I thought about Sophia all day today. I could hardly concentrate on my work, and I was pretty useless in my meetings. Nobody at work noticed that I was distracted: I am not sure how this makes me feel; I am not sure if this is an advantage for me, or will just turn into a liability. All day, all that I could think about was getting back home so that I could write about Sophia. It is so odd to me that I can sit here, at my desk, and write my feelings into the broad open space of the internet, but I can only find a few words to tell Sophia directly. For whatever reason, I am more open and honest about myself, my feelings when I am not emotionally attached to the audience. I have always been a great public speaker. I have always been able to engage and capture any audience greater than one. It is the one, sole listener that scares me and makes me mute. So, here I am spilling my guts into a blog that I assuming nobody will read with the hope that Sophia will find the link and see how I truly feel about her.
I look outside my office at the birds that gather around my feeder. At dawn and at dusk, they rotate in and out. First the Scrubs, Blues and Stellar's; then the mockings, swifts, and wrens; and finally the crows.
My father used to tell my siblings and me the following story about Blue Jays:
Long ago, a beautiful princess with brown eyes and brown hair lived, lonely in a castle. Her parents, the king and queen, were good decent folk and loved her very much, but they, much like she, lacked any excitement or joy. They were all colorless. Brown and gray through and through. This princess would go out into the garden and look at all the flowers and trees and think how beautiful they all were. She would gaze at all the birds and butterflies and she would envy the beautiful plumage. One night, right before she fell asleep, she sent out a question into the night air, 'Fairy Angel will you please help me be colorful? I will do anything to have color in my soul'. The next morning, when the princess awoke, she discovered a bird feeder and some bird feed. And there was a small note, written in magic potion ink, that said, 'As you wished, and as with all wishes, remember, it may not be what you truly desire.' The princess was so overjoyed that her Fairy Angel replied to her wish that she ran downstairs into the garden and set up the bird feeder. Almost immediately, the birds flocked in. Within minutes the sun was blotted out by the darting, crowing, cawing, swooping, pooping birds. And each and every poop that hit the ground would turn into a flower. And this flower would spawn into another bird. Soon, all the seed was eaten and the swarm of birds departed. But, each and every flower created from the bird poop would bloom into a flower which in turn became a bird which flitted away. Once again, the princess was sad, as all the color in her life was gone. But, the commotion of the bird frenzy was seen down in the village by many a handsome prince. And each of these princes made their way up to the castle. Hundreds and hundreds of princes filled the garden, and the moment they laid eyes on the princess they all began to jostle and fight and dance and parade in order to get her attention. They soon began to fight with swords and daggers and maces and flails. By the hundreds, then dozens, then ones they began to drop to the ground dead. When the last one was left standing, he turned his gaze upon the princess and immediately was turned into a blue jay. He flitted away. Leaving the princess to shed one, colorless tear. This tear flowed down to the corpses, turning them into flowers which blossomed birds which then flitted away.
When my father told us this story, the boys were entranced by the death and gore and the girls were obsessed by the thought of love lost.
Right now, I wish I could understand what the girls felt in that story. I want to understand how I feel about Sophia and what the loss of her means to me. I can say that I love her, and I can say that I want to be with her, but I don't know what that feels like.
I have not spoken to Sophia since she left yesterday. She has not tried to call or email me. I think she might be embarrassed. She might be over and done with me. Did she want to negate our last meeting in the bathroom at the Vietnamese restaurant with a bit more glorious memory of me coddling her vomiting body? Was she trying to show me that I really am not missing anything at all? At what point does one of us give in and reach out to the other one? I want to reach out to her and tell her that I love her, but I think that I need to wait. Do I risk losing her forever by adhering to some strange rule about relationships? Funny, I am asking questions about what to do, but I am not asking how I feel.
How do I feel?
Right now, I am not sure. I need to get back to working on me. I need to talk about my brother and his secrets. I need to talk about my experience on that ride the other day. I need to see my friends. I need to call my mom and ask her how she is. I need to call my dad and ask how my mom is.
I need some pappy.
Xioba
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Monday, May 28, 2007
Today is Monday- memorial day
When I go to ballparks, I don't stand for the national anthem. I never have. I get heckled and booed all the time, but I just shrug it off. I figure it is my personal choice and right not to stand, since generally, when they begin to sing or play the anthem, the announcer politely requests, 'please stand for your national anthem.' I feel that it is my american right to sit during the song. Besides, when I am at the ballpark I never watch the games. I am always looking at women.
Sophia came over late last night. I was fast asleep when I heard the double beep signaling that my front door had opened. I then heard the key pad beeps and the double beep of the alarm being set. I never set my alarm, she always does. My clock said, '3:23'.
The smell hit me first. Then the clumsy, stumbling. I could make out her figure in the dark wobbling about, wavering as in a storm. But, the smell was a bit intoxicating. Smoke, booze and B.O.
I simply turned on the light and got out of bed and walked over to her. She started weeping immediately. I held her as tight as possible without making her sick. I walked her over to my (our) bed and had her sit down. She fell back into it and seemed to pass out. I immediately stripped her down. She was wearing a bra which she never does. Her white panties seemed to be a bit too baggy for her sharp hipbones. She was a mess. She had some light bruising on her shins and ankles. She had several scratches on her arms and elbows. Newly bruised blue thighs looked fatigued and twitched a bit.
I drew a bath, and took her clothes down stairs to be washed.
For a brief moment I thought of a time several years ago in the NYC. One Sunday morning, I was in the elevator with a load of laundry packed tightly into one of those caged carts that the old women use for shopping. During the ride down, I could smell my last week's adventure filling the elevator air. Bars, booze, women, smoke, clubs, subways, streets. The elevator stopped on the first floor- the laundry was in the basement- and three people got in with me. Two men and a woman. Nervously, I began tapping the handle bar of the cart. Drumming some made up beat. The woman and I looked at each other and she said, 'Laundry day?'
I replied, 'You are Mary Hansen'.
She replied yes, and I reached out my hand to shake it.
She grabbed my hand and I said, 'Very nice to meet you.'
I had admired Mary from afar for many many years, and she was my original 'dream girl'.
I went outside to check on Sophia's car. Her Audi was poorly parked, but un-damaged.
Gatorade Rain (tangerine), some advil, Smart Water and a piece of fruit went upstairs with me. The bath was perfectly drawn. I added some EO Hinoki and Ginger bath salts.
I woke her up, gently which of course made her want to vomit. She did make it to the bathroom.
I made her chug down several large glasses of water which of course made her vomit more. She was crying and gagging the whole time. vomit was coming out her nose. I kept making her drink more water until she got mad at me for doing it.
For her bath, I turned down the lights and lit some sandalwood candles. For good measure, I took some flower petals, kissed them and tossed them into the bath. This gesture made her smile.
I sat quietly on the toilet seat and read Harpers. When she started to shiver, I, of course, woke her up again which, of course, made her vomit in the bathtub and made her weep even more. I made her shower. Dr. Bronner's this time- peppermint. Yes it does sound bad plugging all these products, but there is a magical way to preventing bad hangovers. You just need to test the different methods until you find the right one. I made her eat the fruit, advil and drink some gatorade. Then she brushed her teeth. She actually looked better. I made her stand and watch me change the sheets in the bed hoping that it would make her appreciate the bed more.
Almost 5:00 am.
I snuggled up next to her until her cold body turned warm. I then went downstairs and made myself some coffee and had a cigarette. I turned on the t.v. and fell asleep on the couch.
She woke me up at around 10:00.
She looked so beautiful to me.
I did not think of 'yellow panties' today.
Xioba
Sophia came over late last night. I was fast asleep when I heard the double beep signaling that my front door had opened. I then heard the key pad beeps and the double beep of the alarm being set. I never set my alarm, she always does. My clock said, '3:23'.
The smell hit me first. Then the clumsy, stumbling. I could make out her figure in the dark wobbling about, wavering as in a storm. But, the smell was a bit intoxicating. Smoke, booze and B.O.
I simply turned on the light and got out of bed and walked over to her. She started weeping immediately. I held her as tight as possible without making her sick. I walked her over to my (our) bed and had her sit down. She fell back into it and seemed to pass out. I immediately stripped her down. She was wearing a bra which she never does. Her white panties seemed to be a bit too baggy for her sharp hipbones. She was a mess. She had some light bruising on her shins and ankles. She had several scratches on her arms and elbows. Newly bruised blue thighs looked fatigued and twitched a bit.
I drew a bath, and took her clothes down stairs to be washed.
For a brief moment I thought of a time several years ago in the NYC. One Sunday morning, I was in the elevator with a load of laundry packed tightly into one of those caged carts that the old women use for shopping. During the ride down, I could smell my last week's adventure filling the elevator air. Bars, booze, women, smoke, clubs, subways, streets. The elevator stopped on the first floor- the laundry was in the basement- and three people got in with me. Two men and a woman. Nervously, I began tapping the handle bar of the cart. Drumming some made up beat. The woman and I looked at each other and she said, 'Laundry day?'
I replied, 'You are Mary Hansen'.
She replied yes, and I reached out my hand to shake it.
She grabbed my hand and I said, 'Very nice to meet you.'
I had admired Mary from afar for many many years, and she was my original 'dream girl'.
I went outside to check on Sophia's car. Her Audi was poorly parked, but un-damaged.
Gatorade Rain (tangerine), some advil, Smart Water and a piece of fruit went upstairs with me. The bath was perfectly drawn. I added some EO Hinoki and Ginger bath salts.
I woke her up, gently which of course made her want to vomit. She did make it to the bathroom.
I made her chug down several large glasses of water which of course made her vomit more. She was crying and gagging the whole time. vomit was coming out her nose. I kept making her drink more water until she got mad at me for doing it.
For her bath, I turned down the lights and lit some sandalwood candles. For good measure, I took some flower petals, kissed them and tossed them into the bath. This gesture made her smile.
I sat quietly on the toilet seat and read Harpers. When she started to shiver, I, of course, woke her up again which, of course, made her vomit in the bathtub and made her weep even more. I made her shower. Dr. Bronner's this time- peppermint. Yes it does sound bad plugging all these products, but there is a magical way to preventing bad hangovers. You just need to test the different methods until you find the right one. I made her eat the fruit, advil and drink some gatorade. Then she brushed her teeth. She actually looked better. I made her stand and watch me change the sheets in the bed hoping that it would make her appreciate the bed more.
Almost 5:00 am.
I snuggled up next to her until her cold body turned warm. I then went downstairs and made myself some coffee and had a cigarette. I turned on the t.v. and fell asleep on the couch.
She woke me up at around 10:00.
She looked so beautiful to me.
I did not think of 'yellow panties' today.
Xioba
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Today is Sunday- Shrek the third
I woke up this morning thinking of Sophia. I had a very restless night last night. I kept thinking of Chuck Liddell and how I wanted the result to be different. I felt terrible for him. I felt the same way a few weeks back when the Suns beat the Lakers. My night was consumed by the damp smell of my pillow and a bed that could not put my thoughts to sleep. At 6 am, when I finally decided that my attempts at sleeping were over, I could only think about staying in bed for the rest of the day. I wanted to whittle away on the pine that was growing out of my thoughts about Sophia. It was such an oddly, comfortable feeling to have the heaviness and lack of desire to move, think or do anything. I could actually still smell Sophia in my sheets and every time that I heard my house creek from the wind outside I yelled out to Sophia and asked, 'How are you, sweetie?'. Unlike Rilke, my yells went into an echo; an empty response from my very, lonely house asking me how I was.
I thought of my father, many, many years ago, proposing to my mother in Trieste. His recount was so beautiful and romantic; full of hope and want for a joyful future. How is it that the love that my father has toward my mother has now materialized into the futile actions of a bachelor in his late, late 30s? Sure, I am a success outside of my skin in the business world, but internally, I am largely a miserable, miserable, lonely man. I wanted to phone Sophia, but I could not. Instead, I slowly drifted back toward sleep and began to dream lightly about better times.
Sophia is sitting in my backyard. She is wearing, of course, a short sleeved top, and is bra-less. The cold outside and the warmth inside of her causing her nipples to protrude into the counter die of her shirt fabric, embossing an image of lust and desire upon me; a Medusian figure turning me to stone, hard wooden rock. She is wearing my shorts and has them rolled up at the knees and at the waist. She is 5' 6" or so and about 105 lbs. She is all leg and arm bones. She is not dwarfed by my shorts which gives me a sense of my own stature, but it is a deceptive notion of self. She is sitting on one of the recycled wood plantation lounges, and her hair is up- as usual. She appears to be shaking, either from the brisk air or the need for nicotine, and as she strikes and lights the match, her goose flesh and shivers slowly begin to fade and minimize. She inhales deeply into her first cigarette, pausing for just a moment behind each drag and before each exhale.
Surya Namaskar.
I continue to watch her as she finishes the first cigarette and lights her second one.
Her hands are wide at the wrist, narrow through the palm and extend out in extremely sinewy, tenuous and easy tendrils. Veins and tendons bore through taut flesh, and make her hands look strong, supple and suggestive. Her hands have always made me smile; every time we see each other after an absence they are the first thing to make contact with me- whether on the belly, back, cheek, ear, hair or heart. I wish her hands were here, right now, to close my eyelids and gently push me back into the false reality of sleepless dreams. Between hits, the cigarette floats between digits 2 and 3 re-secured in place every few seconds by the gentle grasp of her lips and the hungry sucking of her lungs.
Savasana.
When I finally got out of bed at around 10, I called my doctor and asked for some help. He called in a favor at Riteaid which I picked up on my way to see Shrek the third. Two bloody Marys, a favor from my doctor, and some shake led me to the back row, left side, end seat of the darkened theater. I had on my cycling sweatshirt, jeans, and clogs. The darkness was soon filled with excited, maybe anxious, childish laughter and screams. The din (cliche') was disorientating and made me seek shelter under my hood. In a moment of absolute clarity and a bit of out-of-body self awareness, I realized what I must look like- the ominous, lonely, hooded figure lurking in the back row of a theater filled with children. The giant, colorless, soulless Actiniaria waiting for helpless prey to skip by on their way to the bathroom or for more snacks. If one could just come within arm's reach. I chuckled, perhaps a bit too loudly, but retreated into the uncaring comfort of my doctor's favor.
The movie finally began, quieting the children. After a few moments of reintroductions of all the characters, and after a few 'slapstick' and seemingly violent humored scenes, the movie turned existential. The king, a frog, was dying. A slow, awkward death that sought to be humored but was actually a bit boring and monotonous. When the frog finally croaked (wow bad pun, I get it now), a tiny child (maybe 3 or 4 years old) sitting a few rows up with his family started to weep. He was immediately comforted by his father, I assume, but to no avail. He continued to weep and was unable to find any solace in the darkened humorless movie. I continued to watch this family, and realized that this movie was not meant for children. This young boy could not be soothed, and his older sibling kept hiding behind her hands and kept shirking any joy or laughter. The movie kept going on with little regard for the audience and ended as an embarrassing story that was only filled with the bravado of CG. I was relieved when the lights came back on signaling the end of this disaster. None of the children clapped or cheered at the ending; and the theater was packed with children; in fact, they all seemed relieved, as well, that the nightmare was over and that they could, finally, go out into the sunshine and restart their childhoods which were taken from them in a darkened theater by the green ogre. Pretty fitting since ogres eat children in the fairy tales.
I am a bit tired. I thought of Sophia all day, and until now, did not think of 'yellow panties'. I am looking forward to sleeping all day tomorrow.
Xioba
I thought of my father, many, many years ago, proposing to my mother in Trieste. His recount was so beautiful and romantic; full of hope and want for a joyful future. How is it that the love that my father has toward my mother has now materialized into the futile actions of a bachelor in his late, late 30s? Sure, I am a success outside of my skin in the business world, but internally, I am largely a miserable, miserable, lonely man. I wanted to phone Sophia, but I could not. Instead, I slowly drifted back toward sleep and began to dream lightly about better times.
Sophia is sitting in my backyard. She is wearing, of course, a short sleeved top, and is bra-less. The cold outside and the warmth inside of her causing her nipples to protrude into the counter die of her shirt fabric, embossing an image of lust and desire upon me; a Medusian figure turning me to stone, hard wooden rock. She is wearing my shorts and has them rolled up at the knees and at the waist. She is 5' 6" or so and about 105 lbs. She is all leg and arm bones. She is not dwarfed by my shorts which gives me a sense of my own stature, but it is a deceptive notion of self. She is sitting on one of the recycled wood plantation lounges, and her hair is up- as usual. She appears to be shaking, either from the brisk air or the need for nicotine, and as she strikes and lights the match, her goose flesh and shivers slowly begin to fade and minimize. She inhales deeply into her first cigarette, pausing for just a moment behind each drag and before each exhale.
Surya Namaskar.
I continue to watch her as she finishes the first cigarette and lights her second one.
Her hands are wide at the wrist, narrow through the palm and extend out in extremely sinewy, tenuous and easy tendrils. Veins and tendons bore through taut flesh, and make her hands look strong, supple and suggestive. Her hands have always made me smile; every time we see each other after an absence they are the first thing to make contact with me- whether on the belly, back, cheek, ear, hair or heart. I wish her hands were here, right now, to close my eyelids and gently push me back into the false reality of sleepless dreams. Between hits, the cigarette floats between digits 2 and 3 re-secured in place every few seconds by the gentle grasp of her lips and the hungry sucking of her lungs.
Savasana.
When I finally got out of bed at around 10, I called my doctor and asked for some help. He called in a favor at Riteaid which I picked up on my way to see Shrek the third. Two bloody Marys, a favor from my doctor, and some shake led me to the back row, left side, end seat of the darkened theater. I had on my cycling sweatshirt, jeans, and clogs. The darkness was soon filled with excited, maybe anxious, childish laughter and screams. The din (cliche') was disorientating and made me seek shelter under my hood. In a moment of absolute clarity and a bit of out-of-body self awareness, I realized what I must look like- the ominous, lonely, hooded figure lurking in the back row of a theater filled with children. The giant, colorless, soulless Actiniaria waiting for helpless prey to skip by on their way to the bathroom or for more snacks. If one could just come within arm's reach. I chuckled, perhaps a bit too loudly, but retreated into the uncaring comfort of my doctor's favor.
The movie finally began, quieting the children. After a few moments of reintroductions of all the characters, and after a few 'slapstick' and seemingly violent humored scenes, the movie turned existential. The king, a frog, was dying. A slow, awkward death that sought to be humored but was actually a bit boring and monotonous. When the frog finally croaked (wow bad pun, I get it now), a tiny child (maybe 3 or 4 years old) sitting a few rows up with his family started to weep. He was immediately comforted by his father, I assume, but to no avail. He continued to weep and was unable to find any solace in the darkened humorless movie. I continued to watch this family, and realized that this movie was not meant for children. This young boy could not be soothed, and his older sibling kept hiding behind her hands and kept shirking any joy or laughter. The movie kept going on with little regard for the audience and ended as an embarrassing story that was only filled with the bravado of CG. I was relieved when the lights came back on signaling the end of this disaster. None of the children clapped or cheered at the ending; and the theater was packed with children; in fact, they all seemed relieved, as well, that the nightmare was over and that they could, finally, go out into the sunshine and restart their childhoods which were taken from them in a darkened theater by the green ogre. Pretty fitting since ogres eat children in the fairy tales.
I am a bit tired. I thought of Sophia all day, and until now, did not think of 'yellow panties'. I am looking forward to sleeping all day tomorrow.
Xioba
Today is Sunday- Liddell crumpled
I watched Liddell v. Rampage last night. I expected that Rampage would win, but I didn't expect Chuck to crumple. I love Chuck, and I am not sure how I feel about Rampage, but, I can say that based on what I saw last night it will be a long, long time before Rampage loses the belt. I hope that Chuck can find a way to have another fight with Rampage as I would like to see if Chuck could 'catch' Rampage. James Irvin also tore up his knee which sucks. Irvin is one tough dude. I hope he comes back.
Bad night!
Spurs lost. Good night!
Nice ride yesterday. Two hours in zone 4. A ton of climbing. It was cold out which is always tough for me. On hot days it takes an hour for me to warm up. I was about 15 minutes behind the lead group the whole day. When I finally got warm, we ended the ride. Burritos and beers.
During the ride, I sent an email to Sophia telling her that I missed her and that I wanted to see her. She responded when I was driving home.
A simple, 'Thanks'.
I called her immediately. Straight to voice mail.
About 10 minutes later she called. I could hear only silence in the background as we spoke. It sounded like she was sitting in some room by herself, and she was very guarded in her tone and her word selection. The conversation seemed a bit restrained and forced, so I pulled the car over and turned down my music. I am not one to shy away from anything, so I just asked her if she wanted to come over for the long weekend. I already knew what the answer would be, but I wanted to make her feel like she would be wounding me with her response. Indeed.
She started to cry and could barely find her words. I quietly paused and waited for her to collect her thoughts. I imagined that I was lying below some rickety, gnarled Oak tree. A gentle spring storm stirred, sending laden drops into the green, angled canopy that loomed overhead. Her words came to me like the drop, dislodged leaves. Some fluttered in wide-arched circles, others rocked side-to-side, and the ones that plummeted directly down hit my face and stuck to my skin, soaked in spring rain. A butterflies lullaby taped my emotions as her words met my feelings.
I really should not have been surprised as I was. I have treated Sophia so poorly over the past year. I have almost 15 years on her, yet I act like I am 16 years her junior. Our relationship changed from excitement into convenience within the last few months. I had always told her that we should be very open and relaxed in the relationship. That I did not want to ruin or waste her youth. She reluctantly agreed. I slept with all her friends, I insulted her family, I disrespected her. Yet, she was still loving and loyal to me. I could have chosen to be an asshole to her on the phone. I could have easily hidden from my emotions, but I did not want to disrespect her further. I thought of Lili and all of the assholes she will meet and love over her lifetime, and I knew that I just had to end this crazy, crazy abuse. I told Sophia that I deeply loved her. I told her that we needed to end this relationship until I could find some clarity and honesty in my behavior to her. I told her that her sadness upsets and hurts me since her sadness is a direct result of my actions toward her. I told her that I was tired of ignoring her, that I was tired of not listening to her, and that I was tired of dehumanizing her. I told her that I want to change my behavior, but I am unclear if I can, and I am unsure if I want to change. She began to change her tone and words and began to backtrack on her feelings and began to apologize. She said, that she could try to come over in the day or the evening and that we could certainly spend the next few days together.
I paused.
I could see myself right in the middle of enlightenment and darkness. The gray and comforting limbo of decision; present. I loved her, but did I care more about self-preservation? It would have been so easy to have it both ways. I told her about my feelings and she acquiesced her self to the power of my words. I would not be alone this weekend and she would be so much easier to control now. Sure, she may gain more knowledge and power over time, but I could always bully her back where I wanted her to be. I would get sick of her, yet, I would not be alone. I would still screw her friends, and I would not speak to her, but she would be there. I could rely on her for the self preservation of Xioba.
But, I also realized that the self preservation of Xioba also means that Fudu would still be in me as well. I want to purge Fudu from me. I have lived with his secrets for far too long, and I need to find Xioba.
I told Sophia that I needed time to get better, and that if I truly loved her like I say I do then I need to change the way that I treat her. I told her that she was worth it to me to change, but she would need to be patient and that we should probably not see each other for a while. I told her that I may not change and the risk may be that this is the 'end', and that the last memory that we will have of each other being together would be from our moment in some shitty restaurant bathroom.
I quietly listened to her cry for about 10 minutes. I did not say a word until she was ready to speak. And what I did say, probably ended our relationship. But, it had to be said.
When I got home, I had 6 or 7 messages from her on my land line. I did not listen to them.
I sat on the veranda; my first sunlit warmth of the day. I drank several Peronis and smoked half of a j. I thought about my conversation with Sophia and wondered if I was really willing to change like I said. I wondered if any change that would happen would help me in my relationship with 'yellow panties'.
Xioba
Bad night!
Spurs lost. Good night!
Nice ride yesterday. Two hours in zone 4. A ton of climbing. It was cold out which is always tough for me. On hot days it takes an hour for me to warm up. I was about 15 minutes behind the lead group the whole day. When I finally got warm, we ended the ride. Burritos and beers.
During the ride, I sent an email to Sophia telling her that I missed her and that I wanted to see her. She responded when I was driving home.
A simple, 'Thanks'.
I called her immediately. Straight to voice mail.
About 10 minutes later she called. I could hear only silence in the background as we spoke. It sounded like she was sitting in some room by herself, and she was very guarded in her tone and her word selection. The conversation seemed a bit restrained and forced, so I pulled the car over and turned down my music. I am not one to shy away from anything, so I just asked her if she wanted to come over for the long weekend. I already knew what the answer would be, but I wanted to make her feel like she would be wounding me with her response. Indeed.
She started to cry and could barely find her words. I quietly paused and waited for her to collect her thoughts. I imagined that I was lying below some rickety, gnarled Oak tree. A gentle spring storm stirred, sending laden drops into the green, angled canopy that loomed overhead. Her words came to me like the drop, dislodged leaves. Some fluttered in wide-arched circles, others rocked side-to-side, and the ones that plummeted directly down hit my face and stuck to my skin, soaked in spring rain. A butterflies lullaby taped my emotions as her words met my feelings.
I really should not have been surprised as I was. I have treated Sophia so poorly over the past year. I have almost 15 years on her, yet I act like I am 16 years her junior. Our relationship changed from excitement into convenience within the last few months. I had always told her that we should be very open and relaxed in the relationship. That I did not want to ruin or waste her youth. She reluctantly agreed. I slept with all her friends, I insulted her family, I disrespected her. Yet, she was still loving and loyal to me. I could have chosen to be an asshole to her on the phone. I could have easily hidden from my emotions, but I did not want to disrespect her further. I thought of Lili and all of the assholes she will meet and love over her lifetime, and I knew that I just had to end this crazy, crazy abuse. I told Sophia that I deeply loved her. I told her that we needed to end this relationship until I could find some clarity and honesty in my behavior to her. I told her that her sadness upsets and hurts me since her sadness is a direct result of my actions toward her. I told her that I was tired of ignoring her, that I was tired of not listening to her, and that I was tired of dehumanizing her. I told her that I want to change my behavior, but I am unclear if I can, and I am unsure if I want to change. She began to change her tone and words and began to backtrack on her feelings and began to apologize. She said, that she could try to come over in the day or the evening and that we could certainly spend the next few days together.
I paused.
I could see myself right in the middle of enlightenment and darkness. The gray and comforting limbo of decision; present. I loved her, but did I care more about self-preservation? It would have been so easy to have it both ways. I told her about my feelings and she acquiesced her self to the power of my words. I would not be alone this weekend and she would be so much easier to control now. Sure, she may gain more knowledge and power over time, but I could always bully her back where I wanted her to be. I would get sick of her, yet, I would not be alone. I would still screw her friends, and I would not speak to her, but she would be there. I could rely on her for the self preservation of Xioba.
But, I also realized that the self preservation of Xioba also means that Fudu would still be in me as well. I want to purge Fudu from me. I have lived with his secrets for far too long, and I need to find Xioba.
I told Sophia that I needed time to get better, and that if I truly loved her like I say I do then I need to change the way that I treat her. I told her that she was worth it to me to change, but she would need to be patient and that we should probably not see each other for a while. I told her that I may not change and the risk may be that this is the 'end', and that the last memory that we will have of each other being together would be from our moment in some shitty restaurant bathroom.
I quietly listened to her cry for about 10 minutes. I did not say a word until she was ready to speak. And what I did say, probably ended our relationship. But, it had to be said.
When I got home, I had 6 or 7 messages from her on my land line. I did not listen to them.
I sat on the veranda; my first sunlit warmth of the day. I drank several Peronis and smoked half of a j. I thought about my conversation with Sophia and wondered if I was really willing to change like I said. I wondered if any change that would happen would help me in my relationship with 'yellow panties'.
Xioba
Friday, May 25, 2007
Today is Friday- Hue beers at lunch
I sent my team home at noon today. I didn't realize it was memorial day weekend until I got to work and noticed that the office was pretty empty. I emailed my team, early and told them to take off at noon, and thanks for their hard work this year. I cleared my calendar and I decided to work on mid-year reviews and answer emails- 438 unread emails in two days. I answered around 75 emails last night before bed. By noon, I only had 272 emails left to read and Michael from OTC stopped in. He asked if I wanted to join a small group of people going for Vietnamese food. I stared at him for a good minute before I got up from my desk and walked out of my office. The guy from the baby shower was there, Richard, and some other guy, Francois? from operations. We met another group of people from an ad agency there, including Richard's very pregnant wife. She seemed to be uncomfortable. Strikingly beautiful, though. She had such beautiful lines to her face. Sharp, elongated nose. Skinny cheekbones, smooth chin and dimples. Chestnut hair and brown eyes. Funny how are culture is obsessed with the blond and blue; brown and brown is just so rich and inviting. Sophia also showed up. I guess I invited her, but I can't remember; or does she know these people too. She might know them given she is a photographer.
I am a vegetarian, so I just ordered for myself. Spring rolls and lemongrass tofu and black rice. Reminds me of the NYC and that little cart that sold food in Fall and Winter and Icees in Spring and Summer. They had the best vegetarian 'meatballs'.
There was an awkward silence at the table, so I ordered myself two Hue beers. Relief set in. I guess title in the company means something outside the company as well. Very odd to me. I drank the first one down in one hand lift and stated, 'I am not working right now, so I don't want to hear about work.' I then told some story about seeing the Richter show and how blown away I was by the painting of Maria Callas. A true masterpiece. The tension ceased a bit, and beer began to flow. The pregnant lady was very quiet. I could see that she would be mis-read as being angry, or asocial or bitchy. I think she is shy.
I went out for a smoke with Sophia at some point. She seemed very happy to see me. I asked her what she was doing for the weekend, and she seemed a bit reluctant to answer. 'One hit' bud again. She led me back inside the restaurant and over to the bathrooms. We started kissing. I was so focused on her that I didn't remember going into the bathroom with her.
She smoked.
I jolted with a sudden sense of joy.
When we returned to the table the others appeared to be annoyed, but were still having fun. I paid for them. I think they thanked me.
When I finally made it home an hour ago, I couldn't remember what had happened to Sophia. I don't know if she is coming over, or if I will see her this weekend. I don't feel like calling her to find out. I think I need a weekend alone. I think I will ride all weekend. Get on the road and think about what I am doing or accurately, not doing.
Tonight, even with the moonlit, cloud cover, I am bringing out the Dob. There is something about trying to find something through the clouds. It is the impossibility of success that turns me on. I will smoke another j and sit out on the veranda and hunt the sky for light. I didn't think of 'yellow panties' today until right now.
Seemed like a pretty good day.
Xioba
I am a vegetarian, so I just ordered for myself. Spring rolls and lemongrass tofu and black rice. Reminds me of the NYC and that little cart that sold food in Fall and Winter and Icees in Spring and Summer. They had the best vegetarian 'meatballs'.
There was an awkward silence at the table, so I ordered myself two Hue beers. Relief set in. I guess title in the company means something outside the company as well. Very odd to me. I drank the first one down in one hand lift and stated, 'I am not working right now, so I don't want to hear about work.' I then told some story about seeing the Richter show and how blown away I was by the painting of Maria Callas. A true masterpiece. The tension ceased a bit, and beer began to flow. The pregnant lady was very quiet. I could see that she would be mis-read as being angry, or asocial or bitchy. I think she is shy.
I went out for a smoke with Sophia at some point. She seemed very happy to see me. I asked her what she was doing for the weekend, and she seemed a bit reluctant to answer. 'One hit' bud again. She led me back inside the restaurant and over to the bathrooms. We started kissing. I was so focused on her that I didn't remember going into the bathroom with her.
She smoked.
I jolted with a sudden sense of joy.
When we returned to the table the others appeared to be annoyed, but were still having fun. I paid for them. I think they thanked me.
When I finally made it home an hour ago, I couldn't remember what had happened to Sophia. I don't know if she is coming over, or if I will see her this weekend. I don't feel like calling her to find out. I think I need a weekend alone. I think I will ride all weekend. Get on the road and think about what I am doing or accurately, not doing.
Tonight, even with the moonlit, cloud cover, I am bringing out the Dob. There is something about trying to find something through the clouds. It is the impossibility of success that turns me on. I will smoke another j and sit out on the veranda and hunt the sky for light. I didn't think of 'yellow panties' today until right now.
Seemed like a pretty good day.
Xioba
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Today is Thursday- white spiders on windshields
I just got home from work, and paused for a moment in my driveway. Modern English was on the radio, and I paused to listen to my youth. The predictability of the song reminded me of the predictability of high school. Graduation and the prom are the final handshakes into adulthood; or more fittingly, out of adolescence.
My original date, Michelle Greenberg, dumped me the day of the prom. I had already rented the turquoise cummerbund (such a strange word) and bow tie. I was a bit relieved that she dumped me. The first time we fucked, she was disappointed by my lack of chest muscles. I think she actually said, 'oh, is that all?' I was not sure what she was expecting from a 6'4", 170 lb geek.
When I ate her out she acted like she was miserable, but would grab onto my head and force me deeper into her. So suffocating. My only escape was to make her orgasm. In the end, my lower teeth cut into the bottom of my tongue and my jaw ached, but I could breathe. I think I have TMJ.
She had long, black hairs growing out of her areolae. I tried to nibble them off, but it kinda made me sick. She dumped me for her ex-boyfriend. He played baseball with my brother. I think he hated my brother, so he was probably getting back at him by humiliating me. I actually think that he did me a favor. Too many ingested long, black hairs made me immune to rejection.
I was set up with a friend at the last minute. We went to the dance. She ended up screwing Brian Aubouf. Fitting. When we were sophomores, during a raucous round of dog pile, I accidentally kneed him in his left cheek. An inch or so below his eye a bloodied fissure appeared. Several weeks later, when the scar appeared after the bandages were removed, all you could see was the jagged line that my knee created. It was in such a strange and unattractive location. Just right there in the middle of his face. Depending on how you looked at it. True north his eye, true west his nose, true east his ear, and true south his dewlap, and right there in the middle, like a little compass arrow, my scar. I call it my scar since my knee created it for him. Kinda like calling your kids your kids; unless, of course they are another person's biological kids and you are parenting them. Not sure what you call them then. I would think that Lili is a daughter to her father, while she is my kid. or child.
Anyway, Brian was vain. Really, really vain; so he was very, very distraught.
He probably still hates me today. But, I figure he waited for the right moment to get revenge. He nailed that nasty, little over-weight girl that I drove to and from the prom. I figure we are all square even though I would not have slept with the porcine prom date. Well, maybe I would have, but that was a long time ago and I need to feel good about myself today.
In the car while 'I melt with you' played, I stared at several (three or four) small, white spiders that were trying to walk across my windshield. They had long, angular legs and small bodies. It appeared that they had rather large mandibles. And they were very white, almost to the point of being translucent. They looked like they were trying to climb to the top of the windshield. Their legs were pounding, pounding, pounding on the glass but they could not make any ground upward. They sort of just stayed in place. Occasionally, one of them would crawl a little bit. But, then a slight breeze would come by and knock them over and down. It looked like they would defensively curl into a ball when the breeze struck them.
Up again they would go.
I wanted to turn on my windshield wipers. I wanted to kill them with that blue liquid that the guy from the oil changing place keeps putting back into my car. I wanted to get out of the car and squish them with my Treo. I wanted to gnash them between my molars. They reminded me of Michelle and her long, black areola hair.
She lactated these little, white spiders out. Squirting them into the air, and sent them to me with the message: 'oh, is that all?'
Xioba
My original date, Michelle Greenberg, dumped me the day of the prom. I had already rented the turquoise cummerbund (such a strange word) and bow tie. I was a bit relieved that she dumped me. The first time we fucked, she was disappointed by my lack of chest muscles. I think she actually said, 'oh, is that all?' I was not sure what she was expecting from a 6'4", 170 lb geek.
When I ate her out she acted like she was miserable, but would grab onto my head and force me deeper into her. So suffocating. My only escape was to make her orgasm. In the end, my lower teeth cut into the bottom of my tongue and my jaw ached, but I could breathe. I think I have TMJ.
She had long, black hairs growing out of her areolae. I tried to nibble them off, but it kinda made me sick. She dumped me for her ex-boyfriend. He played baseball with my brother. I think he hated my brother, so he was probably getting back at him by humiliating me. I actually think that he did me a favor. Too many ingested long, black hairs made me immune to rejection.
I was set up with a friend at the last minute. We went to the dance. She ended up screwing Brian Aubouf. Fitting. When we were sophomores, during a raucous round of dog pile, I accidentally kneed him in his left cheek. An inch or so below his eye a bloodied fissure appeared. Several weeks later, when the scar appeared after the bandages were removed, all you could see was the jagged line that my knee created. It was in such a strange and unattractive location. Just right there in the middle of his face. Depending on how you looked at it. True north his eye, true west his nose, true east his ear, and true south his dewlap, and right there in the middle, like a little compass arrow, my scar. I call it my scar since my knee created it for him. Kinda like calling your kids your kids; unless, of course they are another person's biological kids and you are parenting them. Not sure what you call them then. I would think that Lili is a daughter to her father, while she is my kid. or child.
Anyway, Brian was vain. Really, really vain; so he was very, very distraught.
He probably still hates me today. But, I figure he waited for the right moment to get revenge. He nailed that nasty, little over-weight girl that I drove to and from the prom. I figure we are all square even though I would not have slept with the porcine prom date. Well, maybe I would have, but that was a long time ago and I need to feel good about myself today.
In the car while 'I melt with you' played, I stared at several (three or four) small, white spiders that were trying to walk across my windshield. They had long, angular legs and small bodies. It appeared that they had rather large mandibles. And they were very white, almost to the point of being translucent. They looked like they were trying to climb to the top of the windshield. Their legs were pounding, pounding, pounding on the glass but they could not make any ground upward. They sort of just stayed in place. Occasionally, one of them would crawl a little bit. But, then a slight breeze would come by and knock them over and down. It looked like they would defensively curl into a ball when the breeze struck them.
Up again they would go.
I wanted to turn on my windshield wipers. I wanted to kill them with that blue liquid that the guy from the oil changing place keeps putting back into my car. I wanted to get out of the car and squish them with my Treo. I wanted to gnash them between my molars. They reminded me of Michelle and her long, black areola hair.
She lactated these little, white spiders out. Squirting them into the air, and sent them to me with the message: 'oh, is that all?'
Xioba
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Yesterday was Tuesday- Wilco
I just got the new Wilco album- 'Sky blue sky'.
Manuel Presti on the cover.
I switched the jacket so that the peregrine is on the front.
Manuel Presti is exceptional. His photos are as edible as a 'cookie monster' cake.
'Either way' (first song) gave me goose skin. There is something so perfect about Wilco when they get it right. Talk about edible work.
I hunger for Wilco, Amset, Stereolab, Galaxie 500, Joanna Newsom, Mum, Sigur Ros.
'Either way' makes me think of 'Yellow panties'. The guitar and simple beats make me imagine a softly sunny December day. Brunch with 'Yellow panties' somewhere in New York. Wine. A nice, long walk afterward. The mosaic of shadow and cold light draws us together and makes us pause for warmth. Talk about edible light. Up to the park. Noses, sniffling and wet from the cold. Her cheeks, red and cold. Her lips, dry and cracked. We are wearing caps, scarves and light jackets. No gloves. I kiss her hands which warms my stomach. She looks at me. I think I see doubt in her eyes which makes me hunger for her lips. Her ears are distorted from the pressure of her cap while her hair is peaking out from underneath it. Brown eyes. She is wearing corduroys and black shoes. I am too embarrassed to peer below the belt, and dare not look at her chest. The wind is gusting down the avenue. I want to tell her, 'you are the wind of Primavera that is blowing through my veins. I can taste you as your delicate, perfumed touch caresses my skin and organs. Your slight whisper hints at the beautiful futures to come.' Instead, I reach for her and kiss her lips. They are warm but lack moisture. We breathe into each other and it smells of sweat and wool. I think that she is pulling away from me. I realize that my hands are around her waist. I loosen my grip, but she does not retreat. I reach up and grab the back of her head and neck, just below her ears. Her cap falls to the sidewalk; her hair whips my face, stirred by the stiff December wind, and my zealous attempts to capture the wind. When we stop. I see hesitation in her eyes. She is biting her lip like she wants to say something, but is unable or unwilling to find the words.
We continue our walk to the park. Carts of roasted chestnuts line the avenue, but I still smell her. I want to put this wind in a jar, and keep it on a shelf. Open it up sometime in the future.
I am sure the footbinder has a jar somewhere in that palace of junk. She cracks it open on some special day. Unearthing old memories of love, unrealized.
That jar will sit there, on my shelf in my library, reminding me of how foolish I was to think that I could encapsulate her love. She does not love me and never has. My veins will course with the tumult, torrent, tempest of imagined love. And, my only relief will come by releasing the wind in my veins. I will have no strength or agility in my hands, and the glass will be too slippery to grip. I will throw the jar at the expanding pool of blood on the floor, but, in a final mocking moment, the jar will carom onto the couch. The curtains will dance and sway in the pulsing air.
I saw Saturn tonight. Bright and beautiful. Tucked back in the darkness. It looked a bit like an egg, nestled in a nest. The rings were delicate and intense and made me very happy. I was shaking the whole time. I felt a bit dirty; like sneaking a glance at 'yellow panties' crotched jeans.
I need to see 'yellow panties' tomorrow. I have been avoiding her, but I need to see her. I need to talk to her directly. Look at her eyes to see if I have any chance. It is so easy to be sneaky. Stalk her, but I am not sure that that is the best way. I need to be direct with her. Ask her out for coffee or tea. I wish I had a pair of her panties with me. I could hold them until my hands become clammy. I could feel them snagging on the stubble of my face as I rub them to release their scent. I would hold them between my chin and chest, like vick's vapor rub, and let them soothe me into a restful slumber; and I would eat them in the morning.
Xioba
Manuel Presti on the cover.
I switched the jacket so that the peregrine is on the front.
Manuel Presti is exceptional. His photos are as edible as a 'cookie monster' cake.
'Either way' (first song) gave me goose skin. There is something so perfect about Wilco when they get it right. Talk about edible work.
I hunger for Wilco, Amset, Stereolab, Galaxie 500, Joanna Newsom, Mum, Sigur Ros.
'Either way' makes me think of 'Yellow panties'. The guitar and simple beats make me imagine a softly sunny December day. Brunch with 'Yellow panties' somewhere in New York. Wine. A nice, long walk afterward. The mosaic of shadow and cold light draws us together and makes us pause for warmth. Talk about edible light. Up to the park. Noses, sniffling and wet from the cold. Her cheeks, red and cold. Her lips, dry and cracked. We are wearing caps, scarves and light jackets. No gloves. I kiss her hands which warms my stomach. She looks at me. I think I see doubt in her eyes which makes me hunger for her lips. Her ears are distorted from the pressure of her cap while her hair is peaking out from underneath it. Brown eyes. She is wearing corduroys and black shoes. I am too embarrassed to peer below the belt, and dare not look at her chest. The wind is gusting down the avenue. I want to tell her, 'you are the wind of Primavera that is blowing through my veins. I can taste you as your delicate, perfumed touch caresses my skin and organs. Your slight whisper hints at the beautiful futures to come.' Instead, I reach for her and kiss her lips. They are warm but lack moisture. We breathe into each other and it smells of sweat and wool. I think that she is pulling away from me. I realize that my hands are around her waist. I loosen my grip, but she does not retreat. I reach up and grab the back of her head and neck, just below her ears. Her cap falls to the sidewalk; her hair whips my face, stirred by the stiff December wind, and my zealous attempts to capture the wind. When we stop. I see hesitation in her eyes. She is biting her lip like she wants to say something, but is unable or unwilling to find the words.
We continue our walk to the park. Carts of roasted chestnuts line the avenue, but I still smell her. I want to put this wind in a jar, and keep it on a shelf. Open it up sometime in the future.
I am sure the footbinder has a jar somewhere in that palace of junk. She cracks it open on some special day. Unearthing old memories of love, unrealized.
That jar will sit there, on my shelf in my library, reminding me of how foolish I was to think that I could encapsulate her love. She does not love me and never has. My veins will course with the tumult, torrent, tempest of imagined love. And, my only relief will come by releasing the wind in my veins. I will have no strength or agility in my hands, and the glass will be too slippery to grip. I will throw the jar at the expanding pool of blood on the floor, but, in a final mocking moment, the jar will carom onto the couch. The curtains will dance and sway in the pulsing air.
I saw Saturn tonight. Bright and beautiful. Tucked back in the darkness. It looked a bit like an egg, nestled in a nest. The rings were delicate and intense and made me very happy. I was shaking the whole time. I felt a bit dirty; like sneaking a glance at 'yellow panties' crotched jeans.
I need to see 'yellow panties' tomorrow. I have been avoiding her, but I need to see her. I need to talk to her directly. Look at her eyes to see if I have any chance. It is so easy to be sneaky. Stalk her, but I am not sure that that is the best way. I need to be direct with her. Ask her out for coffee or tea. I wish I had a pair of her panties with me. I could hold them until my hands become clammy. I could feel them snagging on the stubble of my face as I rub them to release their scent. I would hold them between my chin and chest, like vick's vapor rub, and let them soothe me into a restful slumber; and I would eat them in the morning.
Xioba
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