she loved me

Jeff is playing the guitar and singing quietly in his living room. Even though I've told him how much I enjoy his playing he seems self-conscious about doing it much around me. I guess I'm the same with the piano. I shared two glasses of wine with Jeff tonight and my head feels a little bit fuzzy, and I feel loose and light. I smiled too much and too big, it felt very good.

I'm full of big questions and I don't know how to pose them. They sit quietly inside me and mature, even gradually resolve themselves. What do I really want from life and are my day to day choices a reflection of that? The ultimate truth about me? Or do they reflect a little bit of the fear that crowds my actions? Inspires me to be small when I long to be big. Convinces me to be safe when I wonder what risk tastes like, feels like... Exposes what I truly believe about myself, that I am bound to this little sphere that I have always functioned in and was not meant for anything bold, adventurous or wildly free. And then I wonder, is all of that okay? Because it is the reality of who I am? My own inner dialogue.

I dreamt about an old woman last night, thin, bent with long wispy gray hair and draped in white loose clothes, a sad, forlorn face standing before me in a bathroom. An omen, she loved me, like a ghost and I knew not what to make of her. I had seen her face before, in stranger circumstances and had carefully tended to her garments to make everything how it had been before, to make it right. I had been a mess, a horrible mess and found myself out of control and distraught. I was in a pretty black dress, made up and lovely and I was destroying it without meaning to. And I cried desperately in the state I was in. To make up for it I climbed into a shower in my pretty black dress and let the water saturate every part of me, hair, skin, clothes. Hoping it would fix it, knowing it couldn't fully...

In her face I believe she struggled to speak to me, to impart something of great importance. Her face so troubled! She never said a word. All her feeling was written on her face.

The United States of Sad

Too many movies. It's strange how there are days when I can have the tv going constantly and others when one film gives me a migraine and strains my eyes. I think it really comes down to how many things I watch that I concentrate on. I watched too many things I wanted to concentrate on today. Which is why I usually stick with the same-old-shit. I tune it out while I paint or make a box, or tailor a shirt.

I made a little box for my NY ornament, and a little cloth bag for the owl Fawna gave me. I can't tell you how much pleasure those simple acts give me! I keep trying to work out ways to make those activities a bigger part of my life, bring them in in a way that involves revenue. But I think I need to come up with something sweet to go in them. That's the bit that stumps me. I make my little boxes for things that already exist. (why didn't I bring that tiny ceramic doll?) Why didn't I bring Sendak's Nutcracker either? Or my equipment for developing film? These questions never cease to perplex me.

I'll be blogging a lot(!) over the next two months. I'll be on my ass in an office style job- in front of a computer. I heard Dana Carvey use the expression "A major case of the Fuck-its." When I got back to the apartment today, I had a fair amount of the fuck-its in me. Even though I am, first and foremost, happy to have a job, and even excited about the work- I can't help feeling below it all the realization that this isn't what I want to be doing- not for 40 hours a week. I don't mean so much so that I'd quit like Momo, but just enough that I think it makes me feel that fuck-it mentality. I will enjoy this work, I will conquer it and what ever aspects are difficult or challenging. I will master it. But when I relax inside and listen closely I'll hear my inner voice sigh. Because this is work, it's all hard work, and a minor battle over who I actually am. I will be conquering and mastering myself in the process. And that makes me tired at times.

Jeff is watching Family Guy over a cup of milk and a ho ho to recover from The United States of Leland. Something about a well told story makes me surge inside. Even if it's sad, or tragic, or maybe terrifying... This is the second time I've watched it and I cried this time. I wanted to cry, not because I was in pain, but more because I wanted to cry with him for the sadness in our lives, in life, in the world. He let it over-take him. I think it made him unable to believe in the good or the beautiful. All the bad in life and people canceled out their good. At least at first... Maybe in the end his perspective did shift? I don't think he minded dying, maybe he wanted it? Maybe it was the only way he could really stop carrying all that sadness? Like Ryan, or at least how he saw Ryan. When I was first watching the movie I thought the opening scene was about him being attacked as a boy, the movie ends with the same moment, only different characters, but each, in a sense, baring a similar motive. Leland, I think, wanted to release Ryan from the sadness of his own life, and maybe he felt it would help him release his own too. The kid in the end wanted to make things right in Ryan's family. "It's over". The moments could be interchanged, the words equally applied to both. Leland became Ryan, died the same way, on the grass, stretched out long, eyes closed, a peaceful face, a quiet moment.

Most of all, what I felt this time around, what I've felt for a long time is that suffering is meant to be a part of life, that it serves a deep purpose. I can bring no justification for this, only this feeling. It is like a fire that refines us, can refine us. There is a special, nuanced beauty that people posses who have suffered deeply. Their character is rich, and in their damage, in their pain they enter an incredible connection with everyone who has suffered. It is a bond, the true road to empathy. It is clear in the movie that Leland is designed to be special, in touch. That despite what he has done who he is is beautiful. The two greatest crimes that I see Leland as committing are that instead of seeing a root to bring happiness to Ryan, instead of trying to be a part of that root, he takes his life and that he doesn't anticipate the fallout. The devastation on Ryan's family. A wound from which they will never recover, that they have been crippled by the tragedy. He has stolen two things, a boy's life and the ability of an entire family to live normal lives.

We have a peculiar problem with the cold tap in the bathroom that I have never encountered before. The only way I can really describe it is that it seems to shut itself off. I turn it, it runs for a fraction of a second and stops with a grand "thunk" from under the cabinet. Repeat indefinitely until I give up and rinse my mouth with hot water. Or brush in the kitchen sink. What would make it do that?

Maybe I'll read. I was so tired before. Didn't sleep enough last night and rose early to train.

a time of odd

I had rather an odd weekend. More in an emotional sense. Not bad just different. Me and Jeff had a late brunch on Sunday (?) and towards the end we were chatting, or rather I was talking at him, when I suddenly felt like I should go to the bathroom without delay. I had a funny feeling in my stomach, not nausea, just funny. I stayed for a while, until I felt a little less funny. And evacuated the restaurant as soon as I came out. In part it was the party of five that was seated next to us who completely overshadowed our own conversation with their very large presence and inane chatter, but it also had something to do with the fact that I had just unloaded a lot of dirty laundry on Jeff from my past and I think my body reacted before my brain could. What button had I accidentally stumbled on in myself that activated that borage of garbage? Dear god! Jeff receives everything the same way, implacable calm. Still, I reacted to myself. He didn't mind, which is good.

Stuff in general is starting to come up, the crazy's. I guess it's that phase in the relationship for me. My odd brand of relationship insecurity. It isn't intense, or generally that visible, but occasionally I have an outburst and I don't feel so good about it. Today was odd. I feel uncertain about my own behavior, in a mediocre sense. Nothing monumental, just not quite right. And a little moment between me and Jeff. I'm not who I used to be, but I still have very strong reactions. I think I'm confused and unclear on how to interpret his and my behavior at times. I think some of it has to do with a list of crazy rules I bring into relationships and each time Jeff doesn't seem to reflect that I get concerned. So I have to sort through the bull-shit rules and release that expectation, reinterpret his behavior and evaluate it based on reality. Maybe evaluating his behavior and actions isn't really the right attitude either? But then what? I constantly measure everything. I think it's another rule, but it is also my core approach to day-to-day living. Eek. I think I look at everything like it's a job and I'm trying to give my best performance, in order to do that I have to keep evaluating everything to gage the best response and therefore have the best possible life. Sigh, right? I don't have a clue how to be spontaneous! I can't shut my mind off! I'm this huge machine constantly chugging away, working on everything! I think that is actually part of the odd that I felt this weekend, I broke some of those rules, I was a bit off. It felt kind of free and loose, but still odd. Help.

I've been reading slowness by Milan Kundera, and I don't think I like it. I respect him immensely, he is brilliant, always thought provoking, challenging. But what I don't like about Slowness is the constant conclusions about human nature and motivations in this story. What I'm coming away with is this ultimate evaluation that people are silly, lack sincerity, and only self-seeking. Oh, and that we are easily cajoled. It's a very harsh judgement in the end. It makes me sad. I do realize that there is a myriad of weaknesses in human nature, that we can be cajoled, act self-seekingly, can lack sincerity- but I also believe in true strengths in us, that alongside the weaknesses are good qualities, that we can exhibit true love, sacrifice, penetration, wisdom, sincerity. The other conclusion I have been coming to through reading it is that people can have a very different awareness, realization about human nature or events, what ever they may be reflecting on. It makes me think of The United States of Leeland (?) too. His ultimate evaluation is that people are sad and weak- prone towards the bad. So he carried all this sad he saw and couldn't bare it. How to articulate fully this thought? It's a bit like those moments in Shakespeare when a character turns to face the stage and speaks alone before the audience his or her truth. What makes it true is that they live the implications of what they see, they believe it. But it doesn't mean they are right. There is penetration in their evaluations, some remnant of ultimate truth maybe, but it is tainted by their world view. I hate these words! They are tainted by universal associations. They fail to capture what I mean. What is frightening beneath this is a different implication I can't help seeing, that my world view, what I believe, how I see, isn't right either. And so we fall back on believing that living in accordance with what we call truth is salvation. Whatever that means.

Anyway. I have a job for the next two and a half months, and who can say what comes after that? I have no idea! I see possibilities and that is all. Diverse. I feel my inner compass hanging close to change, a perpetual state of change. It entices me. With that I close my thoughts and rest.

Saying goodbye

44 years old and he seemed to me a mere boy at times. Arms and legs wrapped around me, his face tucked in close to mine. A happy little boy. How can that child stay so close to the surface of the man? Guide him seamlessly a the most unexpected moments. Then disappear, unnoticed. And I his constant witness, silent, amazed, but mostly curious. I see a lot of little boys. Peter never dies, without warning he'll step up to the helm, gallantly guide the ship, and suddenly retreat without a word, without a sign. He couldn't know that was the last time. I didn't. Never such a clean break, never so gentle, so affectionate and with barely a word. For one moment in my life a simple action had achieved artform! Accidental, graceful beauty. This is my tribute to him, my last farewell. I just wanted to say goodbye.

a lot of hope

Maybe including the word "Fucking" in the title of my sculpture blog was not the most professional decision?

I find out tomorrow if I will be working for the next two months. It doesn't sit well with me that I had to wait a week to find out. Cynicism setting in. I'm in trouble if not. It's the only decent work lead I've had at all. If I keep thinking about this I think I'm going to descend into mild despair. I feel kind of helpless about the whole matter. I do all in my power, but coming to the end of my options does make me feel serious concern. I think I need to do another Williamsburg walk with a pile of resumes and see if I can't pick up another weekend job.

I've been listening to a Christmas song over and over for a couple days now. I forgot to play it over the holiday and I really like it a lot. I don't know, it's more a song that happens to be words about Christmas.

I finished the cover. That feels good at any rate. The need to be productive in these gap work phases really intensifies. They are a couple of silly little stories, but maybe that is all you can hope for when it comes to dealing with literature for the extremely young? I think we just have a problem as adults conceiving how to write for kids who can't read yet, or aren't using language. It's a little imbecilic, and heavily burdened by this unquestioned assumption that every story for children needs a moral. Maybe they're a tad young for morals yet? How about just having fun? The one about squirrels involves a lot of nuts and burying. That gets a bit repetitive to draw. How dynamic is the flow? Not very. Sigh.

I applied to two places when I got home today that excite me. In particular the one looking for sculptors. My heart just hopes, hopes, hopes... It hurts when I see a listing that truly and deeply appeals to my interest and I never hear from them. It seems that in so many areas in life the people who respond are the ones that didn't necessarily excite our deepest interest. Which hasn't meant the opportunity didn't surprise me in a good way. It all comes back to the blue coat in my own mind. A personal metaphor I don't think I've ever articulated. I found it on a sale rack and it was interesting, but not amazing. Ultimately the nominal cost (two bucks as I recall) was the clencher. If I didn't end up liking it or wearing it, what's the loss? It became my favorite coat, it totally surprised me, I totally surprised myself. It constantly reminds me to give things, or people a chance that I might feel ambivalent about. A test phase. First impressions are so faulty!

I really got myself off an early schedule. After all, I'm not working at nine every morning what's the point of turning in early? Now it's hard, I'll have to transition back into it again. On average I get out of bed at eleven now. I feel like a lazy fucking bastard! Today I don't like that. I want to feel like an active, responsible adult.

I meant to call my mom again this evening. I want to push up this thing that is upsetting me. But I feel silly, because I have no leads in myself so what would I say? Just sit there hoping it might surface for me.

John recently said any work is better than none, and though I see the truth in it I see an obvious danger. If I accept bad work at bad pay I may miss a better opportunity that comes around. I'm not so good at the sheisty thing. Ditching jobs for better opportunities. So I hold tight, keep trying and hope, hope, hope. And I feel this gentle twinge... The pain of fear.

troubled

The apartment has felt so empty to me these last two days. Empty meaning lonely. Maybe the main reason is because I've been exercising a new idea. Not having the tv on all the time, or movies. It tends to be my default background noise, and I think that's just it. Noise, to cover over what ever hides behind it. Silence. The other thing is the absence of Scotti, I haven't seen him since Friday and all is not well in the roommate realm. Discord has arisen between John and Scotti. I think he's avoiding the apartment. That troubles me, and I think things are just brewing in the direction of worse. I am troubled.

I had a really nice evening with Jeff last night, which led into a nice morning. I was excited about seeing him again this evening and elated when he called. But he wants to stay at his place tonight and spend time with his brother. I interpreted that as him wanting the evening to himself. Which is fine, but I am disappointed. I've been coming up against some strong barriers in myself lately. It starts as a hint, something that you see in your peripheral vision and don't fully register. It's still just beginning to form into something in my consciousness, so I'm still at the stage where I'm interpreting what it is rather than being fully aware. At the heart of it I see it pretty clearly as vulnerability and trying to stay away from it. I'm afraid. Like a very small fly, I think at first it is nothing and just brush it carelessly from my face. But it is persistent and I begin to pay attention, and begin to see a fear tucked so quietly in me that it seems barely to exist. How afraid am I? I'm not sure, I haven't tested it. I still seem disinclined to take it seriously.

The problems that have come up in the apartment, the discord has disrupted me in another way. I feel doubtful again about the right direction for me. When things were secure with Jonas there was no doubt, just letting the routine that had formed in my life run it's course and to contentedly follow it. Insecurity does funny things to people. It's making me doubt myself in so many areas. When I came home Sunday and John was so upset I didn't feel okay about my own position, I didn't think any of it was adequate. I felt like the only truly responsible thing would be to leave the apartment and let someone else come in who could pay their part of the rent. I feel doubtful about this two month job that may happen. What if it doesn't? There are no guarantees. Then what? I'm making myself anxious. I still look for work, and I grow more and more certain that nothing will come from Jonas.

I dreamt about a man being indifferent to me, and I was deeply worried, because I cared about him and I saw pain in my future. I was in pain already. I spent a little too much time yesterday remembering relationships that had left me damaged. I guess I had no idea how they could get back into me and reek havoc on how I'm feeling now. It was like ingesting a virus or a poison. I have hurt myself! What is curious is I see in me the birth of love in the danger of indifference. Why? What can I do about that? That is an imbedded disfunction in me. Perhaps it is a fatal attraction to the effort of winning the love of a man who can or will never give it, his heart is too hard.

the blood sucker

I had a strange dream. I had gone out to the ocean, on a remote stretch of land isolated like an island or peninsula. It was dark, as it so often is. I was alone, waiting. There was a room at a hotel with three beds in it and one was mine. The room was small and tight with doors on both sides letting in and out of other rooms, surrounded. I passed through the back door near my bed and went out into the night to walk. I don't think I had any direction, just restlessness. I didn't know what to do with myself. The place was suburban, a bit like being back in Durham court. From time to time I revisit Durham court and it is always an anxious place. I passed rows of houses, like we lived in at Durham, about four small places attached, an early predecessor of the town home, but poor in stature, with humble residents. The yards were small and sloped up sharply. As I passed on the road beside the sidewalk I just spotted a small creature in the grass slightly spasm. At a quick glance I thought it was a pet guinea pig and that it was just shy of dead. For a fraction of a second I was going to move on and forget about it, but the thought of a small suffering creature throbbed in me and I turned back and bent down to it. I found it was a runt of a bunny, frail and thin beyond any bunny I'd ever seen. My heart was moved as if I were looking at a loved child returned to me and I took the creature into my arms and drew it close to me, enveloped in my arms. I expected it would not live very long but I wanted to attempt to nurse it back to health. I brought it to my hotel room and somewhere along the way a transformation occurred. The bunny was a warm chestnut brown when I found it and became solid black and teardrop shaped, like a gorged leach. It was sucking the blood out of me greedily and no amount quenched it. I could not get away from it's mouth, and I tried vainly to restrain and contain the blood sucker. All this time I had been waiting for someone to join me, my mother. She arrived at this point, I was in the bathroom of the hotel room which was large and set lower than the rest of the space and covered in sterile white tile everywhere. It sparkled, exuded untouched, nothing but white tile. When my mom arrived I expressed my grievance and desperation to her, that I could not get away from this little black blob that sucked my blood. And I remember nothing else.

As I lay in bed last night I had a realization. And it made me want to cry, but I couldn't. It's that feeling low in your throat and high in your chest. Jeff has never once said anything to make me feel bad about myself and on reflection I've never heard him say anything bad to anyone that would make them feel bad about themselves. And the facts are that every other guy I've ever dated has, and usually often. Fuckers! What made it worse was knowing I had never done anything to these men to provoke them, never been cruel or hurtful. It puts a burning desire for retribution in me. As well as eating at me to know I put up with it, in silence. I didn't think very highly of myself. God, if I could do it over all the men that I would write out of my life! Most of them. Amazing.

Going a little stir crazy

I woke up this morning and promptly wrote a better cover letter. It's been on my mind. I know all these things about me as a worker that I know recommend themselves and I have struggled to communicate them. This morning I guess the words seemed obvious to me. The final conclusion I came to after seeing my list of qualities I bring to a job was that I am like a cross between a dog and a succulent. High rewards and low demands. What boss wouldn't love that? I could almost include in my cover letter "thrives on neglect". Only a sadist would actually jump at that. Must have her!

Something else on my mind is classic books, maybe unintentionally, show a love between female friends that resembles romance without sex. Based on their lives the people they are truly able to bond with and have any potential of a soul-mate style relationship with are mothers, sisters, and girlfriends. There was so much isolation between men and woman and the ways in which they were able to interact appropriately and maintain propriety in the eyes of their society. So who is your true lover? A best friend because it was not seen as wrong. Totally intriguing!

There has only been one new job post on craigslist since yesterday, I'm gracefully taking it as an invitation to back the fuck off and spend some time being sane. Maybe reading an intense thriller-style novel (even if it was written in the 1850's) isn't the best accompanyment to my current situation? It wires me. But it's fabulous! I love Miss Halcombe, best freakin character ever created. She is a fire! Something else truly unique about this story that I can't say I've come across in any other book (which is utterly captivating) is the good characters do everything right based on the judgements they are able to make in each situation. The evil they are facing is so pernicious and persistent that as a reader you see them as mere prey struggling with all there faculties to survive in a situation in which they are surrounded by the predator. The only fault on their part that occurs that sets this game in motion is not allowing their intuition to dictate their actions when they had no rational evidence to support those feelings. It was a time of propriety and honor, which is precisely what the predator knew he could rely on to accomplish his end. It is gratifying to sympathize so fully with the heroes and yet to be so intrigued by the maneuvering of the villains. It is a game of moves, and the only characters restrained in their actions are those who are good, which makes them truly vulnerable and the villains know it. What I also like seeing is the transformation in Miss Halcombe as she begins to see the truth and her perfect and prompt responses.

I still need to buy more groceries. Something I always put off about a week. I always seem to need something. Which is the reason I put it off, and I inevitably overlook some item I need in the apartment too, every time. I sit there over my list racking my brain trying to think of everything and having that nagging feeling that there's something else, but dear god what? The other nuisance is I can't just biff out to one place and find everything. I generally have to visit three different places. I can't get my english muffins at this one, and if I want organic produce I have to go to that one, this other one has the drinks I like... And if I want face wash or tissues? Have to go to the pharmacy. It was so cold yesterday! I have everything I need so that I never have to be cold when I leave my building. But that involves correctly interpreting what I see on the weather forecast. It said 37 was the high, that usually means it doesn't feel so god awful. I think I need to closely study for things like wind factor or humidity level. I tend to focus on temp and tune out everything else. 37 yesterday was harsh! Brutal wind.

So John gave me bangs on New Years Eve and I love them. The one bad thing about bangs is bed head. Why is hair like putty overnight? I wake up and they are doing all kinds of funky things, and everyday it's something oh so different. After a nice shower they go back to fabulous, but it's something else being confronted with what they're doing each morning.

Time for breakfast, now that it's one in the afternoon.

Confronting all my conclusions

It's strange how one small action can awaken all those building doubts and give an ominous credence to their voice in my estimation. And in the background my reason stays with me, clear and present, confronting all my conclusions, and in it's way keeping me in a sane place, but my feelings will not be moved. And so reason and feeling coexist in conflict. I am angry, and it is an unusual reason. I have been cold and domineering, and yet all quietly, as always. And I think it may have been felt, without fear, or concern, but with a great tactical maneuver. (I'm impressed) In the past that one action would have resulted in an amazing spiral. A grand over-reaction. Causing a drastic alteration in the present and the future. I have learned to check my reaction sequence, through a little confrontation of conclusions. Something that seems like such a small difference, with rather momentous effect...

My feelings can be so hard to wrap my head around. Especially when I come across new ones and I can't make out just what they are. So I revisit them, because they draw me. I revisit the moment that created that new feeling, and pass it around in my mouth to get a sense of the taste. It's a sort of attraction, there is an appeal that I can't fully understand. My mind is so busy tonight, it has been since this morning. Mulling, mulling, mulling.

I have a need to talk more, real talk, but in the moments when I feel that need most, I can't seem to, the words just aren't there. Or the ones that are strike me as being just the kind I don't want to express. So I want to pull words out of someone else instead, make them be expressive in my place.

Random thought, I unearthed some old piano music I wrote when I was about 15 back home on Christmas break, brought it to NY with me and sat down and played through it today. A sense that nagged at me in the past about this stuff surfaced hard today, I think what a lot of it is is a fleshing out of tunes I had played by other composers buried in my memory. It mostly has a vague familiarity. So instead of feeling impressed that I actually composed music (however simple) when I was a teen I now have a mild sense that it's impressive that I could recompose someone else's music. Weird, I know. So I just need to come across the stuff it resembles and see how similar it is or if maybe it's style-inspired and not straight (accidental) plagiarism. The one substantial-ish one I wrote would be a good sonata, which I think is just a pretty word for exercise. It's an exploration of variation. Really simple. But from my experience all of the new composers I have come across have a core simplicity to their work. It's just highly decorated. Composers like Beethoven and Mozart had the genius to create masterpieces; god knows if such genius exists anymore? If it does, it isn't in mass circulation. In my searches recently for good sheet music for piano one thing has become amply clear, it isn't easy to find stuff past a low level of accomplishment. There is a plethora of music for beginners, but where is the rest of it? It scares me how much the "market" runs such a big world. By market I mean mass demand. It seems these days that if there isn't a clear guarantee of return no ones offering. Goodbye to the specialized, the obscure, the unpopular. Goodbye diversity and soul. Yeah, it is a bit dramatic. But say it isn't so...