Romance by Miranda July

"I made orange juice from concentrate and showed her the trick of squeezing the juice of one real orange into it. It removes the taste of being frozen. She marveled at this, and I laughed and said, Life is easy. What I meant was, Life is easy with you here, and when you leave, it will be hard again. The day felt like a birthday, our first, and we ourselves were the gifts, to be opened again and again.
...we pressed our legs against each other's legs, and these, too, were radically different sizes, and our curiosity was blossoming like a rose, we wanted to know, we really wanted to know, all the unknowable things about each other and how we were the same and how we were different, if we even were, maybe nobody is. We wanted to strike lightning in dark waters, to see, if only for a second, the entire world that lives down there, the ten millions species in amazing colors and patterns; show us life, now. We pressed our stomachs and lips together, and these too, were different sizes, but my lips were roughly the same size as her ear, and her arm, when wrapped around my waist, felt long and, more important, was warm.
We grew still and stared at each other. It seemed incredibly dangerous to look into each other's eyes, but we were doing it. For how long can you behold another person? Before you have to think of yourself again, like dipping the brush back in for more ink. For a long time; you didn't need to get more ink, there was no reason to get anything else, because she was as good as me, she lived on earth like me, suffered as I did. It was she who looked away and pulled the sheet to her chin."

One of the standout paragraphs from Miranda July's collection of short stories No One Belongs Here More Than You. I just finished the book and these past days it's fit perfectly into my melancholy mood.

Early one morning

She looked up at the cracks on the wall. It was a mirror. Her reflection was sometimes hard to see. So many wrinkles, so many spots replaced a once clear, smooth, dark skin. All these creases in her body and face represented a story. The lines around her mouth were heartbreak. The bags under her brown eyes were regret and loss. The deep crevices on her forehead were worry.
She didn't care for any of them. Her jet black hair continued to thin, the skin on her hands continued to reveal more veins and arteries. Walking over four blocks she would be out of breathe.

As she was drying herself after a long shower she paused in between her legs. That part of her body had been dormant for so long. Delicately tracing the folds of her skin with the yolk of her fingers she tried to remember...remember
the last time she had been touched...
the last time she had been fucked...
the last time she had been loved....
She had ceased being a sexual being long before her body had. Only ashes remain where the flames of any passion could ignite. So be it.

Several years ago with every puff of her Malboro Lights she fantasized about how wonderful it would be to go to sleep and never wake up. She was just fed up. Didn't care for anything or anyone.

Sometime between then and now something shifted. Despite feeling tired most of the time she was able to find a reason to keep going. After her divorce she never remarried and never had children. A retired teacher, she had lost contact with most of her students. Just like her nieces and nephews they had all moved away and created new lives far away from her classroom. She was but a vague memory that would only surface when turning the pages of old pictures and yearbooks.

Despite all this she had begun to take pleasure in simple things. The crisp air as she stepped out of the house in the morning. The bitter taste of her instant coffee. The giggles of her youngest niece when she would visit.
She was excited again.
Being at an elderly age gave her power she wouldn’t have otherwise. No one could force her to do anything. She had lived long enough that she could speak her mind and not care about others opinions. She also had gained the power of invisibility. At family gatherings she could just sit back, amused and entertain herself watching the dramas of a younger generation without being noticed. At that age she just didn’t count for certain things. Being alone, she could do and go as she pleased. It was comforting. She had stopped trying and she was at peace.

Excited about starting her day and making herself breakfast she hastily finished getting dressed and opened her blinds. It would be a routine day, nevertheless a good one. She had the crossword puzzle to finish!

As she turned to leave the Earth suddenly spun off it’s axis and sent her stumbling forward. Caught by surprise she tried to regain her balance and gripped the bed frame, but with the loss of balance came loss of strength. The sun disappeared. Everything became dark before she hit the ground. Laying unconscious on her bedroom floor, she would never stand back up.

So I dedicate this story to one of my aunts in Chile. She was one of the aunts that raised me during my teen years there. Over a month ago I was informed she suffered a cerebral hemorrhage. One morning she just fell to the floor in her room. When she was found hours later she was lying in a puddle of her own piss and shit as the hemorrhage caused her to lose control of her bodily functions.
She stayed in the hospital for a month, drifting in and out of consciousness. Although she is better she will never quite recover. She can barely mouth words, has lost most motor skils and can't do anything by herself, needing 24hr. supervision Other age related problems make her situation worse.
We were never really that close. She was a lonely woman who didn't know how to love without smothering and would end up driving you away.
As it happens commonly with young adults and their parents I didn't really appreciate her until I moved away to college and wasn't living with her anymore. Our relationship improved greatly over the years despite never becoming extremely close.
The last time we spent together was when I visited in February. She took me to lunch and asked me if had met any nice girls, if I planned on getting married or have children soon(gay is synonym to pervert in her dictionary. Although this is something that might have changed in recent years, my sexuality was never discussed). This conversation amused me.
I hope I don't see her again. If I do this means it will be years from now after enduring years in a practically vegetative state. Everyone around her will grow old and weary feeding her, bathing her, wiping her. That's no way to live. Certainly not for her. So I hope that if she doesn't improve drastically that I will one day get the phone call that she passed away.
I won't be suprised because in a sense she died that morning on her bedroom floor and as hard as it might be there comes a time when there is no choice but to let go.

random music rant

I went on some lame date a while ago and I could tell it wasn't going to go anywhere when I asked him what kind of music he was into. He replied by shrugging and stating that he wasn't really into music. He didn't listen to the radio, had very few cd's and could really just care less. No song or musician had ever given him goosebumps and he didn't like live shows.
I was unable to process that information and quickly lost interest. To me a life without music is a listless one.
Melancholy melodies usually suit my mood the most.
I was a classical piano player for 6 years. For a long time there was nothing like feeling the ivory keys under my fingers or the rush that came from playing at concert halls and colleges with my fellow piano mates.
Eventually that ended up taking a sour turn when my dad pushed me so much with it that he transformed it into a chore and I lost all pleasure in playing.
My foray into pop music happened in grade school, I remember really wanting the Ace of Base cassette, The Sign. I traded one of my classmates her Ace of Base cassette for my cassette of this spanish artist Christina y los Subterraneos. The first cd I ever bought was a Bon Jovi cd. I have a cousin who is to this day in love with Bon Jovi and we used to hang out alot so I guess it just caught on.
In Chile you couldn't get really good music in the '90s. It was all mainstream crap and if you were to ever stumble on some indie darling or some more obscure artist it would be a wild goose chase to try to find anything from them.
Now in my late 20's I'd like to think I have a pretty decent taste in music. And I try to go to live shows as much as I can.
anyway...these are 2 of my favorite performances/covers from 2 of my all time favorite artists that I found on youtube.
I want to do mushrooms with Devendra and a dance routine with Feist.

Nut Job

There are days when I wake up and I'm suddenly aware you're not there. It's the first thing I notice. Sometimes I'm walking down the street and I realize something's missing. There's a dull ache where you used to be. I get this dull ache often, sometimes it freaks me out. I think it might be something more. I feel around and there's nothing there, no invasion of any kind.
Is it a phantom pain?
People who get their limbs chopped off experience ghost pains where their extremities used to be.
The funny thing is, I don't necessarily miss you. You were just always there, like the nails on my fingers, the scar on my hand, the tiny mole under my lip. You enjoyed attention every now and again... being tugged...being kissed...being licked.

It all happened so fucking fast. I found out the news, you were sick, you hadn't been yourself in a while and I hadn't noticed. The tumor spread and destroyed you. I lost you without even realizing it.
Next step:
Surgery. A radical inguinal orchiectomy. WTF!
That should take care of everything. If shit has spread, well, one thing at a time.

I went to visit a friend at a bar and after several soothing whiskey gingers I told him my plight. I asked him if he had been with guys who had lost you. He said yes. Was this weird? No. It's totally fine. No big deal.
That night I promised myself all the things I wouldn't do if I could come out of it ok. I wouldn't do any more crazy drugs, no more white powder, no more multicolored pills, nothing ever again (I rolled last friday...woops!). Just let it be ok. I could grapple with the fact that I was going to lose you. There was no way out, really. But please, please, I didn't want to lose my hair. If I had, I would have flipped the fuck out.

I should've stayed in that bar for one more drink.

Days later, let the procedure begin. Scalpel. Yes. I'm making the incision. Let me reach in and scoop it out. Feeling around. There it is. Let's take it out. Got it! Now let's sow him up.

I woke up and you were gone. It seemed like it had all been a bad dream. Don't worry, we got it in time. You won't need any further treatment. Just routine checkups. The cancer is gone.
What a relief! No chemo!
I would have to have a brief recovery period but I could soon put it all behind me. Get up and brush myself off. Wait for the scar to heal. Just another battle wound. So happy to be alive.

Over a year later...

I rarely ever think about you. But it turns out I do. I think about you when I notice it's easier to cross my legs. I think about you when I undress. When I'm in the shower...I have to make sure your partner is ok (God, I'm so paranoid now of every little pain or weird sensation down there!). I don't really do trimming in that area because it will just make it more obvious you're no longer there and it would make me miss you.
You know, I really wish I would've taken some pictures. Pictures from before. Hot ones. In commemoration of you. I think it might have helped me deal with your loss.
Too late.
This is the only picture I have after you were taken away. I think it's a week after.
I had trouble walking for a while.
I am left with just a scar.

office hours

I was looking through my pictures today and I came upon this old picture from my trip to Puerto Rico 3 years ago. I went with 2 of my best friends in the summer and rather than spending time on the main island, we frolicked on the empty beaches of a nearby smaller island, called Culebra. A small bungalow by the water became our home during our time there. If we ever needed anything we just had to contact the person who ran the place.
That could be a little difficult given their rather loose schedule. Nevertheless these are the office hours most people who run a business could only dream of.

bathhouse souvenirs

This summer during my brief stay in Hong Kong I had to check out the gay scene. We ended up arriving in the city after a weekend and post a cyclone, so we weren't there at the best time to go out. Hong Kong is like an asian NYC, vibrant and sprawling with neon lights everywhere that mask the nighttime darkness.
In between dinner and going out I decided to check out a bathhouse near where my friends and I were staying in Kowloon.
I don't remember what is was called and it was not a memorable experience at all. I think the best part of it was this souvenir. How awesome and gay are these little cards that come in a package of kleenex at the door of the bathhouse! and you can collect a set! kind of amazing...
I saved this package of kleenex forever until I recently had a cold that forced me to break into this precious little piece of Hong Kong. My sniffles are gone and I am left with the memories.

waiting

i'm waiting for a client to come over for a massage. i set up my table, some incense, clean sheets, the mood is set.
these are my new tools, massage oil and bare hands.
this is my new profession. how will it last? i have no idea. right now is all that matters.

restless

Another restless night...I can't sleep and I have to work in 4 hours. Recently I did discover some new music (for me anway). Now I can't stop listening to them...Beirut.

SF Trolley

i just got some new prints back from my last batch of diana pics! this one is probably my favorite...

"You're so cool"

Movie night tonight at Abbey. We watched Tarantino's classic, True Romance. Christian Slater, Patricia Arquette, Christopher Walken,Brad Pitt as a stoner, probably don't need to say more. I could feel the hairs in my chest growing as I watched it. Fucking awesome movie!


Now it's past 3am and I'm wide awake...

"I look back and I'm amazed that my thoughts were so clear and true, that three words went through my mind endlessly, repeating themselves like a broken record: You're so cool, you're so cool, you're so cool."

No on Prop H8

According to cnn.com there was an estimated 2,000 protesters marching down Market st. towards the Castro and ending in Dolores Park. I don't think this number is accurate because there seemed to be so mnay more. It was really amazing to see so many people from various backgrounds all joined together. Walking down the street I felt so lucky to be living in San Francisco, probably the most progressive city in the country. This is an exciting and hopeful time as change is in the horizon. Prop 8 has it's days numbered.

embracing the dark

Aside from this blog I have other online pages; mybook and facepage and I also have a flickr account. What I recently came to realize as I was examining these pages is that they only explore one dimension. I went through them and all I found was happy pictures, smiles and laughs. None of these really capture the dark moments. There are so many! No where can I find something that alludes to those times where you come home and soon as the door shuts you start to unravel. Those days when the shit hits the fan and it sprays it all over your face. Those times where you're so on edge it seems that even the slightest thing might knock you overboard. The empty, cold walk of shame. When you're standing in a crowd of strangers completely alone.
So this is also my exploration into the dark side, into the emtpy lonely rooms and moments of hopelessness. Despite the fact that I might not want to remember them, they are still present and worth acknowledging.

starting with something new

So I decided to start a blog. I became inspired by several friends of mine who created their own.
I've always thought I was good with words and letters. In school math was always and uphill battle but english was my favorite subject. A shy, introverted child, I devoured books, competed in local spelling bees and entered writing contests. None of this really means I'm a good writer, perhaps I'm a poor one, but nevertheless I enjoy it.
I've realized that in these past months I've been really enjoying spending time alone, an avid pedestrian, always walking up and down hills in SF or more honestly avoiding them. In these walks that often lead to forced bus rides to complete my destination, I've noticed that I sort of talk to myself. Not in some weird schizo way but I will be looking out the window of the muni and I will catch myself mouthing my thoughts. Clearly my mind is always in overdrive and I tend to over analyze and obsess about things too much.
Why not put that to good use and create something, if for nothing else than my own amusement.
I guess I'll see what I come up with...