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I figure this is going to take the whole session George...
I found writing a daily diary helped me a lot in having effective therapy. It captures whats going on in the moment and the pen and paper help me slow down and focus the awesome flow of ideas that unfortunately I believe are due to the Hypomania. But it's great, I can slow down almost at will now it seems. Sofia was right, I do tend to intellectualize this too much. To me it's easier to study something when it is organized and not chaotic or all over the place. That's right. I like to organize, but I usually don't. But I like it. I like the act more than the ends. Whatever. I was however fascinated at what happened at some point as I read the pages and pages of diary to George. I started to cry like a baby at some point. I didn't feel like crying. I wasn't consciously sad. But I cried and cried and cried. It was in that moment that my fascination for Psychology came back. I was equally puzzled and equally fascinated and sad at the same time that I kept tripping up and crying about what I was saying in the diaries. I cried so much my eyes turned completely red by the time I was done and I am still having a headache every now and then some 3 days later. That's why I hate to cry, I believe it causes Sinus infections which lead to Migraines for me.
A lot of people say I waste time. Oh but who doesn't? I would like to see the first self-righteous person that never wastes any time to throw me the first freaking cobblestone to my face. That's why I was always on edge. There was this guy named Joe stoning me to death every time I wasted my time without resolving shit like this. I am glad I finally had this dream as it has a lot of unresolved issues that I feel I have finally began to resolve. I think dreams are even better than live thoughts when it comes to resolving unconscious stimuli.
You're gonna say I use a lot of jargon but I will omit it. I will however give my own thoughts on why I think I dreamed up whatever it was after every paragraph. We will maximize time that way. It seems like the 2 months I have left of therapy are going to be the most interesting.
Dream Test 001
"Jayrunner"
I don't remember much of the earlier dream George. I know there was a woman at some point with reddish hair. She was very tinny and skinny. Maybe just 100 lbs. I don't know why she was in the dream but that part of the dream I have lost due to lack of recalling it at the time. I do remember she accompanied me later in the dream.
I really don't know the significance of this woman. While I would never say never, her description does not fall under my type aside from the fact she is a redhead. This sounds shallow. But we are talking about symbolism when looking at dreams. The other day I was in a bus and I saw a beautiful little latina. I think she was Puerto Rican. I loved her accent and the way she talked. She kept mixing English with Spanish. Not in the ugly Spanglish sense but like intertwining both languages in whole sentences. And her voice was real cute. She kept saying "I'm 20 years old. I have to go to work. If I go to the doctor they make you waste three hours. If I don't go I don't get paid" I remember she got off at the same stop as me so I looked at her some more. She was not particularly gorgeous but I liked her a lot. Were she not 20 years old I have actually recovered enough self esteem to at least talk to her in a none creepy way. But it didn't help that it seems people my age hold people around that age in some sort of contempt. I think it's the marked difference in maturity, not that I am mature. But in my worst day I still find 20-23 year old women annoying. It's inevitable. There may be exceptions. Actually I know there are. Anyway, regarding the latina girl. Recently I was in a mixed race group and we were talking about our physical types of women. Like in a real shallow sense, we were encouraged to. So I went through the list. Irish redheads with freckles and big breasts are number 1. Followed by exotic jewish with dark hair and large breasts. Followed by so on and so on. Blondes from the south and midwest are quickly moving up the chain but I have since decided to say no to drugs. Someone asked me if I would try something different. As if women were dishes. I said at the end of the day it didn't really matter I am just talking to talk and that you don't choose who you like, the moment and circumstances kind of help you out there. Anyway, I did admit that I stay away from Latin women. Because I know my culture and I don' like it. But in reality I am submissive to the white woman that continuously hurts me. I am like really afraid of Latina's. Especially puerto rican women. I don't know why I am saying this. I am afraid of them for so many different reasons. Especially because I personally never met a feminist latina so I don't even want to get started on that. But we should discuss this next time. I also told someone recently I don't bother with slavic women because they are cold. Despite the fact they are usually physically gorgeous in my opinion, at least the once I meet in New York. I need to be physical and affectionate and loving and stuff and those women don't seem to be that way. This based on one girl I dated and a lot of airheaded women I know that just so happen to be Eastern European but could have easily been from Connecticut. Stereotypes kill you and close a lot of doors.
There was a building that looked like a Rubik's Cube. There was an open cube that was supposed to be a window, inside was a man that was supposed to help me stop a catastrophe. I had agreed beforehand that he would have the information I needed to stop whoever it was from doing whatever it was they were going to do. I think it involved blowing up something. Anyway this guy, who was chubby and black suddenly changed his mind and started shouting in outbursts. I knew that I only had around 5 minutes to deal with it and it becomes unclear to me how it was that I convinced him to tell me who the guy was.
The building reminds me of a building on 42nd and 8th and another somewhere on East Houston. The windows are all colored different and makes them look like a Rubik's Cube. Plus I was thinking of playing that game again. I saw it lying around the other day. And by that I mean months ago. I don't know why the man was chubby and black. I do know I tend to save a lot of people in my dreams. Way too many. That's hugely symbolic of what ails me or what I am. I am not sure at this point.
At that point, me and the girl made our way to a car. There was an old man who got in and drove us around, he looked like Johnny Blank, don't ask me who that is in real life. You don't want to know. Anyway this old man starts driving us around in this awesome futuristic muscle car. I don't remember what it looked like on the outside to be honest. I know it was pouring heavy rain. So we stopped driving around for whatever reason. It seems like a long time went by... Suddenly we are at my aunts house and my cousin Ronald is there. He tells me to go fetch the car. The old man told us to meet him at a certain hour at a certain place to drive us around in this awesome car who we thought was his. He showed up younger and Asian and in a red Honda scooter. When we get to the car it turns out, Ronald recognizes the guy as a car thief and tells us to make a run for it. I somehow managed to fool him into getting out of the car and drove it off myself. I remember driving through the sidewalk and hitting everything in our way except people. The car tumbles into the street... There was an ocean of rain it seemed.
Recently I saw a new Dodge Challenger in Silver. I had been waiting to see that car in real life. I saw it at a car show once, in blue. I always said that if I was a car I'd be a Dodge Challenger. I loved how it looked in silver. I always dream of a cross country road trip to California in an American made muscle car. Some of my friends would look at me weird but I do love muscle cars. And leather jackets. I guess I bought into that image. I'll tell you what, it sure beats hipsters from Williamsburg and the whole frat boy that meets sorority sister from big school in the middle of nowhere in the big city and thus gentrifies the little guy out of town. Ok stop. That made sense to me but that's not the topic here. I guess Ronald was there, because as you know my nemesis is always somehow tied to me. He stole cars at some point so I am guessing that is why my mind used him for this. The red scooter symbolizes my means of transportation at the time I lived with Ronald. He also stole it. Although technically he didn't because it was originally his. I don't know why the old man turned young. I remember that when it rained it did so heavily in the Caribbean and huge puddles and streams would form on the streets with really bad sewage systems. Oh and I am good at fooling people into doing what I want. It sucks but it's true. And I know what you are thinking. Wait why do I always have to dissect more than I should? Why do I have to worry about pathologizing every little thing? Why do I have to think I know what you are seeing when I am not you and I will never ever know? I think stuff like this is what causes a ton of anxiety. Even little things like this.
We then somehow made it into what seemed like downtown Brooklyn. But a more heavily Bloombergized version of it. Once there I start going through all these department stores that circle a plaza. It seemed like downtown Brooklyn, but it could have been something else. The point is, at some point as I am chasing the guy around I lost my partner. I paid no mind. I managed to get distracted in a lot of side adventures, there seemed to be one about me helping a boy find a missing toy in a huge toy store.
I loathe Michael Bloomberg. I remember New York City before he came into office. Even though I despise Guliani over Bloomberg as a person I feel Bloomberg has done a lot more damage to the working class of New York and ran them out of town. Plus he has turned this city into a town of rich people. Not that it always hasn't been one. But at least the little guy could still grow up in the Upper West Side in my day. Like a little guy I know. No more. What eats me up more is that my friend Bruce works for the motherfucker in his campaign... But I will leave it at that. I guess I am in downtown Brooklyn because I was just there the other day. I told you. The thing about the non-profit Goodwill Industries being in the same building as the Brooklyn Chamber of Commerce. A place I went to as an Aflac agent as it was my district managers account and all I can think of regarding that place is the amount of slime the cleanup people have to wash off by the end of the day because of all the snakes that frequent it. Snakes like my ex district manager Tommy Tam or the greasy piece of shit who runs benefits there and gets rich off of being like a fucking Tick and sucking your blood for absolutely nothing. I don't know what the significance of the department stores is. I don't know why I lost the girl. I guess because I am fickle and fall in and out of love easily. Boy I'm on a real roll here.
Then I was somewhere else, and I ran into her... I ran into Kat R. Now why the hell would I dream about Kat R? I don't even know her, but I did. I finally met Kat Reid in my dream. She was accompanied by about 4 folks including her boyfriend who turned out to be a nice fellow and seemed more interested in saying hello then she was. They both shook my hand. Kat barely did but the dude sure did. Kat kind of looked like I imagined but a little bit chubbier. The situation was awkward. I felt like... The dude was a real nice guy. I was relieved. I will tell you why later George. All those people kept saying "I'm sorry". They said it a lot. There was some dude in their posse who was injured. Something happened to his leg. I somehow spotted my guy and had to leave Kat and say goodbye. I was happily relieved to have to run. That was really awkward.
You can say awkward again. This whole issue is too complicated to discuss in one session but I feel it contributed heavily into the onset of what got me into this mess in first place. Not the woman in question in particular but the whole story surrounding her and what I used to do which was extremely pathological in my opinion. I'm guessing I dreamed about this woman because the other day, Bruce, who features heavily in a lot of ways in this dream, was despondent over the loss of a girl who he met that he thought was amazing but didn't do anything about it. I never met Katia but I'm looking at how Bruce met a french bartender woman a while ago (Really long beautiful short story material) and didn't really dream about her until now. Again I never met Katia, what I'm trying to say is at the time she seemed like the most amazing woman ever. Funny because I never met her. Do you see where I am getting at? Or the point I am trying to make? I do remember watching the moving Ghost Rider when it came out in February of 2007 and walking through icy 8th avenue to get to 34th street and couldn't wait to get home to call Katia. It took three hours to get there that night because the trains weren't working that late. This just gave me an idea for a novel. Man, Bipolar people really are creative and narcissistic. By the way I saw Ghost Rider the other day... Hmm... Wish the unconscious would go "THERE YOU GO! YOU GOT ME!" I can see how people would think I'm still sick. I feel saner than ever. I don't think this whole thing is delusional at all. I just think I may actually be smarter than I thought. Now that I have seen real delusional people and psychotic people all day I can tell when I see that kind of behavior and its not always that evident. Ok, that was awkward...
Oh and the guys injury is probably my own leg injury I recently suffered. Except mine is on the right. I could really push it and say I am no longer as left wing as Kat seems to be. I don't even know what her politics are. I think she is some kind of Anarchist. I don't know what I am but I am neither a Socialist nor an Anarchist but kind of an amalgam of the two. But every day I stay on the line and receive awful treatment from both Non-Profits and the State I inch further and further into the right. Like I can now see where those people who talk about big government being bad were talking about. Except our version is different. I tell myself...
I will tell you one thing about Kat. When I think of what a woman from 200 years in the future would be like. I always think of her. When I think feminist. I see her picture. When I think strong woman, I think of my mom, but then I think of her in the idealized way. I am definitely writing the main character in the Smell of the Ozone after Kat. Ironically I once wrote a poem in Spanish called "Mujer del Manana" which was made for her. I did it in Spanish so she wouldn't ever read it. But I can read it for you if you want George. I think it's the most beautiful thing I ever wrote.
Oh but the awkwardness did not stop. I then saw Tracy W. I won't even bother with this part of the dream because quite frankly I do not care even a decibel about her or any unresolved issues I may have with her and I know you will think oh let's explore this but no. The woman is completely insignificant in my life. She probably doesn't even remember how she stole from me. How she used me to get money. I mean I told myself a lot of years that she did it out of need because she needed the money and this business was tough and she was older and I would show some compassion... That she had suffered enough in life so fuck it let her screw me. But no... NO! Fuck her and fuck everyone that I keep bending over for that keep screwing me. Honestly, it's not my fault the world is a sad horrible place in real life. It's not my fault. I need to stop blaming myself and letting people like Tracy W. fuck me over. I just end up eating it up and destroying myself out of some twisted sense of self-righteousness I developed... I don't know why. Actually I do, but we don't have time for this shit and we've probably already discussed it. Boy it feels good to have said this. And fuck you Tracy W. I don't have to destroy you but I won't cry if you destroy yourself. You'd know what I'm talking about lady.
I pretty much said everything I had to say about Tracy. She was a middle aged alcoholic whom I still believe ripped me off on a deal in the Upper East Side and in Park Slope where we sold insurance to a bunch of construction workers at the YMCA but it was me who did all the heavy lifting. I didn't get a dime. I left Aflac shortly after this due to a different reason. She never paid me. I think I dreamed of her because Bruce mentioned her a few weeks ago. The whole destroying yourself comes from the fact I knew her circumstances and some of her demons and felt she would finish herself off. Instead she got better and is doing quite nicely now. A part of me feels empathy for her. It feels good to see a person who has suffered a lot do well. Another part of me is mad that I let her screw me over after how hard I worked and trusted her... I part of me is angry that I always have to play Superman and Mother Teresa and always have to do the right thing. But I still get to bleed.
Having said that I run past Tracy W. who hypocritically tries to say hello. I ignore her, but obviously not really. I then go past a deli and I spot and unmistakable figure inside. It was Bruce wearing one of his metrosexual tight H&M t-shirts that I don't think I would never fit under. Anyway he was eating a sandwich. And let me tell you George, it makes perfect sense to find Bruce in a place like this. I kept running, I kept thinking about Kat. I started Jaywalking through what seemed like thousands of cars in the middle of a Plaza where somehow Jay St. intersected. But now it seemed more like a wider Times Square. I run through the cars... I lost the guy.
I always sit in a little part of the blvd in times square across from the Toys R Us and I have done so on and off for about 10 years since that part has been open. When I sit there looking up Broadway it feels like the cars are coming right at you but they have to make a sudden turn right as they get to this point. I was in Jay Street recently. Every time I think about downtown Brooklyn I think of Bruce. He likes it. He walks down Montague street to get to the Promenade late at night. I've done it too a couple of times. Anyway, the shirt is an inside joke. I don't get to hang out with Bruce anymore because I cannot drink. I am determined to someday control my symptoms without the use of Klonopin so I can drink again. It sucks that I feel like I have to drink to have a better social life but it is what it is and I can't seem to do it any other way.
I went back to look for Bruce. He was gone. The girl was gone too, I never found her, don't even remember who she was. I kept thinking about Kat and that whole situation about strangers and moving on that I have been applying lately...
I then woke up.
In more ways than one.
Fuckers I bet you didn't even get to this point which is why this is the safest place to put this so I can use someone else's printer to print it. And because I want to see if I can get in trouble for writing about this.
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Prologue
I was running into imaginary people the other day. Nothing Schizophrenic or anything. Thankfully I do not suffer from THAT mental ailment. Miraculously actually. Knock on wood. (Oh look, that's a compulsive thought). Anyway I say I ran into imaginary people because I was thinking about what would happen the next time I ran into them because I have bumped into their real versions before. (This last sentence is kind of Hypomanic). Anyway, the small talk is always the same. It's "Hey Joe, what have you been up to?!". I paraphrase, but small shit like that. It's like people are really nosey and they want to know how you are doing, what you are doing, who are you doing it with and how much money you make. They also want to know if you got fat with age. They want to know if they are doing better than you are I guess because that is what people are encouraged to do under Capitalism (You knew I couldn't leave that one out of the equation for too long). I am cynical, but it's been my experience. Anyway, before or in the event of when this actually happened I would make up some bullshit story. I would flat out lie and tell them I'm doing ok and that I'm an Insurance Agent, or a Teacher or work for a Non-Profit or any sort of former occupation of mine. I never tell them what I'm really doing.
Before I would have to say the real answer was nothing. Now it get's complicated. How in the fucking world could I ever explain to these people the truth. How could I possibly explain where I go every other day and what I do and how I believe it is going to make me kick so much ass in a short couple of years and in the grand scheme of things which I myself only know or rather believe and am pretty sure about. I am still trying to figure that one out. I guess I should flat out keep lying and say stuff like... "I am in a mental clinic". Or perhaps "I am between Jobs". Or my personal favorite, though not entirely false "I am studying for my GRE's before I get into graduate school". Thankfully though, you don't need GRE's for what I am going to grad school for but I'll do them anyway.
I will tell you one truth though. I no longer have a social life. Well, at least not like I used to. Talking to everyone and having conversations with everyone does not a social life make. But to close, if there is one thing I have learned in the last half decade and really, my whole life, it's that you just never know where in fucking hell or heaven you are going to fucking end up. Really, because if you do... Man you lead a boring existence. I would reconsider my options if I were you. So yeah, I am still thinking about what to say to my imaginary friends. Or their real life counterparts who are probably not really my friends the next time they ask me those stupid nosey questions. But that is an ongoing story. Call this the prologue to it.
The Things that Escape the Lenses
Today, I overheard my mother and uncle talking about their half-siblings. I have to say I have only met two of them, there are actually four. With my other uncle that is seven known children my grandfather, whose name happens to be my Anglosized (I doubt this is a word) middle name, sired. The fact I carry his name happened by pure chance. I promise to relate the tale of why my mother named me what she named me sometime at the end of this story (Digressing a lot because you have racing thoughts are symptoms of many Mood Disorders, namely due to mania, they say). Anyway, talking about my maternal grandfather immediately makes me think of my paternal grandfather and how again by pure fucking chance I happen to carry the Anglosized version of his first name. I somehow figured this out long ago when I was a young lad, but my mother brought it to my attention the other day. I can't believe I had totally forgotten about that. I mean it never crossed my mind ever again. I mean shit happens. Anyway, my mom doesn't believe in coincidences. And I'll get back to her later but anyway my grandfather, he had two families that are known of, my father's which includes 5 children and then their half siblings also another five, I don't know them. Surprisingly they all get along in both camps. So that is 17 known children that my grandparents made and I only keep in touch with two of them. My mom and my uncle. That's life. But I know I mentioned this story for a reason...
Oh yes... The reason. It's beautiful actually...
I was staring at my uncle and my mother in my mind after overhearing them talk about their long lost half siblings who they recently heard from after 10 years. And I couldn't help but think about my biological roots. Not just my own but all of our roots. I thought about them there, all dressed up. These two smart animals... These pieces of living biological flesh. With human intelligence. And language and cultural skills... I thought of some guy in Russia. And some dude in Israel. And some Chinese guy speaking Cantonese. I thought of Chile because a cousin of mine I barely know just got married and moved there. I remember because I know him, or knew him. And I picture him in my mind. I build him up with Icons, Indexes and Symbols. All these mental representations of language connotations that give everything meaning. I think and I go to the MET and I see statues from the Greeks. And I go to the MOMA and I see Picasso. And Jackson Pollock, wow that is something to see in person. But most of all I think of Caravaggio. Man... What a guy... I mean you look at his painting and you think of all the things that go into life in general...
More importantly I think about the simple things in life. I think about the fact that my fingertips are moving at a speed of about 60-70 words per minute which probably has an equivalence to some actual speed measurement in miles per second and my episodic memory has the symbols that represent the alphabet in the keyboard memorized. I think of the fact I can formulate sentences to create these words that have meaning to me most of all but also may have meaning to other people who know a language they call English. A language developed and evolved for over a thousand years. That is a hell of a lot of times the Earth circled the Sun from the perspective of a human being. But very little in the grand scheme of the half-life of a main sequence star like the Sun. I probably deduced that out of ideas developed through my love of Astronomy. Something some Physicists developed long ago when they started to look into the stars. That's another thing. In another life I'd be an Astronaut. I think I like being on the fringes of things. And regarding the Astros... I think of Pulsars and Black Holes. I think of the Kuipert Belt and Meteors. I think of Binary Star Systems. I think of small particles like Electrons and Quartz. I think of the Photons in a ray of Light. I think of so many things I have never and will never ever ever see. Although don't even say never I said before in this post. But unlikely... Likelihood is probability. My mom does not believe in chance.
That is right. She believes in fate. She believes in God and Angels and Saints. And Jesus. And Magic. And things that she will probably never see. And things scientific and unscientific alike. She is not aware of how she applies so much logic and science in her work and is a magnificent seamtress. She sews with the skill and the dexterity of a Black Widow building it's web. And I call that a metaphor. And I know all of this because people before me told me so. Directly and indirectly they tell me these things all the time. You just have to figure out what they are saying...
All these people, the Einstein's and the Gipsies. The Houdini's and the Neil Armstrong's... Screw that, the Lance Armstrong's... If they only knew... If they only knew...
Know? Know what? Oh I'll tell them what I know. One, I am not crazy, not that I think they are judging. Two, I am certainly not stoned or under the effects of Klonopin. I am merely using my brain tissue and all these things I have mentioned to you throughout this post. All this culture. The one thing I believe, and I stress I believe... Humans have over any other creature in the known universe. Any other thing. The thing that from my perspective and I stress MY perspective, makes you and me more beautiful and powerful than the energy emanated from a Pulsar. The ability to think. To wonder. To observe and report. To give meaning and then transmit that meaning and the culture it creates on to subsequent intelligent lifeforms who thus change the meaning and change the culture and "evolve" it into something else entirely. Until, it is my belief, one day someone like me will use the accumulated knowledge of an entirely young species and be able to harness the power of a Pulsar. Or maybe I'm being ambitious... But boy, isn't that human as well?
I didn't get to say what I wanted to say, but maybe I did. What I do know is I am sitting on this chair... Do you know how long it took humans to come up with the idea of a chair? And one made of leather and one that spins? And the fact I learned how to sit in the chair because someone taught me? Directly or indirectly? ;)
Or the fact I type... I type in a keyboard of plastic... That turns the impulses into Binary Code in my computer which then creates these symbols known as letters which create words which go into the screen (I'll get to her later) and which are read by my eyes and go into my mind and are interpreted into ideas that make me react and think. Isn't that beautiful? Tell me a fly can do that? I bet it can't read but it does something similar. But tell me it can read Shakespeare. Tell me a star can do that? Mighty Supernova... Mother of all elements... Tell me you can build technology. Tell me you can create art and literature. Tell me you know how to teach things. Tell me you know how to learn them... Tell me you know you exist. Or think you do. All powerful and all.
Don't just tell me that you are... Even though you are.
You've got nothing on me and my people.
So my mom she told me the story of my given birth name. I was originally scheduled to be named Alexander. After the great one. But instead my mother lay dying in a hospital bed as she went into labor. I was late. We both almost died. She prayed to some Catholic Saint. A Venezuelan doctor who they say performed miracles back in the day. Some dude named Jose Gregorio Hernandez. Somehow my mom knew I would hate the name. She named me Joseph Gregory to make it in English. I hated it until the second grade. The first time my teacher Ms. Borrello called me Joe for the first time in my life. After that I loved it forever. I love Joey, but I think I'm too old for that. Greg is not bad either. Greggy though is terrible, but I've never heard anyone be called something like that.
So all those things I just said, that stupid story. Well it's not stupid. The fact that you read it. From your computer screen. The one made of glass. You know how many people were involved in the harnessing of glass throughout the history of mankind? And to turn that into a "screen". What the hell is a "screen"? I'm sure Louis the VII wouldn't know. I don't know if the smartest man that ever lived, one Sir Issac Newton would know either. And by logic, oh what a wonderful thing this logic thing... I can only think of the things that my generation will never ever understand... And that ongoing process. And if I were to die today... I would say that was the most beautiful thing about being human.
So there I stood, staring at these two lifeforms. These old pieces of flesh. With fears and desires. With ideas and beliefs. Contrasting to each other. My mother the superstitious and faithful. My uncle the scientific and skeptic. What a beautiful thing to see a living organism with a limited lifespan able to gain so much wisdom because of that thing we call culture. All that wisdom they past on to me and which I will pass on to someone else and so on...
And as for the reason? The one I spoke of throughout this whole thing...
Oh humans, you never die. Not even till the last one of you does... You'll leave your stuff behind for someone else to interpret. If they can interpret... Because seeking meaning is human I hear. Are there other lifeforms that perform the same functions as humans? Who knows. God maybe.
Yes God...
And maybe those who can see all the things that scape the lenses.
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♫I said maybe...
I don't really wanna know...
How your garden grows...
Cus I just wanna fly!!!
Lately...
Did you ever feel the pain? In the morning rain? That just soaks you to the bone.
Maybe I just wanna fly!!! Wanna live but don't wanna die!
Maybe I just wanna... ♫
Nah just kidding.
I said maybe... No I didn't say maybe. I definitely said I would never live in the past again. And I haven't for a while. But there are certain things that even though I try not to remember, they sneak up on me. They keep popping up. Today being one of those days. Especially being that it's a Saturday. And someone brought up the date today and I immediately recognized, as if chance or fate or coincidence made me realize the date, something I seldom seem to realize regardless. I didn't know it was September 26 already. Time does fly. As it turns out eleven years ago to the day turned out to be the so far greatest day of my life. And unless I achieve some considerable goals that I have I cannot think of anything in my immediate or medium range future that can eclipse that. It was like something out of a feel good movie. Dramatic and romantic and stuff. Oh it was great to be 16 years old and live like that with Oasis playing in the background all the time. What an overrated band, but classic for the times nonetheless.
So yeah. I said it. As I usually say it. Every fucking year on this blog. You can check. Except this time I just didn't say "exactly bla bla years ago to the day was the best one of my life". Life is short I've found. It gets shorter and shorter the more you grow. And you realize you have to make more of these treasured moments happen. I haven't made enough of them happen but if you put yourself in position to make them happen, they just might happen. You just have to put yourself in "happens" way.
So yeah... I still love you Cecilia. I would say wherever you are for the sake of being dramatic but I know exactly where you are and where you'll always be. And that is physically far away from me, even in another country, but always in my heart. I think we all have one of those. Except maybe not as far away. Or maybe.
Awww... I can be so hopelessly romantic even though I say I'm Marxist and don't believe in love.
It's bullshit. There's this new intern... But I'm just delusional.
But that's ok.
♫ So take me to the place that you go, where nobody knows, if it's night or day...
...
And don't look back in anger...
I heard you say... ♫
And that wasn't the song.
You really did say that.
And I don't.
So after that intro, here's the story of why I loved that day. It is innocent. It is pure. It is one of my favorite anecdotes in life. I wrote it a couple of years ago in my facebook notes where it's been buried. Thought I'd put it here. Not that anyone reads you anymore dear Bolshevikstorm. But you've been sorely lacking a nice little love story for years and years and years on these pages... And oh I don't feel like editing so I hope you did a good job at it years ago Joey...
Funny. Only the intern calls me that.
" Love has reasons which reason cannot understand..."
-- Blaise Pascal--
"The Shimmer of her Lips in the Dark"
Someone once told me that each person has at least one novel to tell at the end of their lives. If not the case, it is said that such person has not lived. Fortunately for me, I have lots of chapters for one of those novels. And for a lot more that have little to do with me. And I am certain that everyone else has them as well. Although I prefer short stories. The many short stories of each person that can ultimately be summed into a novel. Especially my own short stories. I have many of those.
But more than anything, I like to tell them. Especially when few people neither listen to them nor read them.
I remember a Saturday many years ago... A chilly and cloudy day. Something like at the end of 1997. My memory fails me a bit here. But it was in that town. The sandy one. The climate a bit too cold for the season. Because I can honestly remember what heat really feels like when I think of that place. And chilly days are an exception.
And as I think about this story it is impossible to not remember my cousins friends. Those interesting characters that entered and exited my aunt Rachel's house when I still lived under her roof at the time. I remember that particular character they called Pipe (pronounced Pee-Peh). Like the majority of my cousins friends, an angel on the outside and a devil within, although this one was harmless. Especially in that chilly and cloudy afternoon that I previously mentioned in which Pipe must have been way too bored as after finding out that I had lots of money at my disposable on that day he encouraged me to invite him to the movies to watch "The Devils Advocate" in exchange for letting me drive his bike. The Irony... Taking a devil to watch "the Devils Advocate". And talking about this devil reminds me of all the other devils of my adolescence. Starting with the biggest devil of them all with whom I shared genes in some remote location of our DNA... Although that's a character and a story for another day... I'm sure one very soon.
I remember what Pipe told me as his bike made a brusque slide on 54th avenue... Around that beautiful boulevard that I loved so much. Founders Park I think is what they called it...
"Hey have you ever taken your girlfriend to the movies?", he asked me around the noise of the motorcycle and the wind that slammed with force against my face...
"I've got nothing.", I answered at the same time as I twisted at the accelerator as the bike made an abrupt fall at full speed over another sharp slope on the road.
"There's nothing cooler at your age than making out with your little girlfriend at the movies", was the only thing he responded with his coastal accent.
I must have been about fifteen years old when he said this to me... And in my innocence, his words resonated in my mind. There were few things I wanted more in my life, aside from the thousands of sexual fantasies that each adolescent has, then to live out that experience after having heard those words.
And there I was... Almost a year later and in the same theater. Although this time with better company. If I close my eyes, I can still see that solitary place. In that cinema that I would later find out no longer exists. There must have been like five people at the most in that place at that time. Although in reality I didn't count, because I only had eyes for looking at her. Especially at her unforgettable face which I saw in the darkness each time it was reflected by the lights from each change of frame in each scene of the movie. That movie that to this day I have never seen... Because of looking at her. I only looked at her eyes... And then that shimmer of her lips and her smile. And her shinning braces. And I think it was then that I studied and memorized each angle of her face that I can still see each time I think about that angel from heaven.
And to talk about angels is not an exaggeration when it comes to her...
"Please...", I think is what she said... My hand intertwined with hers. Our faces so close that I could feel her breath.
"Please don't look at me like that.", She repeated in a very low voice. Low voice that at the same time was sweet and which always relaxed me. Or at least I think it always had that effect over me.
I thought about not listening to her. I was determined to kiss her and fulfill the dream that I had since that motoristic conversation with Pipe... I was determined to kiss "my little girlfriend" at the movies. Because there is nothing cooler at that age. According to Pipe. And ever since, according to me as well.
Not even having inept sexual relations that only happen with the inexperience brought by that early age. And differently from all the other women which I drooled over at the time, it was in that moment as I saw her innocent face say those words that this angel became stamped in my memories forever... Which is why I can say she indisputably became the greatest lost love of my life and that in contrast to all the others, she was a girl whom I undoubtedly respected (At least while I was still sexist.)
It was then by the fault of my respect for her that I decided to give up and accept my fate. Which was not to kiss her on that theater on that day. And maybe based on her personality, somewhat too religious and decent, she wouldn't offer a better opportunity or place to ever make it happen. It was then that I stared at the screen for the first time that afternoon. And who knows what was going on in that movie, because I had missed out on more than half of it because of staring at her and not thinking about anything else but kissing those lips that shimmered in the dark. Something I had wanted to do since the first moment that I met her. And that afternoon, especially in that place...
It was then (I noticed that I've said this a lot) that a few minutes later... In dramatic fashion and totally unexpectedly... I received one of the major surprises of my life. One the best surprises ever given to me by any relationship , whether sexual or emotional, that I have had ever since with any woman. That unique moment at that such glorious of an age of your life. When that innocent and scared little girl, in front of the reflection of the movie in that solitary and dark place... Called my name with her tender voice... And as I turned towards her face... She received me with her mouth to give me what she would later say was her first kiss and which I can undoubtedly say was one of the few ever given to me while I was completely in love. Afterward it's easy to say that I completely forgot where I was... I forgot about time and everything else. Only her mouth and breath existed. A breath which sadly or to my own benefit I can still remember.
We would spend the whole afternoon in that deal. In between the impacts of my incisive teeth as they met the front of her braces and that electrical sensation that you feel as they crash. In the movies and on our way to my house. In my house... Until nightfall. Until my mouth would hurt from kissing her too much. And until I took her home. Point in which I could no longer feel my mouth. I don't think I have ever kissed a woman for longer than all the hours I spent glued to her mouth without coming off that whole day. It was then that I remembered that devil named Pipe. And the devil was right. There is nothing cooler than to kiss your "little girlfriend" at the movies at that age.
Not even the pleasure of my best and most arduous of sexual experiences... Can replicate the wonder of a moment like that. I could say it was the best day of my entire life, in between many incredible experiences I've had in this life. And to this day, I think I can say that moment in which she caught me off guard with that strong and passionate kiss that I would never have expected to come from a person like her, is still the champion of all my happy moments.
It was exactly a decade ago in which this occurred. In a 26th of September like it is today. And a whole lifetime will go by and I'll never forget that sunny and beautiful day. I'll never forget her either. Even though she's the only woman, even if we were babies at the time, that has ever broken my heart in my entire life. The same one that at the end of the day is still and will always be my best friend. And though I've recently learned that it's not a good thing to look back... There are moments that are impossible to forget. Especially for romantic people like deep down I happen to still be.
Especially when those memories reconstruct those beautiful things.
Things like that day.
Those things like those of hers...
♫ I'm in love with the girl that Im talking about,
I'm in love with the girl I can't live without.
I'm in love but it feels like I'm wearing it out,
I'm in love but I sure picked a bad time ...
To be in loooooooooooove,
A bad time to be in loooooooooove.
A bad time to be in loooooooooove.
A bad time to be in loooooooooove. ♫
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Oh it's weird. Last week or the last few weeks it was all about kicking ass and controlling your emotions and never looking back. And a week later you are battling to keep your sanity again and you go and you look at the past and you even feel a hint of sadness sneaking in. All because a stupid doctor told you you had "Bundle Branch Block" and that's all your mind needed to try to sabotage your plans with more things that make you feel like you are out of control. I am not going to let Panic Disorder start up again. It took too much work to just give it up like that. I don't care if I have a damaged heart. It's not going to stop me from moving. Never. Write it so you feel better. If I look at history chances are this won't stop me either. I sometimes forget that I am too young for anything to stop me yet. I forget that. Whether it's real or wishful thinking it sure is a useful attitude. So tomorrow I am going to go 100 mph like I am used to now. And I'm not gonna stop the first time I feel a needle in my chest or the moment I get dizzy.
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| Bundle Branch Block showed up in my Electrocardigram today. This is a good time to test my tolerance of unresolved issues that I cannot solve by myself and that I have to be patient with. I shall live. I shall not worry about it after tomorrow. Nothing to do. At least not now.
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