their heartbeat was music I always wanted to listen to. Because I felt safe behind the bars of those particular cages made of flesh and bone, not trapped at all, just safe as houses.

Three times I wanted to go home, and stay there.

3 times I saw a smile with my future in it and 3 times I have been denied.

Each one a little more magic than the last.

“She was the kind of girlfriend God gives you young, so you’ll know loss the rest of your life.”
― Junot Díaz

Two of them were young. One exceptionally so. And I am turning over in my mind this bit of grit, polishing it until it becomes pearl. So what if he is young? He isn’t forever but he could have stayed a while and still been young when it was done. And yes, it would have hurt less later.

That hardly seems fair when it pains us both. I love them, I don’t want to be the thing they miss in the night when they roll over next to whatever girl didn’t scare them.

The Uses Of Sorrow

(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)

Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.”

― Mary OliverThirst

 

I have been turning this over in my mind too, trying to interpret, understand, glean what I can and I think I am the box of darkness. When my light goes out. When they shut me out.

I am a gift. I prove what is possible. Then they wander off and try to find pieces of me in another. But they come up wanting, and look for me again and again.

I have to remember/process/understand/believe this new thing I have just been told…
“It is not a punishment to love me or be loved by me.”

I think I have stumbled upon some answers on this third time of getting so close to the sun, melting and then plummeting back to earth, all feathers and wax and failure.

My heart is a clumsy child. She doesn’t know fear. She uses others to gauge the extent of her pain. She is innocent, wild and a dork really. You would think that they would see this vulnerable wonderful beautiful thing and want to scoop her up and protect her, keep her safe.

But nope.

They never see it, they don’t look.

They only see a challenge to be a better man and it scares them, they don’t see the reward on the other side for just trying a little. Just one step up is all it really takes to look over the wall and see into Eden.

My heart has a body guard and that is me. Grown strong from rebuilding over and over with the bricks of houses that collapse. Throwing back the stones that were thrown at me. Basic survival in harsh climates that were never meant for us. I am hardened and hard. And that is all that gets seen. This warrior made out of titanium wielding a sword, wayward wolves at her feet. Surrounded by a fortress of friends who are loyal; who protect and love me and suddenly I become work.
Indestructible, impenetrable.
Too much to bother with.
But the door is right here. And it’s open.

My heart is an unmade bed
It may look messy
But I swear it’s a safe place to rest

~Moriah Pearson

 

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Friday Night Fights (Nfld part 4, a prelude to Sunday)

November 28, 2017

This could/should be called “Meet Me on the Stairs”

But really, it’s chapter 4 a new hope.

Told you I was emulating George Lucas

There has already been a disturbance in the force.

I met the boy.

That Swain boy.

When I heard his last name some kind of quiet bell went off, like I had heard it somewhere.

But that was exactly how every minute with him felt, like a quiet bell ringing in familiarity, and has become a chapter all of its own. 7 days of knowing someone begat 7 articles.

And maybe one more for closure.

But this is about the Friday before the Sunday.

As I said I wasn’t sure if whiskey had tainted my memory. He offered to pop by on Friday night. I made it clear I had to work and he was fine with that.

I was fine double checking.

I danced for the cutiepatootie to this song.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R0uWF-37DAM&feature=share

So grindy and sexy and good. So was the dance. I made it so because I wanted to be there in that moment with him. 3 minutes feeling like days.

I am gifted sometimes with the knowledge that with specific moments I am creating memories that will keep me warm until I die.

This was one.

Lightning in a jar.

He has had a few names, but when speaking to my girls he was, and remains, the cutiepatootie.

It was more than that.

I was away from home and drained. When I met him I suddenly had something to look forward to.

But it goes further back than that. It had been a while since I had someone to look forward to.

I think that is why I felt so crushed when he did finally show up at the bar, I looked at him and realized ‘yes, he is as beautiful as I remember.’ I went to say hi and got very little in the way of reaction. He seemed more interested in talking to some dude at the bar than me. So I walked away.

And I pouted, hard. Out of sight and a little out of my mind.

Did I not look like he remembered? Was this a joke? A game?

Sometimes, often, boys vex me.

So often that I am used to it.

But that let down though.

The worst.

I hid upstairs, smoking, a few tears fell but I wouldn’t let them all out, I had spent a lot of time on my make up in anticipation of both a busy Friday night and a visit from this boy.

Panda tried to pep talk me and offered to shake him for me. I declined.

Instead, I sat in the corner and texted him “It’s so weird, there is a guy sitting at the bar that looks just like you. But it can’t be you because that guy is ignoring me.”

He messaged back “Do you mean me?”

Yes. Yes I mean you.

He said he was nervous and asked me to come back to him, so I did.

Spent the next 6 hours glued to him. Told you, we were magnets.

Even if we weren’t directly speaking to each other, if I let go, he would take my hand and put it in his lap.

I went on stage a few times. Got scooped up for dances here and there, but I always came back.

Started texting him to meet me on the stairs, and he did and we kissed, and it was good, amen.

The dude he had been speaking to earlier decided I wasn’t paying enough attention to him, Napoleon complex, the kind of guy who would piss on a flower for having the audacity to grow and be beautiful. I had a fire in my belly both from the boy and the whiskey so I sassed right back. As a result, yet another bar fight started because that dude couldn’t leave well enough alone and was being untoward towards me, within earshot of the boy and it stopped because I put my hand on his waist and said hush baby, he’s not worth it, stay with me.

And he did and it was good amen.

There’s hope.

In this ugly mess of men and women, there’s hope.

If a 22 year old fisherman from up shore that sounds like Brad Pitt in Snatch will defend a strippers honor there’s hope.

At the end of it all, I somehow walked out with $400 and a belly full of whiskey, despite not taking a penny from him.

As I was leaving the bar, one of girls asked the bouncer if it was safe to leave, his answer was “good luck” and an ominous shrug.

We pushed hard on the door and walked out directly into another fight. Apparently when it doesn’t rain on a Friday night in St. John’s the whole of George Street becomes drunk, rowdy and tangly.

In the midst of the immediate fray, I saw my boy, grabbed him by the hand and pulled him out of the second fight of the night.

Second verse the same as the first, went from seeing only red to seeing only me.

He smiled, kissed me and walked me to a cab. Even in my drunken state, in a strange city with a strange boy, I felt perfectly safe. Like calm in a storm.

 

 

 

 

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Scar Tissue Paper Heart

November 27, 2017

Mama Susan is probably not going to like this. She’ll call me monkeygirl and tell me to buck up. I am trying mama, I am trying so hard.

She dislikes it when I think the sky is falling, it usually isn’t really.
Unless it’s in that good way where the clouds come down and fog wraps itself around me like angel wings and home and solitude.

I can’t stop crying.

I want to.

But right now, I don’t have a choice.

Tried to contain it. It is a beautiful sunny day in November. My car is working again. I am home, puppers is here. I am heading back to the ocean soon. I have been writing and writing and writing. But something is wrong.

Maybe if I could name it I could logic it out.

The closest I can get is I am homesick but I am home.

It’s no secret that I watched the Secret, probably 1000 times. Not exaggerating. I would put it on before bed and fall asleep that way. Like learning a new language subliminally. Eventually it worked.

I also believe in souls and chakras and energy and auras.

Something is fucky.

My alignment is off.

The Secret says to listen to your body when it’s in a state of discord, you are doing something wrong. But I don’t know what it is. I am not fighting but I can’t float.

“Tell me teacher what’s my lesson” (Gary Jules), fuck, please just tell me. I will learn it, write it 1000 times until my hands ache.

Anything but this godforsaken limbo.

Where am I supposed to be?

Am I supposed to fight for something? I gave up fighting years ago.

Maybe there is a balance I am missing. Somewhere between letting go and holding on.

I spent 7 years on and off married. Mostly crying. Out of the 7 years there, 5 years sad.

And fuck. I am back there again. No earthly reason for it.

I was on the porch, absorbing the sun, content in the warm and I just couldn’t contain the flood. I cried without trigger or thought. Panda told me to just be in the moment, just get it out, but it’s hours later and I still feel sad.

I’ve had a low grade depression since October 6th. I am not drowning in it, but I am walking through water. Except for the magical times I walked on it. Maybe that’s it, maybe I am having magic withdrawal.

I feel out of place out of time and like something is wrong.

This isn’t the time for it. I am not ovulating or bleeding. My hormones are as balanced as they ever are.

I keep thinking maybe if I masturbate I will feel better. But my bed is full of the clothes I dumped out of my suitcase against my will and something in me is refusing to put them away. And it feels like betrayal.

I need to make a list of the simplest tasks today, like plant the bulbs and hope that in 121 days things will make more sense. “I know where the cupboards are, I know where the car is parked, I know he isn’t you.” (Tori Amos) that reminds me, I have to pick up the car. Pay the bills. Take out my contacts, order new ones, these are full of salt and grit and they hurt. Everything hurts. I am tired even though I slept like the dead. This isn’t a sickness of the body, although my body is on board with my brain and the ache is somewhere in my soul.

Everything I am feels battered and bruised and I am lost as to how to fix it. Other than rest and write and hope. But I don’t even know what to hope for anymore.

I am enough of an empath to wonder if maybe all this angst isn’t mine, but I don’t have the energy to sort through. I helped a girl today and it was the best I’d felt in a bit. Same thing happened last month. Random message turned into bonding and soothing, and with it came some relief for me.

She asked me how I could be so calm. How could I let logic come through the rowdy tea party in my head full of wailing angst and feelings of abandonment and unworthiness.

I sound calm and I type these words and I mean them but inside my chest my heart is having a fucking 4 year old hopped up on mountain dew and pixie sticks tantrum.

Some of these men I have loved left indelible marks on me. I have a scar tissue paper heart.

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Best Kind (Nfld part 3)

November 26, 2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I saved this for last.

Best kind.

Had to get everything else out first and honestly? The words wouldn’t come.

They didn’t come that night either.

Just a loop.

Boy

Bed

Good

More

Now

Not always in that order.

Sometimes peppered with yes, this.

To be perfectly blunt.

It still is.

I am trying to get my ego to simmer in a downward direction as she is screaming “I want I want I want” in a maddening round with the others.

I kissed him and saw the future in that brief, blissful moment.

 

He was mine for 24 hours, I knew that right away. Or my body did anyways. My mind did catch up, right on time.

I put off writing this because I didn’t want to sully it with facts or details and especially not comparisons.

But, as I have sat at this laptop for 7 days now, and 4000 words have come from my mouth to this place of black and white memories there is one thing that must be said.

I have had sex before.

Never mind the bad stuff.

I’ve had bestial, passionate, raw, might go crazy from the intensity sex. And god it was good.
But there are beasts everywhere and because I am what I am they feel safe to be monsters with me.
The good kind.

I’ve had lightning sex, wherein my body suddenly contains a hurricane. My entire nervous system is lit up and crackling with electricity and my orgasms break the sound barrier and rumble for minutes on end. I become the tides, shorelines breached, swells and crashing waves.

I mourned the first of the two for a very long time. Who wouldn’t?

Then the Last One came and brought the storms with him. I lamented (still do), but with the second strike of lightning in the same place came the realization that if there were two, there must be more. Rare but real. Do you understand?

But this.

This cosmic event that occurred while I was away.

I’ve had a myriad of human experience, I believe in magic, but I’d lost my faith.

It’s been restored.

I have proof of a godlike thing. And if not god, then a heaven.

I have been there.

With a boy I just met, on a white hotel bed, in a place I’d never been.

It was a reunion. Not meeting a stranger.

I understand the idea of compulsion now. My hands flew on their own, my mouth said words I didn’t even think about first and they were the right words. We were magnets, nothing could keep us apart.

I finally got to go home, but again to somewhere buried in my memory. And he had a heartbeat.

So safe and so warm.

I belonged there, with him.

I’ve never been touched like that. Like I was feeling everything beautiful I have ever seen a man do in a movie or read in a book and it was happening to me.

He barely got inside and I had this intense opioid orgasm. First of many. They came like tsunamis.

He was like a drug I forgotten I’d done but used to love and escape to. But no sick, just bliss.

And it wasn’t just me feeling that way. Neither one of us could comprehend what was happening except it was the most right we have ever felt. He kept using the word magic and that’s what it was.

I lost my words.

Found a few.

As I lay next to him, tangled and braided limbs, sated beyond measure I turned to him and said, “Do you think it’s possible our bodies knew it was going to be like this before our minds figured it out?”

He said yes.

I couldn’t stop touching him, even if I’d wanted to and no part of me wanted to stop.

It was the strangest thing.

When we were lying together I didn’t rightly know where my body stopped and his started. When he pulled away I felt like I’d been dipped in ice water and when he came back to me, warmth.

Aurora borealis shooting from our fingers onto the other.

The completion of a circle I didn’t know was broken.

The ecstasy of perfect recognition. (SK)

I am whole on my own, but lying under him, his head on my chest, my arms around him I felt complete.

Like everything was right in the world because we had found each other again.

Caim: sanctuary, an invisible circle of protection drawn around the body with the hand, to remind someone of being safe and loved…

Except it wasn’t invisible. He was flesh and blood and beautiful.

After, we both had a hard time being apart. He went into the woods and I got drunk.
I cried the whole way home.

“It’s having a thing and losing it that’ll kill ya.” Cold Mountain. Said by a blind man when asked what he would give for 5 minutes of sight.

I wouldn’t give a red cent for 5 minutes with him. I would carry a sense of incomplete and loss that I couldn’t ever explain. I’d be forever thinking I left the oven on or something was wrong.

But a day? A whole day with him, feeling him, being IN those moments, having him inside me. Was like being blind and seeing for the first time. Like being asleep and waking up, or more like a euphoric waking dream.

I paid dearly for him before we even met, I know this and I would gladly pay it again.

I think he was put there to remind me that there are miracles. That I haven’t experienced everything yet.

There’s a book series I love and there’s a phrase that gets repeated often
“There will be water if god wills it”.
(Stephen King, Gunslinger)

I’m okay with the idea that I got one perfect day on earth. Sustained happiness and contentment for 24 hours.

If that’s all it was then I am grateful.

He was a gift.

It’s hard not to go running back. I’m sure it’s hard to quit heroin too.

Same same.

He messaged me drunk and said he was coming for me.

I feel like a racehorse at the gate trying not to break into a run back to him.
All straining muscles, I was built for this.

But I won’t. Not yet.

I soothe him like honey and he makes me feel like home.

I’ve lived long enough to know everything is possible. My open, yet tiny, human brain has no idea of all there is.

But I’d forgotten that.

I am 43 years old and the universe gifted me with a reminder.

In the form of a beautiful boy with absinthe eyes.

 

 

 

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Falling Giants (part 6)

November 25, 2017

I have been home one day.

Not unpacked.

Not showered.

Written 3 articles, working on this and another.

I have “have to’s” tomorrow. I am on a roll. Set my alarm for 7, I will probably shower and not much else.

I messaged Giant to tell him I am home. He texted me last week. Thought it was sweet he couldn’t wait to talk to me. In retrospect I think he had something to tell me and didn’t spit it out. I spooked him most likely. I do that sometimes.

I said “I thought I’d come home and you’d be moving her in”. “Her” being his version of hot neighbor.

This one has a name, but I won’t speak it. She is not a traveling waitress, and she is rather lovely. She has good hair, just like Becky.

He invited me for afternoon tea, and I just knew.

I think I knew last week. Had a thought that soon he would be with her so it mattered not what I was doing or feeling, which happened to be a lot.

I knew about her because he told me. Just like I told him about the Last One.

Never did come up with a nickname for him, as ominous as “The Last One” sounds, it suits him. He with the freckles and the dark eyes and the ridiculously beautiful hair. Did I mention he was a ginger Italian? I didn’t know they made those. Like unicorns or other mythical creatures, he has disappeared into the woods, leaving me to question whether he ever existed at all.

He predicted the future, maybe he was more psychic than I knew. Maybe he was saving himself and freeing me to go away. I am glad I did, even with the withdrawal I am experiencing at this moment.

Away was good, so good I am going again. I decided to base this next trip to Florida on how I did on this last trip to Newfoundland. Then changed my mind and realized I get this one life and I will not pass up a chance to be by the ocean. So that’s that then.

Had I stayed with the Last One, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere but to him. I know this to be the truth and I said so out loud. I think I only went to Newfoundland because I was so sad about him. I needed reprieve from this house I built for his return.

What’s really gonna cook your noodle later is would you have still broken the vase had I not said anything? The Oracle, The Matrix

Did he know something I didn’t? He very specifically said I was going to fuck a fisherman. And I did. And if you have been reading up until now you know it was so good I can’t find the words for it, that’s how good it was.

You might even be disappointed that this isn’t about that. Suck it up. I said I’d get to it and I will.

Sarah Connor said there is no fate but what we make. Carved it into a picnic table. And I think she is right.

I think I was so sad for a while there because it wasn’t my destiny to be broken, barely able to get out of bed.

I spent years at the farm having my hand forced by the whim of a man. I decided on the Last One, but the universe had other plans, and I was to launch no matter what.

It was like a bow and arrow, I got pulled back through immense pain and stretching, nestled into my most comfortable and hurled into the literal future. I touched heaven and have now began my long decent back to earth.

While I was gone, things reset again.

I remember the grieving that never ended when the Giant went away the first time. As easy as I remember the elation when he returned.

This time I just asked if it was “time to exit quietly, stage left?”

“What’s the protocol?”

I answered “second verse same as the first, you’ll have to drop my movies off here and I will try to be good.”

No drama. Just falling leaves. Seasons changing again.

He went on to say my pussy is magic. Yep, some kind of rabbit in a hat that makes men vanish.

Silk scarves of neverending bullshit pulled from their mouths.

Wow, I got bitter there for a second.

I am back now.

And I am grateful.

Grateful for knowing how to love these men who come to me.

And for finally having the grace to let them go.

 

 

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Louder than Logic (Nfld part 5)

November 24, 2017

I had this whole thing mapped out as I sat on the plane, Panda barefoot and snoring next to me.
I was going to write one beautiful article about one magical night I had away and leave it at that.
Laptop was stored securely in the overhead bin, I didn’t have a chance to write it down.
We finally got home after touching down in 3 cities, losing ‘Iris the rogue passenger’ that got off the plane when she wasn’t supposed to (and subsequently became my power animal), and a tow truck pulling my car 2 hours the rest of the way home…I looked at my plants, I went to my room and I pulled his shirt out of the Ziploc, curled around it and went to sleep.

I am trying to untangle the now from the then, for literary purposes.

Here goes.

No, you didn’t miss part 3 and 4, they aren’t done yet.

 


 

Apparently I have become George Lucas.

Can’t seem to follow a timeline at all.

Funny how I can turn one boy and a week of my life into a novella, and I might yet. Change our names, get a little more crass and graphic, recount every tiny detail. Make up a happy ending. But for now this will have to do.

The club we were working at had a few pre-programmed playlists. I heard things I have never heard before and things that hit me with sweet nostalgia. The girl I am remembering the girl I was when I had them on repeat way back when, and laughing at her.

One of them being

Hope dangles on a string
Like slow-spinning redemption
Winding in and winding out
The shine of it has caught my eye
And roped me in
So mesmerizing so hypnotizing
I am captivated
I am

Vindicated

Dashboard Confessional.

I was vindicated. I was finally in the exact right place at the exact right time.

Yesterday I said that words had begun to fail me, and  this is why I am hesitant to write about 1:23 one day to 1:23 the next. I can’t articulate what happened exactly. Except to say the world fell away and I think I went home.

Or the closest to home I’ve ever been. Heaven in a hotel bed.

I can find some words. I said his eyes were absinthe and they are. I said us meeting was like stoking a bonfire, all sparks and warmth, the kind that comes from combustion and burning.

But other things. Like when it was over, the only words that would come were “we’re supposed to be here” and “right” and “better” and “good”.

And my favorite “magic”.

I haven’t yet mentioned the next day, as I stood outside the club texting him, that the manager walked up to me and knew exactly who I was talking to by the look on my face.

It had been 7 hours and my body was going through what I can only imagine felt like the emotional equivalent of heroin withdrawal.

I’d sat on the horrible green couch in the cathouse and cried. Like I am crying now. The logical part of my brain saying “someday you will be grateful that you got to feel this once, try being grateful now”. And I tried. But the craving is louder than logic.

Panda got up 2 hours later and found me on said couch. Saw my eyes, heard the cracking and wavering in my voice, said “I just woke up, keep it in check for a bit.”

So I tried.

Once I was given permission I tried to articulate what had happened and failed. Beyond saying I have never that content for that long of a time. Yes, I have been over the moon happy before but it’s fleeting. I went to heaven for a night then had to come back to earth. It was a hard fall.

Even now, the craving hasn’t subsided.

You know the thing babies do, when they are peacefully sleeping and the corners of their mouth draw up into a smile? I was doing that on the plane, I would close my eyes see his face, mostly his profile as we were driving around, see him clearly in my mind’s eye made me smile in my sleep. Then the sting of tears would hit my eyes, I would wake up and try again 5 minutes later.

7 hours of that.

I meant to leave it where it was.

I said my goodbyes and had wrapped the memory up in gold paper with a ribbon, to be opened later and likely often. Said I would take what happened and write it down as a chapter in a book, and I will.

I liked it there, on that rock. The food was good, we were treated incredibly well by almost everyone. When the final tally happened the money was good. I heard tales of icebergs and whales and I wanted to see them.

And I had a regret.

I only have one picture, it’s of me smirking in bed while he was having a shower.

I took two mental photographs that night with him. One of him sitting up in the big white king sized bed, grinning at me as I walked back in the room and one that couldn’t have happened but somehow it did.

He was tired when he picked me up. Drove me to Cape Spear anyways, killed some time before check in. But he was yawning and apologizing for it and in all honesty, I didn’t want to wait. My internal dialog just sounded like “boy” and “bed” on a repetitive loop. Once we got into the room it was straight to bed, all snuggles and touching.

He fell asleep for a minute, with his head on my chest, arm draped over me. I wanted to take a picture like that. But I didn’t want to wake him or be creepy. But I imagined myself doing it regardless. And for a second, left my body and saw us.

And good god it was glorious. Even the angels were envious.

 

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That Swain Boy (Newfoundland part two)

November 22, 2017

As I lay next to him, tangled and braided limbs, sated beyond measure I turned to him and said, “Do you think it’s possible our bodies knew it was going to be like this before our minds figured it out?”

He said yes.

But we will get back to that.

 


 

I can explain everything.

This is my gift. Events unfold and I find the words. Sometimes, when I am lucky, I can find the reason too. I also know enough to know, there isn’t always a reason.

I have a good relationship with my gut, after ignoring my fate and the instincts that would have pushed me in good directions for years, I now hear my inner thoughts loud and clear. There are those that ramble and babble, and those that are so authoritative they cannot be ignored.

Like the one that said “kiss him before he goes.” There would have been a world of regret had I ignored that one. I knew it then and I know it now.

I find that I am no longer fighting upstream to places I don’t belong. I just float and land where I should be.

I carried two phrases for years, found them towards the end of time called before.

Let go and let god I saw outside a church , and everything is as it should be, Dalai Lama said it and they felt like truth in my mouth.
I say I carried them, and I did, but I didn’t put them into practice right away. I wasn’t ready yet.

I still have times where I get hurt, lost, confused.

I was coming out of a dark place when I agreed to go away with my roommate on a working vacation.

I think that is why I wanted to go, travel into the future and see what was there for me. Get out of my head and bed for a bit.

Newfoundland is a strange place. A big rock surrounded by the Atlantic. We heard tales that it was Stripper Mecca. Fishermen coming in with giant paycheques after being out to sea for weeks on end.
We were to work at a place called Sirens, which made me happy, just the name of it.

I have come to realize that strippers speak in the same way that survivors of the apocalypse will. Everything is better on the opposite end of the country from where you are. Here in the middle we hear tales of out east and out west. They think everything is wonderful here. It’s all nostalgia and hearsay.

But that isn’t what this is about.

457 words and I am getting to it.

My last post mentioned a boy.

I gave him my number and we made plans.

It was exactly that simple, but it wasn’t.

I mentioned to the manager I had a date with someone for my day off.

“That Swain boy?” (He knew)

“Yes I think so, Brandon’s friend.”

“Good, he’s best kind.”

“He’s what now?”
(Their accents are thick and the phrasing strange)

“Best kind. Good people.”

“Yes, yes I think he is.”

I used the word ‘think’ when speaking but my internal dialog said we knew.

I fought my inner thoughts a bit and lost. I had only met him the once, there was whiskey involved, spoken via text. Sometimes my memory invents things, maybe I thought there was more than there was. Maybe my whiskey goggles and sexual frustration making him cuter than he actually was. I was relieved however when he mentioned popping into work the Friday before the Sunday we were to meet up. Just to double check.

Vacation fling meant I could be even more honest than my usual blatantly honest self and I found my fingers spelling out ‘all I really want is some food and a big clean bed with you in it’.

Something about him made something in me just take over. The words I spoke, the things I did. It was strange but not in a frightening way. All I felt was calm and want.

He seemed all I could think about. Every time my phone went off I’d scowl if it wasn’t him and smile if it was. I wanted him alone somewhere and shutting the world out. No loud music, no bar fights, no clothes.

This is where words start to fail me, they become unnameable sighs of contentment. Descriptions become waves of warmth and comfort. The psychic flashes I had coming to fruition like beautiful, reverse déjà vu.

“Such a strange sensation when the reality matches what you pictured in your mind so precisely.”
Eric, True Blood

 

(this is part 2, part 3 tomorrow)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Take Me Back to the Night We Met (part one)

November 22, 2017

 

 

 

 

 

I took a cab to the ocean on the 7th day of my trip. Chatty fellow the cabbie, pushy too. Full of stories. We bartered a flat rate and got a tiny tour of this strange place we’d found ourselves in.

The idea that my time at the water was limited vexed me some. But I managed to find my Zen. Always do.

I walked, I picked up rocks, I put my hand in the water and listened.

There is something so very soothing about the ocean. It feels like I am watching the earth breathe as the swells come in and out. Suddenly I can breathe too.

I was in Newfoundland. This big desolate rock covered in dirt and sticks and fishing villages. Nearly no beaches, just coves and cliffs and ocean.

I could have swore she told me to go home.

But I am back home now, as I am writing this to you, and my heart isn’t exactly here with me.
I am reminded that I’ve never really known what home was.

5 years ago I couldn’t have explained what happy was either. I had known pockets of time wherein I could say “yes, in this moment I am happy” but they were fleeting.

As I changed and evolved and tried to figure out life and love I can now sweetly shake my head at my old self who thought something big had to happen for the moment to be memorable and say “oh honey, just you wait.” I shuffled through her memories and found motes and iotas and 5 minutes here and there of peace.

Consequently, I have more of them now. Sometimes they are the big things. Like getting on planes and having adventures. Driving into the country and finding Valhalla in the woods in a quiet room. Floating in the water at the apex of the eclipse. They last for a while then my brain returns to its regularly scheduled program of ‘I need a smoke’ or ‘I am hungry’ or ‘what’s next’ and the chatter resumes.

My mind is rarely quiet, even in sleep I dream confusing dreams. 2 days into my trip I dreamt of traveling and finding myself in a hotel that was magic and being invited to go through a portal to somewhere amazing. But in my dream I couldn’t get through the portal, I had to let go of things.

I sat at the bar the night after the ocean and thought about going home. The club started to fill up and I made a bit of money. I sat at the bar between stage shows. A boy I had met the week before who called me Zodiac Mama came by, so I sat with him between dances.
When I came back 2 other boys had showed up. Young ones, not townies but from Up Shore they called it.

You need to understand, these boys talk like Brad Pitt in Snatch, fast and hard and full of sayings that made no sense to me. Their words are not in any order that my ear has heard before. So the entire time I sat sandwiched between the 3 of them my mind was on a lag trying to keep up and comprehend what I’d heard. Also, it didn’t help I was staring at the greenest eyes I have ever seen, nothing in nature to describe the color, except maybe peridot in sunshine, absinthe maybe. Green fairies live there.

We teased and talked.

I liked him, it was palpable. Like poking a bonfire, there were sparks floating in the dark and it was warm. I gave him my number. Teased him a bit, showing him I had gotten his messages but hadn’t messaged back.

He was young and I knew it, I didn’t want to know how young.

I never do.

He asked me for a dance, and then about my age. I didn’t lie.

I never do.

He smiled. Told me he was 22.

My hands moved on their own. I couldn’t stop touching him and none of me wanted to.

I went back on stage and his buddy got tangly with some other customer. I kept dancing but kept my eye on them too. They won the fight.

As I stepped down and the bouncer pulled them apart, I panicked at the thought of him leaving, a very loud voice in my head insisted I had to kiss him before they got kicked out.
So I did.

While my eyes were closed I had a vision of us laying in a bed somewhere, holding onto each other.

My mind went quiet in that moment, and every other moment I spent with him.

 

 

 

 

 

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The Day Louis C K Broke my Heart

November 14, 2017

I do not subscribe to the cult of celebrity.
Never have, beyond teenybopper crushes on Corey Haim and the New Kids. But those feelings had no basis in reality, I knew I wanted them, but what I wanted? No idea yet. Just whispers and ideas in the dark at slumber parties. Kissing and then…and no and then.

Being famous doesn’t make you a good person.
Let that sink in
These people on this list and everyone in Hollywood or political office or police force or any other positions of any kind of power are still fucking human…and just like any other human they can be angels or monsters or any shade of grey between the two.
Fucking athletes too.
We glorify these people and somehow expect them to behave better.

Then we have these two, very opposite reactions when they do fuck up. We pounce and celebrate their fall from grace, or we rush to defend them.

Huh?

You do not know this person. You have seen them on a screen, that is not who they are. Wake up buttercup.

I was working in a strip club far, far away the day Robin Williams died. I plugged my phone in to charge for an hour or two and heard the news when I logged back in. That hit me in the childhood. I will admit, I cried a bit when I got home. Difference here being, a lot of his work was His, he improvised a lot of dialog, and by all accounts he was a good man.

Carrie Fisher, same note. Except she had a great life so I did not mourn.

I will admit I had never heard of Harvey Weinstein before the news broke a few weeks ago.

Was I shocked that a man who wielded that kind of power abused it?

Nope.

Absolute power corrupts absolutely.

He had their careers in his pocket. Used his (presumably) micro-penis as the key to the kingdom.

The average dude walking down the street has no idea the kind of power he has over me, late at night, dark street, walking my dog. My heart beats in my chest I look for weapons and escape routes, street lights, people…anything really that gets me away from the perceived danger.

He could be the nicest man in the world but in vulnerable circumstances, my brain immediately switches to fight or flight, and until #metoo became a thing, I don’t think all men knew this. They were quick to dismiss ‘but I’m safe’, not all men though’.

Maybe not all, but a fucking lot.

I slept with a man for almost 2 years, casually, we had an agreement/arrangement and it suited us just fine until one night, I wasn’t feeling it and he didn’t care how I felt. I did the thing almost all women have done, which is just give in, grin and bear it until it’s over and it’s safe to leave.
Then never go back.

That was just once out of countless times I forced back my rage to stay safe. I am tired of choking on it.

That is the problem, too many times to count…

I have lost count of the number of women who were assaulted by Bill Cosby, and for months after the fact, even now, there still exists people who say “no, he couldn’t have”. Mind you there are flat-earthers and those who think dinosaurs are a hoax too. The ignorance of man knows no bounds.

I have a short list of celebrities I would sit on a park bench with.

Tom Waits

Keanu Reeves

Russel Brand

Last week, it got shorter.

I had a grown woman crush on Louis C K.
I jokingly said I would fuck the shit out of him, never wanted to marry him as he seemed like that was something he would never do again, but ya, I was sexually attracted to him. I mentioned it to a friend of mine and he thanked me for giving hope to smart, funny gingers all over the world.
The difference between Jeff and Louis C K, I have been alone with Jeff many times and the only time I ever saw his dick is when I asked to see it. I feel like had I ever met Louis, it could have gone a different way.
Louis won me over with his logic, his delivery, his humility and how he just seemed so human you know?

And therein is the answer.

These golden calves up on the hill in Hollywood that we bow down and worship are human, and thereby fallible.

Obviously.

But we airbrush them and put them on pedestals so high we can’t see the bags under their eyes or the filth in their hearts.

“Are you not entertained?” Maximus, Gladiator

I was, now I am grossed out.

I can walk into a theater and leave this world for 90 minutes, enraptured and transported by whatever is on screen, but when I walk back out I know that whatever character whatever actor just played for me is not who that person is in real life.

It was different with Louis, he never pretended to be anything he wasn’t…except when it mattered.

He stood up on a stage and said “historically speaking the number one threat to women is men.” Then he did the thing.

I threw up a bit.

Felt like betrayal, not gonna lie. What you say in public doesn’t count for jack shit if what you do in private is the opposite.

But we see this phenomenon over and over. Regular Joe and Jane on the street being positively destroyed by the death of someone they have never met.

And now this.

It is a type of death really. The death of perception.

Like having a soft chewy oatmeal cookie in front of you and taking a bite only to discover those are Not chocolate chips, but raisins instead.

Which is basically how much this has affected my life. Its just raisins and a little bit of disappointment.

These women who are coming forward to tell their stories of how men have treated them in private have the real battle to fight here. Starting with public opinion, which, guys…really means jack shit.

I see a reckoning coming.

I see women getting more powerful by the day.

I see men being afraid.

They should be, this is a witch hunt and the witches are the ones coming for them this time.

Two lines from Hollywood movies keep running through my head…

“We are not things” Mad Max Fury Road

And

“This is all man’s bullshit, they make the weather then stand in the rain and say ‘shit it’s raining’.”
Cold Mountain

Every day this stays in the media, every new parasitic worm that gets dragged into the light and exposed, the more powerful I feel. Kinda like I did walking out of Wonder Woman.

I feel something changing in me and hopefully in other women.

Personally?

I’m done.

No more pressure sex

No more benefit of the doubt

No more rape jokes

No more giving guys a chance.

Burden of proof is on you now.

Prove to me you aren’t guilty

Prove to me you don’t condone and perpetuate rape culture.

There is no earthly reason for me to entertain you.

I pay my own bills and get myself off just fine.

No more getting away with it.

Get used the word NO said loud and often.

And no…its not a challenge.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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