Monday, September 13, 2004

dammit to hell 

so my friend, that punkass kid, just informed me that he is going to the SI Swimsuit shoot in Honduras for the next week. yeah. that punkass kid. sitting at home cause he found it convenient to quit his banking job (not that i blame him), playing ball and going to the gym everday, is gonna be in the same suite and on the same beaches and at the same lunch tables as scantily clad gorgeous supermodels.. the most beautiful women on earth. yeah. that scrawny ass no good punkass is gonna talk and oggle at these lovely creatures all week. and he's not paying for the trip cause SI is covering the tab. just cause his girlfriend is a journalist for Sports Illustrated.. and she's cool enough to take his fat ass along.

Dammit. some people have all the luck. fuckin eh. at least he'll take lots of pictures for me and maybe introduce his buddy to some people when he gets back.

Sunday, September 12, 2004

all things considered 

There is impermanence to all things. I can live in this city and be happy. Running with my dog in the park. Beagle? First dog? No, a labrador. Big but not stupid. Strong but not overwhelming. Autumn in Central Park. An apartment with an elevator. Yes, I can settle in this city and go out from Thursday to Saturday, jog on Sunday mornings, and lounge in the afternoons. A big living room with a rug and the paintings that are framed. She is nowhere in sight. What of it? Job that pays in time -- sands floating in its own flesh. Evanescence be dammed. I can stay in this city and meet new people all the same. What’s the use of going anywhere when everywhere comes to you? Fall becomes winter becomes spring and summer returns. Can someone ever really change? Lucretious or Ovid --- does the wax really ever change with the seals when you still know that it’s wax---gooey and metamorphosing. Ovid. Nothing ever really changes despite the intransigence thrust upon us. Do soulmates happen or do they occur. One at a time once upon a time. There was her, but she was changing also, see?

When all things have run its course will I have changed? More importantly, will it have mattered, at all? Wine grows better with age but humans, we grow weaker with time. That is the ultimate joke.

There was a time, far back, where everything was the afternoon and the afternoon was only green and pale. Pale pale blue of the village sky stretching into the illimitable distance. Into the oblivion of being and forgetting. You’ll be safe here—don’t run off, okay? Yes mom, I promise.. can I just stand here and watch the cars in the road? Come as they may, one by one, sometimes in two, all disappearing into the unequivocal silent distance. Mattering wasn't spoken and importance hadn't been learned. It was all the same if you haven’t really thought about it. Clouds crashed into the land and the dark grass brushed the pale blue face. Wait here while I go get the fish ok? Catfish and trout. Buxom and thin and round and flat fish, flopping in their barrels, silvery scales brushing swish swash, eyes wide open -- while women in dark dresses called out their doom. No, no that’s too much. Lower, I’ll only pay that much. Fine, fine, I don’t need fish for tonight --- let’s go, son. Now, run along, you go play at the edge and don’t stray yes? And the road blurred into the everything of being. Gray, winding, and undulating, caressing the bosom of the still innocent earth. I can smell the ending of day, the musky odor of the afternoon wind hovering through the village stalls; meats and poultry and their bloody aroma, fish and their signatures from the sea, vegetables coming from the gripping hands of dirt and steaming stews of star anise, the musk of garlic and tang of lemon and slow cooked broth and pungent fish sauce. The wind gripped me and held me in that lost moment of my life, that cocoon where emptiness deleted emotion, where life ceased to tug and pull and ask you questions. Being four years old and having the world opened to you and you not knowing it was the most wonderful time of my life. It was the long tall stalks of the uncut grass that I remember. And the thatched roofs of the village market, set among the highway that ran to eternity. Oh that country, where innocence was lost to war but redeemed each day, each minute by the sheer determination and will of its people to continue. To live without remembering because remembering was too real. We all lived in a dream world. We were all four.

Can we all be young? Can we hold on to our youths as our bodies decay, one cell at a time, each second bringing us closer to the impermanence of death? I don’t know what propels me to continue, to travel on; perhaps it is the desire to resist, to rebel against the comic circumstances in which our frailty is always reminded. Tick tock. The seconds pass by and each moment, I am reminded that we are all sons and daughters of time. Fuck you God, prankster, trickster, beguiling us with the promise of better things that never come. To exist, only to know that we will not continue to exist is the cruelest joke. It is the greatest joke to be ever played in this insignificant universe, born by chance and willed on by nothing. Months blur into years and years disappear with the passing of days. So I travel on and mask my fears in the distraction of new scents and sounds and bodies. Continents are mere land masses crashing into each other, reflections of smaller bodies and their lives. If there is any magic in this world, it is the empty space, the non-physical and purely divine connection that exists between two bodies. The existential Look, the hedonistic touch, the energy that flows between souls of different temperaments and feelings…

Was that it? she sat up and looked at me. She pulled up her underwear. Crimson lace and dark nipples erect still. I looked down at the fuzz between her legs, matted and askew. I guide her hands towards mine and leave the silk cloth on the couch, cool from the brush of air conditioning. I kiss her on the mouth and tried to taste her desire, my desire to remember the instant moment when our souls left our bodies and crashed into each other. She had given herself to me. Salty and sweet and fumbling all the same. She fucking gave herself because you can’t get what you don’t give. Was that it? Fuck. My first time and she is still looking at me. She kissed me again, hoping to revive the already depleted energy. Grab the air, if you can, I wanted to say. Hold the air in you hand, cause that’s what you really want. Hurry, cause that thin strand of life is vanishing. I remember my first time. I remember her eyes more than the electric physical ecstasy --- cause her eyes were shooting out webs --- false webs that tried to imitate---imitate the thrill, the magic and wonder of sex in all its innocence.. where she was trying to make me live and I was living through her and inside of her. Fuck. Everything is impermanent. Transgience....


This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?