cover me.
for a moment
or two.
this season
has grown short
making miracles minimal.
still Terra swells to her icy blessing
and d'evils d'escend
to dissolve our d'esideratum.
this season
has grown too short, to pay penance
still i wait for midnight sun to bathe my stigmata.
in the embrace of amity
she is still; sated.
sowing serendipity.
slowly reclaiming
her marks as my own.
but this season, this season
has grown, so short
providence promises naught.
my soul subsists in this
sackcloth cielo
awaiting aurora.
sentient eyes seek nocturnal sunshine
for only one season
and this season, grows short.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Sunday, December 16, 2007
I hope you're lucky, so lucky....because December has a way of being cold for some of us.
I just found my new favorite Christmas song. In fact it murders all my expectations of a christmas classic: it should be funky, or at least cool, written if at all possible, or better yet: reinterpreted by a black person, and most important: above all else it must be melancholy, nay even sad.
There have been obsessions in the past, perhaps it stems from my father's love of Nat King Cole's interpretation of the classic christmas song. I was far too young to dig any nuance out of Cole's flawless reading, couldn't decipher the double entendre of a negro performing America's defining Christmas song, at the time that it was recorded. I always thought it a pale,(HA!) withering "classic" better left on the old cassette that pops was wearing out even with an annual play every christmas day.
Teenage heartbreak rocketed "Last Christmas" by George Michael right up the list. I will forever be 16 and feeling used by some little girl to get what she reallly wanted for christmas, read: not me. Lately I must admit the reggae version of "Last Christmas" does me one better, you know the whole black people reinterpretation thing.
Oh, but the daddy of them all inspires fanaticism in me. It makes me feel like those collectors I hate who flaunt holy grails they will never appreciate in the face of mere enthusiasts, who for instance are passionate about a subject, like music. Yeah, this song when it became so widely available about 10 years ago, sort of had to leave the top of my list because it's lack of availability was one of it's strongest points, and what does THAT say about a song written and performed by Prince at the cresting of his creative powers? It's cheese, it's schmaltz, it's sad, chic and ever so low down. "Another Lonely Christmas" is the kind of gag that Robert Smith would be ashamed to play on even the most devout Cure fan, but dammit, from that first swooning riff, I am always hooked, and around Christmas time, I am always lonely, with or without my family, my friends or a lover.
The prevailing mood of the world sends me toward solitude, I just can't help it, I like to block the world out, even if for a few moments on Christmas Eve, and just be with me. I had always thought however, that I would find someone, who felt comfortable enough to invade that space, someone right at home disrupting my navel gazing, I thought I found that person, but I think a lot of stupid shit, it's called digressing, are you noticing a pattern?
Back on topic, there are a few honorable mentions, Vanessa Williams valium inspired "What Child is This?" (the sheer irony of America's at the time number one whore, serenading America's number one innocent, leaves this one high atop my list for all times), Mahalia Jackson's Christmas album, James Brown's, "Christmas in Hollis", worthy as these all may be, they lack that essential feeling of egress created by the season's feelings of good will, hope, desperation and regret. Twice, believe it or not, black music has completely hit that nail on the head: "Merry Christmas Baby" covered and perfected by so many great artists has all my requirements in spades, it's a blues for god's sake! Oh so elegant, it just strolls along and dares you not to think about your loved ones, your greatest Christmas memories, and just smile.
Oh but the big dog in the room, my number one in this High Fidelity inspired Funky Five Christmas Songs plus one more, is the standard by which all others are judged. So much has been said about Donny Hathaway's "This Christmas", and so much more still remains to be said. I won't try to improve upon what other greater minds than mine have said, I can only speak to my feelings about this record. Say what you want, Donny Hathaway had a way of really speaking to the souls of black folks, it is the same gift that R. Kelly has: the ability to present a skeptical people with almost anything and have them consider it. Dave Chappelle could have been talking about Donny when he said: "that R. Kellly can make a song about anything!" So if you can imagine, being raised your entire life somewhere between Mahalia's "Holy Holy Holy" and Nat the King's chestnuts, only to find that everything you thought you had been missing in Christmas music was right there, hell, you were hearing it in utero, it was made for your first Christmas. Somehow you missed it for 9 years, but now you are riding in your mother's best friend's daughter Vickie's Toyota Celica GT, and she is beautiful, and we're alone now, and she is singing this song for you. (ahem....) The best way I can explain is to say that you are 9, it is Christmas, and suddenly you realize that Black is the best possible thing you could be, at the best possible time in the world, something about this sound, these words has always been waiting for you, and you just want to thank the man who knew you before you knew yourself. So, thank you Donny, and I hope you don't mind the company, but now, we got one more:
Monique Bingham is probably not a name that you are familiar with, but she has written 3 of the most singularly beautiful songs in the last 15 years that I can think of: "Pure" performed by Monique as part of the group "Blue Six"; "Get Another Plan" by the group Abstract Truth, and you really should kneel down before the might of another record by Abstract Truth entitled simply enough: "(We Had) A Thing". If there were any justice in the world all 3 of these songs would have enjoyed fortnight runs on the top of the pop charts, for they are pop at its best, and Monique at her best. She has outdone herself with another sparsely arranged masterpiece, just in time for Christmas. "December" featured on the excellent album "Christmas in the House" available now on King St. Sounds, the venerable house music label, has no business being so undeniably groovy, thought provoking, sad and uplifting at the same time. Ms. Bingham's performance is so coded, rife with pain and promise, I don't wanna overtalk it, let's just say that, Donny, and Nat et. al, have got some seriously funky company. Listen to it right now, and tell me what YOU think.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
redemption–a work in progress.
float down on me
one moment at a time.
so that no two moments
are alike.
this season has grown short,
and
miracles once expected
in abundance
are minimal in measure
Terra swells to recieve her
icy blessing and d'evils
d'escend
to d'issolve
all
d'esideratum
this season has grown so short
and I pay penance
while I wait for
midnight sun
to illuminate
my stigmata.
in the embrace of amity
she is still.
sated.
supplying serendipity
reclaiming
her marks
as my own
and this season, this season
has grown short.
so that providence promises nothing
save possibility
my soul survives in sackcloth sky
awaiting your touch
to ignite these darkest days
nocturnal sun
shines
only one
season
and this season,
has grown
short.
one moment at a time.
so that no two moments
are alike.
this season has grown short,
and
miracles once expected
in abundance
are minimal in measure
Terra swells to recieve her
icy blessing and d'evils
d'escend
to d'issolve
all
d'esideratum
this season has grown so short
and I pay penance
while I wait for
midnight sun
to illuminate
my stigmata.
in the embrace of amity
she is still.
sated.
supplying serendipity
reclaiming
her marks
as my own
and this season, this season
has grown short.
so that providence promises nothing
save possibility
my soul survives in sackcloth sky
awaiting your touch
to ignite these darkest days
nocturnal sun
shines
only one
season
and this season,
has grown
short.
Monday, December 3, 2007
It's Been A Long Time, I shouldn'a left you....
So what the fuck eh? Why the hell haven't I been writing? A better question is why haven't I been publishing? Been writing a lot, but it's all been hella personal. I gotta hold something of myself back right? Maybe it should be AlmostNaked and Damn Near Forgotten. Well consider this missive an attempt to right the ship and plot a more steady course. A lot has been going on, and mostly I just felt bad for posting up 3 total downer posts. Everything has been down lately though, these are tough times....might as well document them.
So, as insomnia grips me once more, I turn to the last resort this blog, to fill those creepy quiet hours between last call and first light. You will be hearing a lot more from me, although entries will be kept brief. Updates a coming, so strap in....
So, as insomnia grips me once more, I turn to the last resort this blog, to fill those creepy quiet hours between last call and first light. You will be hearing a lot more from me, although entries will be kept brief. Updates a coming, so strap in....
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Please don't bother trying to find her.....
Spotted tonight at Walgreen's (the most wonderfullest place in the whole wide world!!!)
In the throes of a 48hour bug, I sought the comfort of a new humidifier, but didn't feel well enough to shop for it until about 11 this evening. Composing myself and disguising the shambles that I've become, I headed toward Walgreen's. Fun Fact: Walgreen's has been the most dependable thing in my life in the last 7 to 9 years. Dwell on the sadness of that for a moment, and then realize that I have come to depend upon Walgreen's more than almost any other relationship. Somehow no matter what I'm shopping for, I've found it at Walgreen's, seen it on the shelf, or just known that they would have it, but this is not the focus of this entry, SHE is.
She will remain nameless, mostly because I would much rather pin my expectations, judgment and bias on my impression of her, than know her name. Join me in judgement won't you?
So it's 11 o'clock on a Wednesday night, no one is out because the wind is making a serious issue out of it. But here I am, disoriented, congested, and bleary comparing overpriced humidifiers on aisle 9 at Walgreen's when SHE steps out of my periphreal and into this blog.
She was a not ugly white woman, that I would peg somewhere near her dirty 30s(that special time in a woman's life when she says "fuck it" to the plans she had as a young girl, and wildly gets her fuck, drink, and party on) but someoone had saved her from herself. I could see her washing off the scent of her dirty 30s with every step she took. But no matter what, you can't help but be who you are right? Even if you are wearing a wedding dress and veil. Let me repeat that, a wedding dress, a veil, a pair of ballet slippers and a denim jacket that wasn't going to stop the wind outside or the advance of her past on the current proceedings. I immediately thought to myself, how strange that a bride would look so much like a wife.
As brides go, she had none of that hope, none of that careless self centered unease. Her uneasyness was entirely based upon experience and not expectation, you could tell by the way she looked at the sleep aids on the shelves. I swear I tried not to judge, tried not to linger too long on her visage, but I was struck.
My humidifier under my arm, I headed toward checkout and chided myself for being the snobbish asshole we all know me to be, and then there she was again, taking forever to check out. As the cashier rang up two huge bags of scented votive candles, the Bride produced the largest zippered bag of prescription pharmaceuticals I have ever seen. I could easily count 2o different amber bottles packed tight head to foot, foot to head. Who carries that many drugs with them at any given time? Why was she having such a hard time checking out? Why did I get the feeling that she had not just come from her bacheleorette party, but that this was her wedding night?
From what I'm told brides make for uneasy bedfellows, so do wives, but for far different reasons. Here is to the Bride of Walgreen's and her large bag of drugs, I hope you have a safe middle passage.
In the throes of a 48hour bug, I sought the comfort of a new humidifier, but didn't feel well enough to shop for it until about 11 this evening. Composing myself and disguising the shambles that I've become, I headed toward Walgreen's. Fun Fact: Walgreen's has been the most dependable thing in my life in the last 7 to 9 years. Dwell on the sadness of that for a moment, and then realize that I have come to depend upon Walgreen's more than almost any other relationship. Somehow no matter what I'm shopping for, I've found it at Walgreen's, seen it on the shelf, or just known that they would have it, but this is not the focus of this entry, SHE is.
She will remain nameless, mostly because I would much rather pin my expectations, judgment and bias on my impression of her, than know her name. Join me in judgement won't you?
So it's 11 o'clock on a Wednesday night, no one is out because the wind is making a serious issue out of it. But here I am, disoriented, congested, and bleary comparing overpriced humidifiers on aisle 9 at Walgreen's when SHE steps out of my periphreal and into this blog.
She was a not ugly white woman, that I would peg somewhere near her dirty 30s(that special time in a woman's life when she says "fuck it" to the plans she had as a young girl, and wildly gets her fuck, drink, and party on) but someoone had saved her from herself. I could see her washing off the scent of her dirty 30s with every step she took. But no matter what, you can't help but be who you are right? Even if you are wearing a wedding dress and veil. Let me repeat that, a wedding dress, a veil, a pair of ballet slippers and a denim jacket that wasn't going to stop the wind outside or the advance of her past on the current proceedings. I immediately thought to myself, how strange that a bride would look so much like a wife.
As brides go, she had none of that hope, none of that careless self centered unease. Her uneasyness was entirely based upon experience and not expectation, you could tell by the way she looked at the sleep aids on the shelves. I swear I tried not to judge, tried not to linger too long on her visage, but I was struck.
My humidifier under my arm, I headed toward checkout and chided myself for being the snobbish asshole we all know me to be, and then there she was again, taking forever to check out. As the cashier rang up two huge bags of scented votive candles, the Bride produced the largest zippered bag of prescription pharmaceuticals I have ever seen. I could easily count 2o different amber bottles packed tight head to foot, foot to head. Who carries that many drugs with them at any given time? Why was she having such a hard time checking out? Why did I get the feeling that she had not just come from her bacheleorette party, but that this was her wedding night?
From what I'm told brides make for uneasy bedfellows, so do wives, but for far different reasons. Here is to the Bride of Walgreen's and her large bag of drugs, I hope you have a safe middle passage.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
I cannot wait to completely forget you, and deeply regret you; getting close to me...
Once more into the fray. I'm at it again, how long will it take to ruin this relation ship, that showed such promise such spark. I am a professional at this you know, I approach a new relationship like the cast and crew of Extreme Home Makeover, carefully budgeting for the establishing shots, teardown, and the big reveal. So watch my dust I will keep you posted.
How is this for an establishing shot?
We met for drinks and dinner at a restaurant that should be crowded with the type of people that Denver needs to become vital. Instead it was crowded only with the broken hopes of the thin young men and women, stuck at work at this pretty restaurant on a frost bitten night in downtown Denver. But hey, wasn't gonna let that spoil the mood, the air was sweet with the hope of being able to take three steps and not think about my last relationship. I was cautiously optimistic, to say the least.
It was all totally her idea, and I am forever grateful. I sat down next to her at the bar, and within seconds I was in the center of her storm, it felt good to be carried away by the winds of youthful exuberance, and battered by the flash of her artisitic brilliance. She is one of the most singularly artistic people I have ever met. She simply cannont help it, she sees art, where we see the world. Beautiful.
And what was really cute, is that she's at the age where the idea of being bitter, codgered and ill at ease, is romantic to her, within seconds she was in the middle of my storm, and now I doubt that she still feels that way. There's a big difference between the idea of a dissatisfied life, and an actual dissatisfied life, I think she came up close and personal for the first time with true despair. I hope that one look into the breach was enough to make her retreat from the edge.
Let me put you at ground zero: as we sipped our boutiqe martinis, I was careful not to "be on a date" I was excited just to talk. So I was just talking to her and she told me that she was a skynic. "I'm skeptical and cynical, and I like it." I smiled and replied that she was full of shit, (you can't shit a bullshitter, bullshit's a bargain, that's why I carry turds in my pocket) "you my dear, you wreak of optimism and positivity." And you know what? I wasn't just taking the piss, I meant that. How wonderful to wreak of optimism? I used to, in fact I'm still known to my close friends as the most blindly resillient brother they know. HA HA! As if I would only open my eyes, I would concede defeat right? But I digress.....
We didn't even eat dinner, she was my sustinance. (Okay, I- just like you, just threw up in my mouth a little. But it's true! ) I wasn't hungry for food, being with her. Being around her, makes the idea of eating to live obsolete. Why consume food, when you could consume her?) And so, I continued to feast on her. And her breasts continued to try and break out of the camisole that she was almost wearing out. "I'm having a hard time talking to you and looking you directly in the eyes," admonishing her breasts with her left hand again before saying, "my mind races to so many things I'd rather do than talk to you when I look in your eyes."
Sex, the lack of it, and need for it, lets us forget many important things, until sex is no longer lacking. Then we focus on all those wrong things. How long will it talke to tear down these feelings and reveal the big mess? I told you I'm an expert at this,watch my dust.
Together, we shared disdain, and then she asked: is there anything you're afraid of? Success. I said and I laughed so long and hard I realized I hadn't truly laughed in a long time. She knew I wasn't kidding, and she still didn't run away. "I'm afraid of snakes," and I laughed again. For I know now there are far worse things than snakes to be afraid of.
How is this for an establishing shot?
We met for drinks and dinner at a restaurant that should be crowded with the type of people that Denver needs to become vital. Instead it was crowded only with the broken hopes of the thin young men and women, stuck at work at this pretty restaurant on a frost bitten night in downtown Denver. But hey, wasn't gonna let that spoil the mood, the air was sweet with the hope of being able to take three steps and not think about my last relationship. I was cautiously optimistic, to say the least.
It was all totally her idea, and I am forever grateful. I sat down next to her at the bar, and within seconds I was in the center of her storm, it felt good to be carried away by the winds of youthful exuberance, and battered by the flash of her artisitic brilliance. She is one of the most singularly artistic people I have ever met. She simply cannont help it, she sees art, where we see the world. Beautiful.
And what was really cute, is that she's at the age where the idea of being bitter, codgered and ill at ease, is romantic to her, within seconds she was in the middle of my storm, and now I doubt that she still feels that way. There's a big difference between the idea of a dissatisfied life, and an actual dissatisfied life, I think she came up close and personal for the first time with true despair. I hope that one look into the breach was enough to make her retreat from the edge.
Let me put you at ground zero: as we sipped our boutiqe martinis, I was careful not to "be on a date" I was excited just to talk. So I was just talking to her and she told me that she was a skynic. "I'm skeptical and cynical, and I like it." I smiled and replied that she was full of shit, (you can't shit a bullshitter, bullshit's a bargain, that's why I carry turds in my pocket) "you my dear, you wreak of optimism and positivity." And you know what? I wasn't just taking the piss, I meant that. How wonderful to wreak of optimism? I used to, in fact I'm still known to my close friends as the most blindly resillient brother they know. HA HA! As if I would only open my eyes, I would concede defeat right? But I digress.....
We didn't even eat dinner, she was my sustinance. (Okay, I- just like you, just threw up in my mouth a little. But it's true! ) I wasn't hungry for food, being with her. Being around her, makes the idea of eating to live obsolete. Why consume food, when you could consume her?) And so, I continued to feast on her. And her breasts continued to try and break out of the camisole that she was almost wearing out. "I'm having a hard time talking to you and looking you directly in the eyes," admonishing her breasts with her left hand again before saying, "my mind races to so many things I'd rather do than talk to you when I look in your eyes."
Sex, the lack of it, and need for it, lets us forget many important things, until sex is no longer lacking. Then we focus on all those wrong things. How long will it talke to tear down these feelings and reveal the big mess? I told you I'm an expert at this,watch my dust.
Together, we shared disdain, and then she asked: is there anything you're afraid of? Success. I said and I laughed so long and hard I realized I hadn't truly laughed in a long time. She knew I wasn't kidding, and she still didn't run away. "I'm afraid of snakes," and I laughed again. For I know now there are far worse things than snakes to be afraid of.
Friday, September 21, 2007
No we can't dance together, no we can't talk at all; Please take me along when you slide on down.
Any man who claims he would not try and fuck a 19 year old, doesn't know any 19 year olds. I however am in the business of young people, young girls, young pussy. All I know of life is what young girls have to offer. I am simultaneously sustained and saddened at this realization, and I will not be moved from the stake I have claimed. Mostly because I live a life unaware.
In fact I have never been good at recognizing that exact moment, you know the tipping point, when everything changes, after which nothing is ever the same. I've fallen victim to this blindness, often in my life and times. I've always been distracted, concerned with bigger and smaller things. Focused on any and everything else about a situation besides what's going on, that is until today.
Today, I saw my tipping point, and I watched myself cower away from a life less ordinary. There is one very special 19 year old scorpio in my life, and she is going to be the bomb one day, maybe. perhaps. She has a lot to overcome, and her friends and family will be of little help, her beauty transcends her surroundings and her attatchements. My greatest fear is that she, like so many other 19s I've known will be pregnant and hopeless, and stuck forever in the shortcomings of her gene pool.
But for now, I just enjoy being around her 1970s style Jane Kennedy good looks(as the title of this blog suggests she don't remember that queen of soul photo shoots) and her personality which by some small miracle of God is so pure and endearing that you fall in love with her provincial ignorance.(yeah, i know) I know I'm sounding a lot like Woody Allen in Manhattan right now, but more on that later. I just need to stop and capture that moment with her, waiting for the elevator on the top floor of the Denver Pavilions outdoor mall. There was a slight breeze, and as it played in her hair I gazed at her, realizing that beauty devoid of backstory is empty vessel at best, folly at worst. She had been the vessel for me in many ways, and she had outlived her usefulness to me, I like so many times before did not realize this at the time, until I did. Let me elaborate.
I am old enough to recognize unchecked attraction in women, finally. So when she came at me, and couldn't help but keep coming at me, I knew what this was about. I enjoyed, hell I even depended upon it, but only because of my bullshit, not because of anything real. There's an old saying that you're only as old as the person you're fucking, and I was hoping she would be my own personal fountain of youth. That didn't happen, this did:
It should no longer be a secret that I have a passion for dance movies. I love them, in my opinion the medium of film was created to record dancing, all that other special effects bullshit, is just that, bulshit. Hey 19 and I, decided to take in the new Omarion movie, because he's always dancing, and J.Lo was the producer of the flick so it should be full of dancing right? Wrong. No dancing, zero dancing. 90 minutes later we emerged from an afternoon matinee "safe date" to greet the bright blistering reality of what was really going on here.
I had tried to ignore it, even felt pretty good about it, but suddenly 2 teen aged boys would not let me spend another delusional moment thinking this had even a shot of working out. Make no mistake, I am not blaming the wolf, the wolf must kill and must eat, but even the wolf has regard for other predators. I'm losing you huh? Let me back up.....
There we were waiting innocently enough for the elevator, and I was thinking how much more beautiful she would look one day, when there was more rattling around in her head than who she should text next, when suddenly she was caught in the cross hairs of these two teenage wolves. Full disclosure, I could never pull off wolf, even as a teen, so I already had a heater. All of a sudden there was a new desire that didn't come from either one of us, it came from these two boys lapping at her 19 year old frame with their eyes, drooling uncontrollable thoughts about what they think they might do to her. It wasn't their regard for her, hell that's what teens are supposed to do, it was their disregard for me that totally fucked me up.
Pack hunters as they were, they exchanged a non verbal communication with their body language that I was of no concern, no sexual threat. I was the old male sea lion, with the best piece of real estate on the arctic beach. Yes, I'm attractive because of my status, and seniority but worthy of their respect? Their fear even? NO, definitely not. What's even crazier is that she sensed the moment too. She must have, because she did what any teenage girl would do, stare them down and wait for them to melt, flee, or crack her facade and expose her. It was amazing to watch her become self aware before my eyes, not that teenage self-aware, I dare say a more adult self-aware. It was a pair of epiphanies. I will entertain the fantasy that perhaps she realized that she needed to let go of her young girl ways, this is true and I might stand behind it, but she was loving being 19 at that moment, maybe for the last time.
As the boys shrank away from her glare, buying her poker face hook line and sinker, I thought about the rift between her world and mine, and how unlikely I was to ever make a dent in hers.(literally or figuratively, HA!) I had fancied myself a sort of sexual svengali, a familiar role for me to play but now I knew that whatever path she takes, she is outside my range of influence, and so my better sense has prevailed on the matter of the 19 year old.
I will not be the old man that chokes down his better sense in service of his dick, nope. I've already been that 20 year old, that 22 year old, that 25 year old, and against better advice that 27 year old, hell let's keep it real that 33 year old. Damn, at 36? Isn't about time to just call it?
It's so funny listening to her delineate her life's goals, making her mind up about certain things and plotting her life's choices. All the things she can't wait to "get out and start to do" I applaud her and I realize that that person has never ever been me. I have never made any plans for myself, and right now at least, I don't plan on it. (marinate on that for a sec....) I guess I need to get some dreams, because you know dreaming is free....I got that from the Omarion movie. Besides, you have to have a little faith in people.
Right?
In fact I have never been good at recognizing that exact moment, you know the tipping point, when everything changes, after which nothing is ever the same. I've fallen victim to this blindness, often in my life and times. I've always been distracted, concerned with bigger and smaller things. Focused on any and everything else about a situation besides what's going on, that is until today.
Today, I saw my tipping point, and I watched myself cower away from a life less ordinary. There is one very special 19 year old scorpio in my life, and she is going to be the bomb one day, maybe. perhaps. She has a lot to overcome, and her friends and family will be of little help, her beauty transcends her surroundings and her attatchements. My greatest fear is that she, like so many other 19s I've known will be pregnant and hopeless, and stuck forever in the shortcomings of her gene pool.
But for now, I just enjoy being around her 1970s style Jane Kennedy good looks(as the title of this blog suggests she don't remember that queen of soul photo shoots) and her personality which by some small miracle of God is so pure and endearing that you fall in love with her provincial ignorance.(yeah, i know) I know I'm sounding a lot like Woody Allen in Manhattan right now, but more on that later. I just need to stop and capture that moment with her, waiting for the elevator on the top floor of the Denver Pavilions outdoor mall. There was a slight breeze, and as it played in her hair I gazed at her, realizing that beauty devoid of backstory is empty vessel at best, folly at worst. She had been the vessel for me in many ways, and she had outlived her usefulness to me, I like so many times before did not realize this at the time, until I did. Let me elaborate.
I am old enough to recognize unchecked attraction in women, finally. So when she came at me, and couldn't help but keep coming at me, I knew what this was about. I enjoyed, hell I even depended upon it, but only because of my bullshit, not because of anything real. There's an old saying that you're only as old as the person you're fucking, and I was hoping she would be my own personal fountain of youth. That didn't happen, this did:
It should no longer be a secret that I have a passion for dance movies. I love them, in my opinion the medium of film was created to record dancing, all that other special effects bullshit, is just that, bulshit. Hey 19 and I, decided to take in the new Omarion movie, because he's always dancing, and J.Lo was the producer of the flick so it should be full of dancing right? Wrong. No dancing, zero dancing. 90 minutes later we emerged from an afternoon matinee "safe date" to greet the bright blistering reality of what was really going on here.
I had tried to ignore it, even felt pretty good about it, but suddenly 2 teen aged boys would not let me spend another delusional moment thinking this had even a shot of working out. Make no mistake, I am not blaming the wolf, the wolf must kill and must eat, but even the wolf has regard for other predators. I'm losing you huh? Let me back up.....
There we were waiting innocently enough for the elevator, and I was thinking how much more beautiful she would look one day, when there was more rattling around in her head than who she should text next, when suddenly she was caught in the cross hairs of these two teenage wolves. Full disclosure, I could never pull off wolf, even as a teen, so I already had a heater. All of a sudden there was a new desire that didn't come from either one of us, it came from these two boys lapping at her 19 year old frame with their eyes, drooling uncontrollable thoughts about what they think they might do to her. It wasn't their regard for her, hell that's what teens are supposed to do, it was their disregard for me that totally fucked me up.
Pack hunters as they were, they exchanged a non verbal communication with their body language that I was of no concern, no sexual threat. I was the old male sea lion, with the best piece of real estate on the arctic beach. Yes, I'm attractive because of my status, and seniority but worthy of their respect? Their fear even? NO, definitely not. What's even crazier is that she sensed the moment too. She must have, because she did what any teenage girl would do, stare them down and wait for them to melt, flee, or crack her facade and expose her. It was amazing to watch her become self aware before my eyes, not that teenage self-aware, I dare say a more adult self-aware. It was a pair of epiphanies. I will entertain the fantasy that perhaps she realized that she needed to let go of her young girl ways, this is true and I might stand behind it, but she was loving being 19 at that moment, maybe for the last time.
As the boys shrank away from her glare, buying her poker face hook line and sinker, I thought about the rift between her world and mine, and how unlikely I was to ever make a dent in hers.(literally or figuratively, HA!) I had fancied myself a sort of sexual svengali, a familiar role for me to play but now I knew that whatever path she takes, she is outside my range of influence, and so my better sense has prevailed on the matter of the 19 year old.
I will not be the old man that chokes down his better sense in service of his dick, nope. I've already been that 20 year old, that 22 year old, that 25 year old, and against better advice that 27 year old, hell let's keep it real that 33 year old. Damn, at 36? Isn't about time to just call it?
It's so funny listening to her delineate her life's goals, making her mind up about certain things and plotting her life's choices. All the things she can't wait to "get out and start to do" I applaud her and I realize that that person has never ever been me. I have never made any plans for myself, and right now at least, I don't plan on it. (marinate on that for a sec....) I guess I need to get some dreams, because you know dreaming is free....I got that from the Omarion movie. Besides, you have to have a little faith in people.
Right?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)