Vol 2, Issue 1 | Mehwhidge

Been receiving a slew of invitations and announcements for weddings in the past few weeks. One of them from an ex-lover, which, though everything is water under the bridge now, still hit me harder than expected. Not in any "It could've been me" kind of way, but in the way that... regardless of how any relationship ends for me, I still carry love in my heart for the other person. Sometimes it changes, and sometimes remains an untouched memento of how things began, but it's always there.

In other words, I'm not reacting to regrets. I am, at some level, envious.

I've been mulling over this topic for a couple weeks now, specifically why marriage (regardless of who's) is suddenly evoking such an emotional response in me. And I've discovered that I've still not resolved how I feel about all of this. (Case in point, this is the third or fifth draft of this entry.) Instead, I've decided to state what I do know/feel:

• I am dating, in a very non-traditional sense, a woman whom I love, unequivocally.
• I am happy with, excited by, and anxious about all this relationship will bring about.
• I am, in my moments of uncertainty, distracted by traditional relationships, and the comfort of their familiarity.

And that's really it. Granted, it's not simple or easy (except when it is), but what we're doing isn't any more or less valid than anyone else's relationship. I know that my wanting to retreat into something familiar, especially when the Universe repeatedly throws it in my face, is part of adjusting to something so new, so different from where I've been. But the reward to facing my own insecurities is evolving into someone that I want to be. And I get to have someone amazing to share that with. Slowly, but surely, I am understanding this, both emotionally and logically. It is exactly what I want.

It just doesn't fit neatly into the Facebook "relationship status" drop-down menu.

---

Portlandia Prevails... and Evolves.

Vol. 1, Issue 15 | Rules

[originally written 04 December 2007, 12:22pm]

My last twitterfeed (twitter.com/arashikami, if you'd like to follow) includes a comment on crushes & why I don't act on the majority of them.

I mean... Aside from being a complete chicken-shit, that is. Because I am.

However, there's been a growing list of rules in my head, as a way to rationalize being a chicken-shit. Anytime I've needed a reason to avoid acting on my impulses, presto! There's another rule.

1. No Bond Girls. (i.e. also known as: 'no fishing off the company pier.') Granted, the majority of the Bond Girls all have significant others, so this isn't too much of an issue. And this is also supposing that any of them would even fancy me. Also? If you don't know what I'm talking about, don't fret. It's a gallery inside joke.
2. No Neighbors. I've almost fucked up friendships I've had w/ people because of this. Good friendships. Since the building I live in is such a small community, dating w/in it seems fraught w/ problems. I love my neighbors. I'd really rather not lose that over an impulse decision.
3. No Curators. This just seems like a bad idea.
4. No Long-Term Relationships / Marriage. Getting involved w/ anyone looking for either of these would be wrong for me to do, since that's not what I'm looking for. I'd feel like I was leading someone on. I already feel as though I do that inadvertently now...
5. No Ex-S.O.'s of Friends. Like w/ neighbors, dating w/in seemingly small social groups (esp. the comic book scene in this town) also seems fraught w/ problems.
6. No Current S.O.'s of Friends. You'd think this one was a no-brainer. You'd be wrong. No, I'm not explaining further.
7. No Artists. I've broken this one a time or two & regretted it later. I think other artists can date artists, and that's great. But I can't.

So, essentially, I can't ever act upon any crush and/or date anyone I know. Anyone I ever meet through my extensive social & professional circle? Completely out of bounds.

Hell... I feel like I'm *this* far away from being the adult equivalent of that nerdy kid in school that has a girlfriend. In Canada.

So yes, I'm acutely aware of how absolutely stupid every single one of those rules sound. Well, except the one involving other people's wives/girlfriends. That one is iron-clad. Lesson learned. (And I'm still sorry, in case you're reading.) But the rest?

Bollocks.

Absolute bollocks.

Nothing but proof of me being a chicken-shit.

Which means...



...it's time to toss out the rules.

---

Portlandia is no chicken-shit.

Vol. 1, Issue 11 | Deciphering the Secret Language of Mix Tapes

[originally written 17 August 2006, 5:29pm]

...or rather, cee-dees. finding that theme, that lyric, that intended-yet-subconscious message from creator to receiver... the one that says everything that isn't being said...

because it is saccharine and cliché to say those three little words? is that it? to profess love. no, not profess. to name it. to call it by a name we've given it and use to cheapen it by exclaiming that we have it for inanimate objects and television programs and ultimately forget what it actually feels like. likened unto taoism... it is unnamable, unexplainable, unencumbered by all that is petty and small.

and yet...

i find that little smile, because
i've got you and you've got me.
i've got you... you've got me
everybody knows
i've got you... you've got me
i've got you... you've got me

prophet 6-zero-0-9-one... you can hurt me... proximity alarms?
s-h one-0-1-five-1... i can hurt you... hearts too close... collision imminent.
the serial numbers of affection... adoration... physicality... sure, intimacy creates opportunity for pain, but also pleasure, in all its forms.

you won't have to strain to look into my eyes.

i want to take you far
from the cynics in this town
and kiss you on the mouth

we'll give ourselves new names
identities erased

am i forgetting myself again? becoming a caricature of myself... i stumble across a private entry in my journal, talking about the biochemical reaction that i have in her presence. does it somehow negate my own identity? or push me to be the idealized version of myself, the one i keep in my head, to guide my thoughts and actions?

what does it mean? i'm left to ponder... my personal version of jack's lament...

i find no concrete answers in the tracks... but i do find solace.

---

Portlandia Prevails.

Vol. 1, Issue 8 | Cracked

[originally written 02 June 2006, 2:38pm]

It occurs to me that Life, in regards to Love, can be metaphorically represented as the World’s Longest Egg-in-Spoon Race:

---

"Hallo. Here's your spoon."
"Thank you."
"And here's your Heart. Careful now... it's fragile and it breaks easily and you only get the one."
"Right then. Umm... where's the racecourse then?"
"Over there, to the left."
"What, the winding and narrow road that heads off into the horizon, seemingly into infinity?"
"Yep."
"But it's pockmarked with holes, cracks, and various pitfalls..."
"Yessiree."
"And it's teeming with people. All of whom are too absorbed with their own Hearts to notice that there's anyone else around them."
"Quite right you are. Oh, and I should mention, there are a few folks who will intentionally try to break your Heart. They're dash good at it too."
"But that's hardly fair!"
"Fair? Umm... lessee... nope, nothing against it in the rules. Unsportsmanly to be sure, but still fair."
"But how am I supposed to make it through all that with my Heart intact?"
"Well, there's the 'hard-boiled' method, where you boil it in a solution of cynicism, skepticism and apathy, seasoned with contempt, for thirty minutes. Damn thing won't so much as dent then. Of course, there's not much challenge then either."
"And that's fair to do?"
"Oh yes. And quite popular amongst the kids these days, though that seems to indicate a larger systemic problem, if you ask me."
"Sounds too extreme. What else can I do?"
"Well... you could pair up with someone."
"What does that entail?"
"About what you'd expect... you watch their back, they watch yours. Kind of pleasant at the beginning, what with the companionship and all. But it's slow going, and that seems to trip people up. They're all in such a hurry these days. Plus you're now paying attention to two Hearts, yours and theirs."
"Two Hearts? That seems awfully complex."
"It is. It has its benefits to be sure. However, you could end up breaking their Heart. Or vice versa. Happens all the time. Usually unintentional, but it seems more painful of an act than if a stranger does it."
"That sounds dreadful. People actually pair up like this?"
"Oldest trick in the book, really."
"I suppose it has merit... though that whole 'hard-boiled' thing doesn't sound so bad now either."
"Eh… to each their own. Now, you'd best get underway. You've got a long road ahead."
"Wait. One last question: What do I get when I reach the finish line? What do I win?"

"Win? ...I'm afraid it's not that kind of game, mate."

Vol. 1, Issue 2 | Fetishes

[originally written 20 February 2006, 4:49pm]

Last night, I went to the Deacon X Fetish Night at Berbati’s, courtesy of MarySuzanne & David. MSL: Thankyouverymuch & I hope David’s feeling better.

There was a requisite gothic band, complete with mostly pre-recorded synth tracks accompanying the singer/guitarist and a drummer/keyboardist. Followed by rather ornately dressed fire dancers. Then there were the girls on hooks. You could see on their backs the scars from previous piercing, clearly marking them as, at least, seasoned amateurs. Two of them, attached at opposite ends of the support bar, dancing, jumping, bobbing, thrashing and essentially being held aloft by the skin of their backs.

A moment of honesty: While I’m familiar with this practice, have seen images on the ‘Net and in film, I’ve never seen it done live before. Rationally, logically, I was able to process what I was seeing. However, some part of my psyche wasn’t quite ready for this. Whether it was the blood, the stretched skin, or what, I don’t know. I do know that near the end of this particular performance, I did feel a bit light-headed. Meh... it could’ve also been that I’d not eaten since breakfast.

Anyway, the last act I stayed for (I left about 1am, as it was a ‘school night’) was a spanking. A young woman, dressed mostly in strategically-placed, black PVC wrap, was bound to a bench. Another woman, in a corset & skirt, spent the next fifteen minutes or so teasing and spanking her with a leather paddle. (An aside: Those of you who are fans of the O.C. -- if you’ve ever wondered what Marissa would look like in the aforementioned situation, boy howdy, do I have mental images for you.)

Overall, it was... more sedate than I expected, I think. I mean... I’m glad I went, I’m glad I had the opportunity to go, as this was my first... waitaminute... Nope. Nevermind. I can’t back that up. Instead, I’ll say that it’s been awhile since I’ve attended a fetish night, so any comparison to anything I’ve seen previously would be questionable. However, the subject of fetishes, particularly the BDSM variety, have been on my mind a lot lately... Case in point, I was asked what my curiosity about some BDSM practices is, and why.

*ponders*

The What is more nebulous a topic, to me, than the Why. I’m unfamiliar with most of the terminology or techniques, so the What is, at present, kind of an all-encompassing What. As I learn and experiment, I will be able to narrow down the What. The Why covers several different layers of my being.

Watching the spanking, I found myself envying both participants; the dom for her thorough enjoyment in teasing and controlling the sub, and the sub in what I can only imagine was the ecstasy that comes from being bound and unable to control what was happening. While both of these states excite me, I can easily identify with the position of the dom, as I enjoy the administration and control of someone else’s pleasure. The role of sub is much more foreign to me, as I’m something of a control freak. So I recognize the need to experience both sides... learning to become both dom and sub.

Then there’s the sexual aspect, of course. I’d be dishonest stating otherwise. In my limited observations, I’ve found that something about the act itself is arousing to me. (Which reminds me... I need to get a copy of The Secretary.) I have no clue as to why, but I’m intrigued. But combining this with sex isn’t my end-all, be-all reason. Not to say that I’m not interested in the combination. Far from it. But it’s not the primary focus.

Finally, there’s the pain/pleasure fascination. A sort of kinkier version of Fight Club for me, in that whole “How much can you know about yourself if you’ve never been paddled, caned or flogged?”, to paraphrase Tyler Durden. That’s what I want to know. I want to know what my thresholds of physical pain are, how far I can push them, and at what point do I simultaneously experience pleasure along with the pain. I want to find out whether or not I would benefit more by remaining focused on the pain, or by allowing my conscious self to disassociate from the experience & focusing more on the existential. That is, if I’d even be able to transcend. That particular question came up while rewatching I (Heart) Huckabees over the weekend, from the discussion about attaining a state of pure being... where one is just able to exist, free of the misery of human drama. (Yes, I’m paraphrasing again.)

Just to clarify, I am less interested in adopting a lifestyle than I am engaging in alternate ways to alter my perceptions about, well, everything really. I do accept that I will need to venture into areas I know little to nothing about, and require the assistance of those with the experience to guide me. The goal will be to adapt & adopt what I learn into the fabric of my identity.

Vol. 0, Issue 20 | Swinging the Bat

[originally posted 06 February 2006, 2:41pm]

• originally written at Backspace, 5:55pm, Sunday, 2/5/06 •

On something of a caffeine buzz. Too much coffee, not enough food. And I’m about to have more. Which may reflect in my writing. Still... Need to clear my head of these thoughts nonetheless.

Bear in mind that I rarely do things without a certain amount of premeditation regardless of how spontaneous some of my actions may seem. And with that premeditation comes motive. I have no idea what I meant by this. It's true, but it doesn't have anything to do with anything.

...sorry. Moment of distraction. Some guy just walked in, acting rather odd. Bad mojo. Real bad. Fuck. This is what I hate about being in public. There is always the X-factor. The kinda trouble you can sense, but can’t outwardly see, usually because it isn’t triggered. Yet. And you sure as Hell don’t wanna be around when it does.

Meh... I’m stalling. Onward.

Monogamy. I’ve spent my adult life as a serial monogamist. Never really dated. Not in any way that didn’t result in a long-term relationship. Only a couple one night stands. Relatively tame overall with a few high points. This has been followed by a two-year stint of being utterly single. None of this a complaint or regret. Merely stating the facts. And from all of that, I’ve learned this: I’m not a monogamist.

More precisely, I’ve no interest in continuing monogamous relationships. Not that I’m saying that I’m a raging hedonist, interested in naught but bacchanal orgies. Factually, I’ve been predominately celibate, save one instance, for the two years I’ve been functionally single. Which has allowed time for much meditation on the subject. And I’ve concluded that I’m more of a polygamist. Of sorts. ...I have no real idea of how to articulate my point, especially since I have relational issues that require addressing in a different forum.

(A brief aside: The music has just switched to a techno cover of Madonna’s “Like a Prayer.” Sung by a man with a deep guttural tone and German accent. Heh.)

Where was I? Oh, right.

This is where I get phenomenally tongue-tied. The rest of these thoughts are still so much flotsam in the sea of my mind... unformed... lacking definition. As such, I’m hesitant in relaying some of this as it sounds (to me, anyway) subtly misogynistic at best. But the point of this is to get these thoughts out of my system so that I can view them externally.

I am attracted to a fair amount of women. Many of them, I’ll be honest, based solely on physical appearance. I have a physical ‘type’ that will turn my head, every time, without fail. (Case in point, such an example is standing very close to my table at present, smiling coyly.) Fortunately, I’ve learned that looks without a personality I can connect with are meaningless. Which makes it difficult, if not damn near impossible, for me to engage in the meat-market bar scene one-nighter mentality. This is true, which doesn't match up with statements I make later. This is what I mean about unaddressed issues & failure to articulate. (More on that momentarily.) As such, there have been women I’m attracted to based more on personality than whether or not they match a particular type.

A brief observation: I don’t believe that anyone I’ve ever dated/been married to has ever matched either of these criteria. Hurm. I’ve a theory, but that’ll also need to wait a moment.

(Another aside: Music has switched to an electronic piece incorporating the Carmina Burana. Aces.)

Where was I going with this? Let’s see… I have been fostering new relationships with women whom I find attractive for diverse reasons. All of them platonic, also for diverse reasons. But the one that surfaces in each situation has more to do with my personal track record and what I’ve learned from it: sex complicates matters. Which is not a complication I particularly want in any of these relationships. In some cases, yes, it would be welcome. But not at the cost of whatever connection I happen to have with whomever.

See, that just doesn’t sound right, does it? Like I said: unformed and lacking definition. Let me try this. I’ll go back to the things I said I’d discuss later, like not really being able to be a one-night stand type of guy, or never dating anyone whom meets my aforementioned criteria. They’re interconnected, those two. The latter is much more obvious to me: I’ve never dated anyone I could be a friend of because I never wanted, at some subconscious level, the relationship to last. This isn't accurate. Not wholly. That’s a revelation I had a couple months back that hit hard. Sure, it’s been easy to place blame on the people I’ve been involved with, and I still recognize what behavior of theirs was reprehensible. But I took a clearer look and found that I created scenarios and situations causing the other to react negatively towards me. Because I didn’t really respect them, or maybe didn’t even like them as people. This isn't accurate either. Were it accurate, then the notion that I can't indulge in one night stands makes no sense. And I can't honestly say that I didn't befriend or respect any of my exes, otherwise, even with the subconscious attempts at sabotage, I'd have never found a reason to be with that person for any length of time. No... there's something else here. I just haven't put my finger on it yet. Judas Priest, that’s fucked up. I mean that’s really fucked up. I knew that when I thought it, but to see that written down... I mean, what the Hell was wrong with me? Oh right. I was stupid. And now? Now I don’t want to be stupid, nor can I afford to be stupid.

I know, I know. I’m rambling, and all over the map, and completely off my original focus. I’m getting there. Really, I am.

Women I like... women I’m attracted to... I’m uncomfortable even flirting with, which makes me come across a bit stiff. Which would explain why I've been using alcohol more often in social situations. That's a disturbing trend. Because I’m attracted, and I value whatever it is that we have to offer each other that I’d rather maintain a platonic-yet-emotional or intellectual bond instead of complicating matters by attempting to become physical.

Y’know what... A friend wrote a similar sentiment recently, in a much more succinct manner that I cannot for the life of me seem to mirror. How irritating. Wait. I know why.

I’m not keeping this simple. I’m talking around the subject out of concern of how it may sound yet I purportedly don’t really give a rat’s ass about how I appear to others. Apparently I do give a rat’s ass about how I appear to you people. Fair enough.

This is what it boils down to. I love having relationships (regardless of how you define that) with different women. I don’t expect any one woman to be able to be all that I need or want, nor do I realistically expect any woman to find me to be the end-all, be-all in her life. I rather enjoy the single life, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t also enjoy the intellectual, emotional and/or physical connections with a woman from time to time. A while ago, I talked about a dream I had, and the message I took away from that dream was to appreciate whatever happens in the here and now more often, because it’s fleeting. This isn't what this boils down to. I don't know what it boils down to, but I feel closer to it now. Need to think some more...


Edit: 2/6/06 – It’s likely that none of this makes any sense. My stream of conscious writing is occasionally suspect, brought on by who knows what. As I revisit this, I’ll edit it as I clarify my thoughts. Also, should anyone actually comment here, that’ll also help me get a clearer picture. That’s my hope anyway.

Edit: 2/6/06, 5:42p - Done some revisions, some annotations. I need to sort this out.

Epilogue: 2/6/06, 6:00p - Well.

That was quite possibly the most self-important, nonsensical waste of time that I've ever indulged in. Ever. It doesn't even make any sense, at all. None of it.

Let me be succinct. I am deliberately single. I prefer the company of friends to that of a significant other. I will occasionally be rather affectionate towards my single female friends. If I overstep my bounds: Tell me since I'm dumb like a moose. If it's cool: Tell me since I'm dumb like a moose.

None of you need to hear the rest of my bullshit. I appreciate your tolerance, but I'm embarrassed. And I'm leaving up the post to remind me to stop doing stupid things like that.

Vol. 0, Issue 19 | "...that you but slumbered here whilst these visions did appear."

[originally written 20 January 2006, 12:47pm]

Last night, I dreamt that I was with a woman of recent acquaintance. Talking. Sharing. Emoting. Attaining a kind of connection... the kind you find in those romantic films that really reach you, emotionally... the kind that you can never accurately describe to anyone who’s never been in love... that kind of connection, where there was the perfect balance of understanding and acceptance for anything not understood. Where anyone on the outside looking in could see it in our actions, our body language, our stolen glances.

...Hmm? Who was she? Judas Priest! Trust me when I say that it doesn’t really matter... except, maybe, to me. ‘She’ is representative of an archetype and therefore ‘her’ identity is coincidental. ‘She’ could’ve easily been replaced by any celebrity du jour or any character from a television show that I’d fallen asleep to while watching.

Besides, I never know who’s reading this these days... Where was I? Right.

At some point, I’m aware that we’re in a ‘first date’ situation, and that it has lasted for nearly 24 hours. We are laying on the grass, watching the sky, our heads together with our bodies pointing in opposite directions. Still talking. Euphoric in that realization that this…THIS ...is what we have been looking for… individually... collectively as humans... this, the essence of sonnets... and that it is mutually reciprocal. I remember nothing specific from any of the conversations, just the general feeling that they were the best I’ve ever had. In reality, I have had moments such as this, felt that connected at some level, and thus I’m able to recognize the rarity & beauty of the situation.

A moment of silence. She reaches over to touch my face, kissing me gently. She then rises and walks into her house, pausing to turn back and smile at me before entering. I walk slowly to the window, somehow already aware of what I will see.

She stands in the living room, in full bridal splendor, with a groom & wedding party & guests. I watch the proceedings for as long as I can before turning away, taking that long walk home. Before waking, my last thought is how beautiful (albeit more traditional than I’d have expected) she looked.

The heavy-handed metaphors and allegories aside, I’m still sorting this all out in my head. Twice now, just thinking about this today has me in a state. I’m wiping tears out of my eyes trying to type this. I’ve been utterly manic today, presumably to combat the overwhelming depressive swing I can feel lurking behind my eyes. Remember... I laugh not because it’s funny, but to keep from screaming.

I don’t know if I’m putting this out there, hoping that someone... anyone... has an answer, or if I’m just doing it just to get it out of my head, or a little bit of both. That last one seems most likely. Dunno... But it’s out there now. Meh... nevermind.

To paraphrase my friend Melissa: “Who needs therapy when you have the Internet?”

Vol. 0, Issue 11 | Touched

[originally written 18 August 2004, 11:41am]

So... is it wrong that the latest Dell laptop TV commercial, with the two mismatched college roommates (i.e. one goth grrl, one blonde all-American girl) is like one of my fantasies come to life? Is it just me? It is, isn't it. Oh [Insert Deity], I'm a bad, bad man...

...And while I'm on that particular tangent, does anyone else watch "X-Play" on G4/TechTV? Does anyone else watch it solely for Morgan Webb? Anyone? Just me again? Figures...

Last week sometime, my friend Mandi posted some random silliness about "Cuddle Club," which was her & the SoFla Crew's take on actual "Cuddle Parties" in NYC. She sent me a link, as some sort of explanation. I mocked. I laughed. Yet... There's something to the theory about human touch and our emotional development. Given the field that I work in, I have learned about the connection between holding & hugging babies and their emotional & mental development. Maybe that need to be held doesn't stop after infancy, after childhood.

Personally, I know that Lack of Physical Contact = Odd Emotional Responses to Unusual Stimulae. I get choked up at commercials. I literally cry when I hear a particular song. Any and every time I hear it. I become weirdly introspective because of some scene in a movie or television show.

...My thoughts turn to the video for Badly Drawn Boy's "Year of the Rat." I cannot help but weep during that video. And it starts when BDB stops to hug the Bully. He hits. He screams. He pushes. He pulls. He bites. But in the end, all he can do is surrender. And when he does, the anger, the futility, the rage, it's all gone. ...Fuck. I'm getting teary thinking about it...

But maybe it's that simple. Or not. I don't know. Do you? Does anyone?

I know some people, and some in the media, have made light of candidate John Edwards' rather public hugging displays. But maybe he's got something figured out that we haven't caught onto yet.

We are really enamored with our Personal Space. So much so, that some of us don't even let the ones we love inside that space. Even in a crowd, we deperately try not to touch anyone. So much in an accidental touch can be misconstrued. The words "unwanted physical contact" or "bad touch" are bandied about to the point where we don't want to unintentionally offend or hurt someone with our touch.

So, maybe it's time to INTEND to touch others.

No, I'm not saying go out and fondle people on the bus, or grope people in a crowded elevator. That kind of intent isn't a solution. It feeds the paranoia, the already existing anxiety around physical contact.

Hug someone because they NEED it. Not because you WANT to.

Touching can heal, as well as hurt.

Then again, what the Fuck do I know? I'm still going through mild anxiety attacks trying to decide whether or not to shake someone's hand or hug them, as a greeting. Granted, I hug my close friends, but I never know what to do with people I'm still getting to know, or when it's appropriate to switch from one to the other.

Judas Priest... this is longer than expected. I just wanted to be silly, and instead I ramble on and on. Big surprise.

I think too much.

But, since it's out there, what do you think?

Vol. 0, Issue 8 | False Memory Kiss

[originally written 01 July 2004, 11:02pm]

Straight from the event to the Internet. No neolithic scrawling with pen and paper while oogling naked women. Much to my dismay. Real Life, as it happens to intrude on my Ideal Life, sucks. Fucking errands. Huh? Oh, sorry. Rambling.

PEPPER GALLERY & STUDIO

As previously mentioned, I received via email a notice about Pepper's First Thursday show, which I found intriguing. Anyway, I decided to save this one for last, which in retrospect was a great decision. Most of the other galleries were filled with the same old, same old. It was all very nice, and very arty, and well worth my time (except for Zeitgeist, which had art comprised of file folder labels on paper. Being clever is NOT a suitable replacement for being artistic, damnit), but overall... Eh.

Then I get to Pepper. I pass by the young woman and young man w/ a Polaroid Land Camera standing outside the front window. One of them, I assume, is the performance artist in question: Ilima Considine. And again, I'm not sure which one is Ilima. Instead, I enter the gallery to see the artwork that accompanies this show. Surprise Kaebel: No Art. On the walls, either on paper (note paper, drawing paper, Post-It notes, letterhead, napkins, etc) or directly on the wall are words. Lots and lots of words. Covering the interior of the gallery are the unsent letters to ex-boyfriends. Again, no clear indicators of the artist's gend... Oh. Wait. She's a SHE. Mystery solved.

Cogratulations! It's a Girl!

This makes me more interested in participating. Granted, I have kissed boys, and might again for the sake of art, but honestly, they're just not my preference. Kissing girls, well... Where do I sign up?

Oh, and the me kissing boys: Another story, another day. Back to the letters.

I continue to read, and am aching by the time I'm through. Emotionally. These words, these letters... this, for me, qualifies as art. It evokes emotional response. More important, it makes me FEEL. By choice, I run around like a heartless automaton, but these letters... While not my exact experiences, still speak to me, of Loneliness, Longing, Agony, Lust, and of course Love. Here. Try this on for size:

"Every song on the radio is still about YOU.
Now. Tell me that you cannot, in the whole history of your romantic entanglements, relate to that statement at all. If you can, I don't know whether I'll congratulate you, or pity you.

So, I am moved. I am impressed. I decide, now that I've climbed around in the artist's head, that it's time for me to participate. I pop an Altoid (a Rat Bastard I may be, but I am a considerate one) and step out the door.

Now then. We are, I presume, familiar with the awkwardness that is the First Kiss. If not, bully for you. And go Fuck yourself. (Don't worry. I still love you anyway.) When said kiss is for posterity, that awkwardness is multiplied tenfold. I am asked politely by the young woman (who is actually SHORTER than me. I didn't think that such a creature still existed.) if I wish to "participate." Being the smooth operator I am, I barely manage to fumble out a Yes. The cameraman is poised, the artist steps close and tells me to "...pretend like you know me." My eyes close, lips touch, and a flash goes off. Done.

And now, affixed to the window, along with a dozen other like photos, is a picture of me and this stranger commiting an intimate act that is intentionally & completely fabricated. My friend Evil has been right all along: Pictures Lie. Afterward, I introduce myself and make small talk with Ilima, mentioning that I'd heard about the show from the mailing list. Which surprises her, pleasantly. She talks about how revealing those letters are, and how none of the people they are addressed to have ever read them, and I listen, simultaneously admiring her freckles and red eyeliner. (Shut up. I know.) I inquire as to what happens to the Polaroids, how does she plan on integrating them into the exihibit, to which she has no answer. Sort of. She's offered each one, for $5/ea, to every participant. And you didn't even have to choose yours. The idea was to allow the photo into your life, and see if it had any future impact. I opted not to take a photo, not because I'm a cheap bastard (no comments from the Peanut Gallery, thankyouverymuch) but because I'm more interested in seeing what Ilima will do with them.

Oh. Note to Self: Self, email Ilima and ask for updates. From Self.

I'm left with the impression that I have just learned an unusual, or at least unorthodox, way of meeting people. Kiss, then tell. I'm not sure yet if this is better, worse, or just as good as the tried-and-true method. Field testing may be in order.

Judas Priest. I also occurs to me that it has been... EIGHT MONTHS since I last kissed a girl. I think I'm much too tired to wander down that particular path of cognitive thought.

Wow. That was an awful lot for one show. That wasn't the bulk of my evening though. Afterward, I did stop by Ko Do Ku to see Frank. While there, I also ran into Kirk, who is showing his new works next month. And Frank showed off his massive head wound. Staples in someone's scalp is both fascinating and disturbing to observe. And I also got to talk briefly with Ezra Claytan Daniels. The who and how of Ezra will be a different post. In short, he's a local graphic novel writer/illustrator. Go to his website for the skinny: Dream Chocolate.com Frank once again reiterated that if I bring him art, he will show it. I need to get my ass in gear.

Alright. I'm burnt. Tomorrow is another day. It's Today, actually. Fuck. Off to bed. Thanks for reading.

Vol. 0, Issue 7 | Chasing Susan Ralston

[originally written 08 June 2004, 10:08pm]

Been meaning to post this, and other related thoughts, for awhile now. The realization came from a conversation I had with Aimee about the craptastic landscape of my failed relationships. I'm chasing Susan Ralston. The one woman I had my ideal date with, and nothing else. For the past month now, I feel as though I've been channeling Rob Gordon.

Sidebar: Every time I mention Rob Gordon to someone who knows who that is, I'm immediately ask for my Top Five list of something-or-other. I don't bloody care. That wasn't, to me, the core of the film (or the book), merely the easiest bit of trivia most associate with it. Dunno. Sorry. Where was I? Susan. Right...

You know, it'd be just my luck that she has her own LJ and stumbles across this. No, really. Wouldn't surprise me in the least. Well, maybe just a tad. Anyway...

My previous post, the "I Miss You" one, the parts of Susan that I've idealized in my memory, that's what I now attribute to the woman of that post. I'm expecting to find all of that in... someone. I search for her absentmindedly, haphazardly. I scour the 'Net, in services, chatrooms, message boards, Hell... here. I never find her. I think sometimes I have. But I convince myself that I'm wrong.

Hurm. Maybe I should explain Susan some more. That might be good. I met Susan when I hosted my own art show back in my hometown. Following a weekend trip to Portland, I connived and convinced my other artistic friend to throw in their lot with me, and we hosted a two week show featuring all of our artwork. We even had a live band. On the opening day, one of the people walking around was Susan. She was immediately intriguing since she wasn't family and I'd never previously seen her. Though I had a girlfriend (who was also present), I used my position as 'host' to strike up conversation with Susan.

Yes, yes. I already know. I'm a lecherous rake. Always have been. I can to this day, however, state that I have never strayed. Flirted? Yes. But never strayed.

Anyway, short of finding out that Susan was from a nearby town, and had been sent by the local community college art department, I really didn't learn anything about her. But I didn't forget her.

Up until I saw "Beetlejuice" and fell madly in love with Winona Ryder's 'Lydia Dietz', I had no idea that the spooky girl existed. She certainly didn't exist in my immediate surroundings. So I thought. Susan looked like a real life version of 'Lydia': Black hair in a shoulder-length A-line bob, alabaster skin, dark red lips, high cheekbones, wore black a lot. When I began classes at the college, she and I were in the same Intro to Drawing course. By this time, I was single, and certainly much bolder than I am now. Or was it that I was just too stupid. Six of one...

Eventually, I asked Susan out, and much to my surprise she said yes. She'd mentioned she liked Chinese food, so I made a homecooked Chinese dinner, which we took out for a picnic. In a cemetary, on a crisp September evening, under the light of the full moon. Her suggestion, after I asked her where she wanted to take the food.

Do you understand now? Do you see how I was doomed from the get-go?

After the dinner (which was rudely interrupted by armed policemen), we skulked about the town. Easy to do in a town that closes for business around 6pm. Followed by snuggling on my sofa while watching Clive Barker's "Nightbreed." A grand evening, complete with a lovely goodnight kiss. To date, I've yet to have any date go as well or be as memorable as that one, in over a decade.

Needless to say, I was more than slightly confused when Susan barely even spoke to me afterwards. It wasn't that she was actively dating anyone or everyone else. She and I had made a genuine connection with each other, and for whatever reason, she ran. Actually, I know the reason, and while relevant and understandable, doesn't change the outcome. I have been chasing that memory ever since.

I finally noticed it most recently making conversation with a woman on my bus route named Angel. It wasn't till a few days after that it dawned on me that she had more than a few similairities with Susan. As have many of the women I've been immediately attracted to. Not the ones I've dated, for some strange reason. Those I've had to warm up to. But the ones I see, whom I can see Susan in, I fall immediately for. Head over heels.

Here's the kicker. Having put all this on the table, so that it can glare back at me whenever I open LJ, what the Hell do I do with it? Am I attracted to this archetype because of Susan, or has my attraction grown past that? Or worse, is that one date with Susan the reason I still grasp on to the dream of finding the woman I posted about? The one who probably exists only in my mind? Or would I have been looking for and chasing after Susan even if she never existed?

To quote Rob Gordon: "Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or am I miserable because I listened to pop music?"