April Fool Early

I almost finished typing today for the contest, and then I somehow lost the ten pages I typed. I was sitting on the train with a green pen revising--because I printed it out--and now I do not have the story and I can honestly tell you that I know I am not going to want to type it again. So basically I am not going to enter the contest. I have really mixed feelings about that, because I was really interested in doing it, but I know I am going to be too busy and tired.

I also learned that I am not going to be able to drink coffee until a week from Sunday--I did not even know when Easter was...

I feel like a mess, but here, here is what is left the story. I am giving it to the Fish Tank as well.

Shasha was relatively sure that—was his name Martin—could not have been more anxious than she was.

She rolled a finger on her hangnail, chewed just sufficiently enough that she knew exactly when to stop.

So that she would nor draw blood.

The skin was a bruised red color.

One more tug with her teeth and she would be a vampire.

For the entire week that the figure model had been there all she had done was study the tattoo on the inside of his forearm.

It was a symbol in Morocco that was put on doors to keep evil spirits away.

She could not help but wonder what he wanted to keep away.

Maybe autovampires, she made herself smile before she remembered she was now the one in a vulnerable position.

Because Martin--her professor called his name-–was walking around to see what the class had come up with as his essence.

Her professor had suggested that everyone focus on the part of him that was most striking to them.

“To capture his essence,” she had gesticulated wildly. “to capture his soul.”

The closer that Martin came to her canvas, the more she felt herself pull at that hangnail.

Until finally she took in the taste of blood like a drug.

Closed her eyes.

Opened them.

Saw Martin in front of her.

“No one else even noticed the tattoo. Or anything that was on me."

Shasha looked into his eyes.

She wasn’t so shy with a guy if she had something to say.

“Are you Moroccan?”

”No,” he smiled, his eyes lingered.

Up close he wasn’t that stunning, but his smile and personal demeanor engaged her.

In his back pocket was a novel in Portuguese.

She understood bits and pieces from listening to Astrud Gilberto.

But it did not help her now.

When Martin walked away, she felt the sense of loss she was more than accustomed to.

Folded her things up.

Walked out of the classroom.

Martin stood there.

“Are you playing hard to get?” he asked awkwardly.

Shasha frowned.

“Typical,’ was her clever comeback even if he was too stupid to know.

He followed her down the hall.

She shrugged.

Looked up into his eyes without flinching.

“Typical of really good looking guys to think the world revolves around them!”

"Typical of really smart girls to stereotype any man who is interested in them!” he said to her back.

When she turned to look at him, the only thing that stilled her tongue was the look of injury on his face.

Her head to the side as she adjusted her sketchbook.

Her glasses fell forward slightly so she had to adjust them.

“So what do you have to say? What is your interest in me?”

”You’re putting me on the spot so I am destined to fail.”

Shasha knew she was being a bitch to him, but she could no more stop herself from doing it than anything else.

“I know I am being a bitch,” she said softly. “What do you want from me?”

“Are you doing that on purpose? It is nearly irresistible of you…”

She continued to walk.

Pushed the door to the stairwell.

Felt him close behind her.

Would you believe I overwrote my last post with this one? Bad blog day...

Very Soon

Already I am procrastinating...

I am already not sure that I am going to type up my tat story for Desdmona. Someone please beat me senseless!

Oh yes, this is me attacking myself mentally so l will feel ashamed and type the thing up since I blogged about it and need to follow through. Okay, I guess I will type it up. I promised myself to be different. I promised...even though I have another story that I have begun writing and feel very excited about...

Maybe it will be easier since I can just about taste a cup of coffee! Happy Easter very soon!

Gratitude Tuesday

Love

What other word could I pick with the letter "L?" I am a hopeless and hopeful romantic--thanks Probitionate! I have been in love with love since I was a little girl. I think it is one of the most beautiful notions in the world--contrary to Tina Turner.

It is probably one of the words that I overuse the most in the world, but it is something that I always feel, and say with a great deal of gusto when I use it. I told a co-worker today that I loved her and she did not even flinch. I once told a guy that--who I probably loved more than her and he was nearly freaked out.

Love is a heavy word and should not be misused. But it is, but then like I said when you say it or feel it in the moment, you mean it. I mean it almost every time I say it. Because there is not another word that gives the same meaning.

I love books. The sexist thing to me is to see someone reading a book--especially one that I might have wanted to read or read and liked. I love the person with the book at that moment, and I mean that.

I was at a book release party, and it was ridiculously entertaining. I saw someone there who I had not seen or heard from for a very long time. It was interesting the emotions I felt while talking to them. We kissed goodbye, and I was like how insignificant that was. Love and kisses can sometimes be so insignificant.

And sometimes be everything in the world.

There is nothing else like love under the sun, I rather have it than money or bread in my mouth.

I am grateful for everything I love, and for everything I have the potential of loving...

This cupid is courtesy of Getty Images

Sunday Afternoon with Rosemary

I was watching public television--I am not sure if I mention what channel that everyone will know what I am talking about--but the show was called "Rosemary Clooney--Girl Singer." I adore Rosemary Clooney. I am not much of a Christmas addict, but one of the great things about the holiday is to see White Christmas--which I did not see this year and I am not sure I was the same...

The thing that got me the most about the show was that almost in the beginning, we are told that Rosemary had five children in five years for her once husband Jose Ferrer. The marriage did not last, and it is heavily implied that it eventually led to her nervous breakdown from which she recovered brilliantly, and had a renewed career.

But the emphasis was references to the marriage, and how deeply in love she was with him (five kids in five years? I think there is not a question!). Her children said that the way that they could tell their parents really loved each other was because of the way they watched each other tell stories when they were in company. Rosemary was practically at Jose's feet, said one of her children. One of her sons said that when his father came over even after their divorce, Rosemary would ask him repeatedly if he wanted anything--which was shocking to her son because he said that his mother never waited on anyone, but she waited on his father.

I am a hopeless romantic, and I was struck by this. Rosemary was described as a wickedly funny and smart woman who sang songs for the words, not just the melody. I cannot stop singing to myself the song that goes "Come a to my house I am going to give you candy...I am going to give you everything..." I heard the double entendre! I saw it in her eyes too even though she was in black and white.

Her brother Nick said that she sang songs that reminded people of an America that was not any more or less cynical pre war--she sang an America that people dream of. The idealism of "simpler times."

I fell so much more madly in love with her than I was before after watching Girl Singer. Is there anything better than public television on a Sunday afternoon in New York City?

The picture of Rosemary Clooney from http://www.skylighters.org

Zwartboek

I saw a preview of this movie. Got to the Nerve screening so early that I was actually able to sit down and get inspired to work on a story...have to finish that...

Also known as Black Book, the movie is about a Dutch Jewish woman--and it is hard for me to even fathom how there could have been a Holocaust and how people were just forced to go along with the program. I don't hate anyone even some people who have done awful things to me. I can't let it blacken my heart. That was one of the best parts of the movie. The inconsistency of human nature. There was love in the middle of it, yet no one who could really be trusted. Which is why Rachel (Carice van Houten) suffered, but also triumphed through this story that involved painful and innumerable twists and turns.

The above photograph (which comes from Kaaslog), shows the time before it really got ugly for Rachel. I was only at peace watching the movie because I knew she would get out of it alive. The meat of the movie was a flashback. And let's just say how can you not like a movie where the heroine eats chocolate to get out of a near fatal bind!

You have to see this movie. It's an aural sensation too because you hear the similarities between Dutch and English--when was the last time I saw a movie that did not have subtitles?

May Daze

This lovely image is from Tori Amos's website, and is the artwork for her upcoming album. May is turning out to be the best month. There will be two full moons, and a new Tori album. Give me one rose sometime during the month and I am all set.

Back to March madness, I finished the story for the Desdmona contest and am in the process of a) typing it up so I can easily revise, and b) not hating it.

Gratitude Tuesday

Kink

I am thankful for every kinky part of me, my hair, my mind. For everything that undoes my kinks.

I have been thinking about what turns people on--maybe so much from having seen Les Anges Exterminateurs, reading Glamour. I do not think that my personal fantasies fall into the realm of the typical or atypical. Fantasies are a hypnotic state, and when I am in the mood, I let my mind wander. If I am sitting on a train, I have no problem setting my fantasy right there against a pole. If I am in the supermarket, maybe on a pile of lemons, so as we move the scent will go with the rolling fruit. I am very spontaneous.

Yet I am willing to share the stage of my fantasies with you, but not the what actually happens against that pole or on those lemons--I don't kiss or even fantasize and tell...

Now share with me--that would make me even more grateful!

The above image is courtesy of Getty Images.

Confession

A few days ago, I remembered the Desdmona contest. I do that often. Know that a writing contest is coming up, and not remember until the deadline is almost here.

This time I have learned that I have to stop doing that. So with a swiped steno pad from work and a lovely pencil--allowing myself to know that my ink to the page is not indelible--I have begun piecing together a story.

Everyone knows that I am a writer, everyone knows I write like I breathe, bleed--it is an excretion of mine. I was talking to someone last week, and he says to me that I should try to get published. I gave him such a look that he negated what he said to me. His was a kind of tough love gesture that everyone gives me because I write, but what do I do with it? I keep saying that I am--so it makes me--a writer. What have I got to show for it? What keeps me back from writing more? Is it fear, is it a lack of time? What has it been?

My entire body is warm from this confession. I never let anyone see the side of me that just goes cold at doing the thing that I love the most. I could not live if I was not a writer. It is how I process everything--thinking how to put it into words. This is the first time that I have put into words that I am not sure why I am not writing more and harder. I know other people beat themselves up about these things, but it really hurts to go inside and not know why there are so many blank screens and pages behind me.

Behind me. Although it is a pain in the ass to write it on the page and then type it--but I will. I have a little less than two weeks to finish this story I am working on for the contest. I am trying not to think about the deadline.

The above image is from Athens Art Association

The Story of O or I?

An acquaintance of mine shocks me by not knowing about The Story of O--I thought everyone knew about that book--there is even a comic book version! He doubly shocked me, and told me about the The Story of the Eye. I was amazed by a book I did not know. I do not mean to come off as a book snob, but I know about a lot of books and I never heard of this one which was amazing because of the perverse and surreal nature--I certainly should have known about it! I am obsessed with finding it as several sources identified it as, "a classic of pornographic literature." And it would just figure that the guy took the book out of the library...so I cannot even borrow it from him!

The image above is from Amazon Books.

Gratitude Tuesday

Jazz

In the form of Astrud Gilberto. I am pretty certain that you cannot capture a bad side of her voice. Whether it is English or Portuguese, she never fails to create a certain sadness or happiness! I was at a lovely now extinct restaurant years ago, and the backdrop was Astrud Gilberto for Lovers.

Need I say more about her, or elaborate more on my gratitude? I was reading the notes in the CD I got of hers today--yes I am that old fashioned--and read that she was a housewife with little musical training. Also that her career did not take off much after the seventies. I also recently learned that Star Trek was not such a big hit in its day either. I think endurance is the key, and to Astrud I bid a warm, obrigado.

Les Anges Exterminateurs

I went to see THE EXTERMINATING ANGELS (the image above is courtesy of indieWIRE. I am not interested in doing a blow by blow review. The main part of the movie was that a director wanted to expore women's private sexual lives and responses. It was hard for him in the movie (and I guess in reality?) to find women who wanted to explore that, no holds barred in front of a crew--to be displayed for the public. The movie was a sensation at Cannes, and caused a scandal in France.

France. Sexuality. Scandal. Need I say more?

The man next to me said that the movie was over the top. I personally have never seen a woman-women--masturbate in front of the camera for a non porn movie. Note, none of this was simulated. Every major sex scene was real. I had a bit of trouble with it, but the main trouble I had was why isn't there a movie like this with men? Shouldn't it be made? We don't know all of the aspects of male sexuaity do we? I would like to write, produce, direct and maybe even act in a movie where men are placed in the same way as women in this movie. If in enough of a state of arousal, would a man kiss another man even if he was not homosexual? Would he masturbate that man and perform oral sex on that man if they were both in enough of a state of arousal? I'm curious, I really want to explore this on film. I wonder if I am willing to explore it on paper or a computer screen first?

My guess? The story will come from my hands before you see it at any major theater--even as porn. Because as much phallic symbols as there are in the world, men still want to keep theirs hidden. I think they should come out of hiding...

Gratitude Tuesday

Icicle

First, I am thankful for Tori Amos's song, "Icicle."

Then I am thankful for becoming one today in NYC. I do love New York, even when it is cold on my face, and colder running up my legs--I was crazy to wear a skirt today with sheer pantyhose!

But when I am warm, and later I am going to lay down like Tori sings in this song...

And on the train ride home, I am going to think of The Butterfly Tempstress, you must go to her post and ponder the quote there, and just the entire post!

This icicle of Tori Amos from Toriphoria .

Total Eclipse

Tonight there is a lunar eclipse, and I cannot help but be excited. Lunar eclipses are rare and mean that can be huge changes astrologically speaking. I am in love with this year--first it is the year of the pig, and a lunar eclipse to follow! I got information from everywhere about the supposed effects of the lunar eclipse. I am not sure I even subscribe to it at all, but it inspires me. I know a man who has adverse reactions to the full moon, but the only thing I know is I love to look at a full moon. It soothes me like nothing else. I love standing in the light of the moon in a dark room and letting it color me.

This amazing image from NASA. I am not even sure I am going to get to see the moon tonight, but I will feel it.