Above

The currents will pull you away... just keep your head above.

~ Jack’s Mannequin

I'll Always Have Love For Ya: The Ex-Files

Goodbye September, I'll Always Have love for ya! 

Ah my loves, it has been a little while since Ms. M has stopped being busy and simply lived. I must say it does do wonders for the spirit and welcomes interesting things, (good, bad & sad), into your life. Which although my downtime was thanks to a terrible sore throat a few weeks back and a very old Car Collision that involves some legal matters, this fabulous doll is grateful & fortunate enough to stay closer to home than usual. Taking life in & redecorating of course! Which means de-cluttering! Do you know what de-cluttering is? It means you are clearing out the past to make way for the new. In Buddhism it's encouraged to let go and let life run its course. Much like a stream of water. Damming it only stops up things and builds pressure. Besides...

If you don't make way for the new, the change you need will never come. 

Which brings me to this: Exes. Through my efforts to de-clutter and discard things that no longer serve a purpose, I keep thinking about people and their Exes---> lovers, friends and etc. When people have relationships that no longer are supportive or healthy for them, they must let them go. These things clutter up your heart. You don't always have to unfriend an ex but you have to give them time. 

Some people gracefully let go and others hang on too tightly when it isn't cool. Following, bothering and keeping tabs on a former lover through friends/acquaintances or even the "next" person they date. You can be friends but friends don't do that. Honestly I've been the "next girlfriend" and I've dated the "next boyfriend" before after a uncomfortable or awkward separation and I'll share something with you... We didn't break up because our exes stalked us, stayed acquaintances with either of us and kept tabs on our social media. Give them the same regard you would want. Jealousness is not love and should not be encouraged... (which is why this doll is on good terms with her exes but distances herself from them til it's ok)

Relationships just begin or end sometimes when they are supposed to. True fact: if a girl or guy truly wants to be with or pursue someone, nothing an anyone can do will change that. If someone is motivated to pursue a girl/guy... Nothing will stop them. But know from my experience it's fun to watch someone act out... So don't. Love yourselves Dolls and Kens. You are all so amazing and awesome. :)

This doll really tries to insist that all of her favorite Kens deal with their past so it doesn't interfere with her life or other friends lives but she realizes you can't control your ex and has been trying not to hold it against any of them & get mad. Some women or men act out, unfortunately. Just remember as an ex you can control yourself... 

But I'll let you decide how it sounds when you bother your ex and his/her friends or the new person they date. Here's one about a guy that couldn't stop following his ex...

Do you keep tabs on your ex via their friends or their new paramour? Or do you de-clutter your heart and move on?

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Some Distant Memory

(7-19-2010)

I don’t know if we could get lost in a city this size if we wanted to.

And I don’t know if I could survive without seeing you?

And every time I see your face I feel out of place. 

I’m out on the street. This address isn’t familiar. It’s new. She’s running late. How do I know? He’s waiting outside. Picking her up. Talking on the phone. The new me. The replacement.

I know it’s him by his watch. I passed them in the lobby of the W three weeks ago and there it was shiny, gold, Rolex, the kind of gaudy that isn’t anything like me. It was an unusual encounter to say the least. Walking by slow with my head turned by the sound of noise. She saw me first and grabbed his hand tighter. The left, with the watch. Tighter. Smile for my benefit. Wave of her blonde hair as she leans in a little closer for a kiss. A flash of gold touches her cheek and they hold for the moment as I keep walking. He didn’t know about me and she won’t tell him. And I can’t forget it. Gold. There it stands three feet below the stoop waiting for her to leave the building. 

I didn’t want to ever do this. But that day it wasn’t enough. I had to see her again. It’s been too long for me to miss her and it’s not long enough. Damn this. She’s running down the steps. She’s wearing a black dress beneath her coat. Her favorite dress, with the slit up to her mid thigh that accents the muscles in her leg when she wears the right shoes. She’s wearing the right shoes and kissing him. Apologizing and taking his arm in hers before they start walking. 

After thirteen blocks we are in a familiar place again. The city seems to be alive all around. I can’t move quickly enough. Knocking into people. Shoving forward through the crowd. Trying to reach her. I just need to see her face. I can’t catch up. There’s so much alive and I’m walking through it. Towards something that is no more. The light turns red. We are separated by the traffic. I should give up. I can’t. 

They enter Allegra’s. It’s a bar we used to go to. Used. To. When we had the same friends. They’re all still friends with us and each other except its different. There’s a dividing factor, an imaginary line in the room that is drawn. Makes same very different. Creates an uncomfortably large pink elephant in the room that no one wants to talk about. 

They take a booth and I shuffle over to the bar and wave down a bartender. As she sits he takes her coat. That was my gift. She laughed when I gave it to her. Tonight she still has the same laugh. But it’s laughing at his jokes now. His funny faces. Now I’m getting a double shot of unfamiliar poison and a Kentucky Jack straight. 

Through the passing bodies and open laughs I can see the world that I once occupied.

It’s so easy why are you leaving? 

It’s just because I’ve grown afraid of you. 

I wish we were at the beginning

It would be so good to be with you.

It’s been a half hour and a drink later. The rest of their party arrives and they all mingle. These aren’t my friends. I’m sipping my second Jack and watching from my stool. Her long hair is slightly tucked behind one ear. She has three hoop earrings in each ear. They get up and start talking. It’s killing me but I can’t help watch. Crunching my ice loudly, I turn to get a better view. Maybe part of me wants to be seen. Maybe expecting a reaction? Or nothing at all. She looks at me and turns back to the group. I can’t tell if there is recognition in those blue eyes. She reaches over and touches his hand. He leans in and whispers. She kisses his neck and whispers something back before tucking more hair behind her ear. She knows it’s me.

They start to leave and she turns my way once again. Between the crowded I can see them heading toward the backroom. Why leave? She knows I’m not going to talk to her. I’m afraid of what she might do. The kiss at the W hurt me more than any real wound she could have inflicted. It doesn’t have to be this way. We could be strangers in a bar making eye contact and moving back to our own worlds. It’s dark enough. He doesn’t need to know. This could have been so much better between us. Perhaps we could start over. Begin again instead of losing each other in the sea of nothing that occupies the spaces between. That beautiful hair whips around and those eyes send another ice jolt of blue through my heart before crossing the room. They’ve passed through the threshold.

I look at the man next to me and order another drink. The bartender laughs and hands me the bottle. I nod and tip him a twenty. It’s gonna cost a lot more than this before I’m done. I smile at the man next to me and raise the bottle. He nods and lifts his glass. We are going to be friends before the night is done. 

See that girl…

She’s over there. 

I don’t need her…

She don’t care. 

I could be one in a million. 

It would be so good to start again. 

An hour and a half later I’m pouring the drinks and asking for more ice. The man next to me is my confidant. We’ve connected by the good handshake of Jack and stories of heartbreak. I almost forget she’s in the other room. Then there they come. Laughing and shaking. He’s spinning her around to the sounds of nothing familiar. There’s no recognizable music for my ears. I can’t get over the way her hair moves in the light. I need another drink but the bottle is empty. Nodding the bartender addresses my dilemma and pours another round. 

They’re dancing and laughing. I can’t help but watch. Through my drunken rant I’ve given up. I’m telling my new friend about her. Pointing to the beautiful girl that doesn’t care about me anymore. Reminding my friend that she’s replaced me with him. Anybody with a gold watch. Proclaiming that I don’t need her anymore. These odds aren’t in my favor here. And I know it’s time to start over. But there’s still part of me that misses the beginning. It would be nice to be strangers again. Although there are things that couldn’t be understood without the past, it could be so good.

It’s so easy why are you leaving?

It’s just because I’ve grown afraid of you.

I wish we were at the beginning.

It would be so good to be with you.

They are putting on coats. Looking at the bar. Quickly shuffling their feet through the crowd. Moving back she leans into him. Turning toward me she pauses and faces him. Her hands flip down his shirt collar with care and I ignore another kiss. They are leaving. The other couple has already approached the bar and paid the tab. He spins her around one more time. I swallow the rest of my Jack in one gulp and slam down the glass. They already walked outside. I drop off Ben Franklin and pick up my coat before following.

Outside. Watching them embrace. Now he’s kissing her and trying to hail a cab. One arm wrapped around the small of her back while the other is waving. It’s a movie moment on the curb beneath the moonlight and I’m not in it. My stomach feels sick. I’m standing in the darkened shadows and trying to light a cigarette. That entire bottle of Jack wasn’t the best idea. I’m stumbling. Loudly coughing behind them while they wait for a cab. Turning. Now she sees me. The lines of her face change. She REALLY sees me. I’m exposed. The enemy revealed. The bad guy discovered. She pulls him closer to hurt me. Another kiss before a yellow cab hits the curb with a screech. He opens the door. She’s in and gone before I can react to the change. It’s too late. Done. But I’m chasing the cab anyway. Running and yelling. It’s getting away. I can’t see before it happens. Stumble. Street. Pavement meet face. How do you do?

I’m alone. Face down upon the blacktop in the dark. The sound of clacking grows louder as it approaches. I can only see two black shoes attached to a pair of stocking covered legs. Then turning and kneeling these legs rest before my tired face. A small soft voice whispers “take my hand.” I reach up and grab the hand. It belongs to a smiling girl with a short dress and a long coat. She’s looking more sympathetic with her grin than laughing as she helps me to my feet. I can’t walk straight. She asks if I want help. I say no and start off home. She walks with me anyway. Catching my arm when I stumble and talking to me about the stars. She’s a pretty girl with a pretty smile. I don’t know why she’s talking to me or helping me. But I’m not alone. I’m happy for the company and distracting information about stars.

We walk for fifteen blocks then reach my building. She asks if I need help upstairs. I smile and say no. I tell her thank you for the company and she tells me to call her before handing back my phone. I laugh and ask how long she had it. She says I left it in the bar. I get her number. She smiles and kisses my cheek before leaving. I’m still sick, but I remember how nice it feels to start again.

Dance

Dance until you fall,

Dream and believe;

Follow what you're searching for,

One day the brave adventurer will be no more.

You'll just vanish away like midnight smoke!

~ Julian Lennon

Life

Today's horoscope tells me not to expect enormous change all at once today. But it reminded me to reflect on how much change I've already made in the last 3-4 years. It's been a lot.

 

Someone once told me: burn your memories, destroy the writing, walk away from your job and you will feel better (the job used to be my dream job: I co-managed a music store for nearly 10yrs and it went sour). I did burn my journal, got fired and stop talking to a couple people, but I didn't destroy writing or photos, I just let the process evolve...

 

Change is necessary. You change what you're doing not who you are. After all life is what you make it and change happens whether you choose to take control of what happens to you or let it happen.

 

Here's one of two entries I wrote 4 years ago while nursing a cold in bed.

 

Can you remember what were you doing a 3 or 4 years ago? Do you read your horoscope?

 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

 

 

Sunday, May 30, 2010

What you make it

 

 

I know you had to go

It's too late to turn back

And I know you're so far away

It's too bad all the things that you might say

 

I saw the way, I saw the way you move

You never stop to notice what you have

You saw the way, you saw the way I looked at you today

When everyone is sweet, now

 

Oh, yeah nothing's gonna change but everyone is sweet, yeah

You wanna walk away but life is what you make it

You have to go away but maybe you'll just wait, yeah

It's time to turn around 'cause everyone is sweet

 

And I know you had to go

It's too late, it's over

And I know you're so far away

It's too bad all the things that you might say

 

I saw the way, I saw the way you move

You never stop to notice what you have

You saw the way, you saw the way I looked at you today

When everyone is sweet, now

 

Oh, yeah nothing's gonna change but everyone is sweet, yeah

You wanna walk away but life is what you make it

You have to go away but maybe you'll just wait, yeah

It's time to turn around 'cause everyone is sweet

 

This life is never changing but this life is rearranging

And this life it always goes on, and on, and on, and on

 

I saw the way, I saw the way you move

You never stop to notice what you have

 

Oh, yeah nothing's gonna change but everyone is sweet, yeah

You wanna walk away but life is what you make it

You have to go away but maybe you'll just wait, yeah

It's time to turn around 'cause everyone is sweet

 

This life is never gonna change, this life is never over

 

Life is What You Make It - Number One Gun

 

 

 

What you make it

 

Life is what you make it. Good advice and an amazing song by Number One Gun. Been thinking of a good friend the last few days and wanting to dedicate that song to him. It seemed appropriate to return the gesture since he introduced me to this band last March. The long winding journey is a metaphor for life. Twists and turns. The sometimes bumpy avenues that take us to our destination. Aisles. Corridors. Halls. For the moment, Halls as in Cough Drops. Interesting turn. Entertaining this uninvited guest for a week now. No matter though. Quite at ease and making more than the best about it.

 

Thankfully, was able to spend part of the last week observing through interaction. Listening to all sorts of people; Family, Friends, and Strangers alike. Watching movies, TV, and news. Hearing the radio, songs, and the store musak. Oddly enough they all kept coming back to one thing: Happiness. It was on the tip of everyone’s tongue and floating in the air. With that thought are people happier? It’s a wonder, since this idea is out there inquisitively infiltrating the different cultures of the world in so many ways. For the moment, it seems people are getting better about it. At least humanity, as a whole, is certainly preoccupied by it. Wanting more and more of it.

 

Are you happy? Aside from all the other nonsense that exists in this crazy world. Forget what’s on the tube, on the web or in the papers, and forget what they tell you to believe. Put it ALL out of your head. Even when all that comes and goes, the happiness is what you have left. What’s the measure of a person’s happiness? It’s what you make of it. Gratitude. Appreciation for what’s right in front of you. Wherever you go or whatever you do it’s always comes back to you. Suppose what I’m getting to is… if someone asks you ‘Are you happy?’ Be honest. Tell them. If the answer is NO, don’t feel too bad. Just take a deep breath and look for it. It’s there. Perhaps not every hour of every day, but even on a bad day realize that there’s something to appreciate and smile about. Every day try to imagine there is a little more happiness in the world.

 

 

 

 

White

White Lines

(Ooh White Lines) Vision dreams of passion 
(Blowin’ through my mind)

Walking the line.  2012.

Lines.

“Arrogance isn’t a pretty shade of lipstick. Take it off.” This is what he says to me. So I’m taking it off. I’ve excused myself to the bathroom and actually wiping this color off along with my attitude.

He’s been here for ten minutes I can’t tell what he wants exactly, but he always wants something. It’s never that deep.

While he flips through a copy of Italian Vogue he becomes a bit nostalgic and is telling me about his trip to Italy if you can call twenty-four hours of binge drinking, drugs and anonymous whores a trip. Anyway he says that there’s this mosque that I have to see… “Oh but Jemma, it’s best if you do a line first.”

This morning I woke up promptly at 7:15 am to the sounds of Spandau Ballet dancing in my head before the alarm went off. Of course it’s early… Fred said to be ready to jump into character by 11:15 am. That’s the time for my callback. It’s some flat around the corner on the fourth floor at a leased out building. Of all places, it’s probably the nicest meeting I’ve taken in a while. 

And I’ve spent this morning listening to 80s music for my 80s book. This is me calling it ‘getting into character’ when it's not really like that at all. But what else is it like? It’s all for this 80s script that my agent sent over in a flash three weeks ago along with the book. A book I haven’t read until now. I know enough dialogue to pose for the audition, but the director saw my tape and wants to meet me. I’m completely wrong for the part, but they keep telling me otherwise. Tell me how does a pasty brunette play a sun-tanned blonde? So I keep telling myself that the book is better at identifying motivation than the script. Through reading it I will understand the how’s and why’s of this person and looking in the mirror means nothing about becoming her. This is how I get into character.

Why do they make movies about books? Because people are too lazy, of course I mean too busy, to read. It’s like a public service for those who aren’t able to find the time to read.

As I wipe off the lipstick and reach into the medicine cabinet to get his coke I decide that I’m dumping it down the drain. Down, down, down while the water runs. I hum a line of Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire while stopping to fix my eyes. He can wait. If this is why he really came, then there’s no reason to come back again.

“So what are you doing here?” I ask him while re-emerging with a smile.

“Jemma, you look really good, have you gotten some sun?” Always changing the subject. And of course back to where we started.

It is always an awkward conversation between awkward people who haven’t seen each other in six months. He’s thinking that I’m thinking we’re still sleeping together. I slept alone last night.

It all started when he came in. The moment when I answered the door and almost didn’t let him in. Hello’s that are forced out with an imaginary gun to the back of your head. Hugs that might feel less uncomfortable if it were a stranger. Then there’s a pause. That kind you make only for the Witnesses handing out flyers. You never let them in. No matter what. But I let him in. Smiling and laughing a cracked out grin that smells of tequila and gin at 10am with his awkward greeting.

It’s not that his story about Italian mosques wasn’t fascinating. But I find it necessary to try cutting through the red tape of the last fifteen minutes and get to the point before he starts telling me about the viewing of street art in Paris subways during the middle of April.

“Adrian to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

 “What?” He looks at me with irritation.

“Darling what do you want?”

“My gram.”

“It’s been six months… it’s gone.” Is he hard up? No one carries anything like that. He couldn’t have possibly come for a gram let alone remembered he left it.
“Wow Jemma, that script looks massive. Big part? Little part?” The sidestep to avoid.

“It’s a part.”

And he stops to look around before telling me about driving on Sunset last night. Telling me that there’s a faded line in the middle of the lane that causes him to feel like he has to make a choice. I tell him that’s not Sunset and that he should have just switched lanes. It sounds more like there’s another story I haven’t heard. I stop to wonder how Adrian has a car. But he interrupts me before that becomes an inquiry.

“Jemma, can I? He waves his hands up at me while pointing towards the sink.

 I nod and he heads into the newly painted kitchenette. His voice raises slightly as he rolls up the sleeves on his button-down brilliance before starting to wash his hands. “Don’t worry about the gram I have more. You don’t need? Cause I can…” With a flick of the wrist and the perfect timed punch line of a comedian he produces a small object.

“That’s quite alright Adrian.” Away it goes. Poof. Thin air.

The whole time he’s watching me try to cover my pages and hide the book. Washing and washing longer than is humanly necessary he asks me to tell him about the script and my basis for portrayal. I know he doesn’t care, but I start talking.

It isn’t long before I realized I’ve given him too much and it sounds like bragging. I wasn’t but it doesn’t matter. It’s enough.

Arrogance isn’t a pretty shade of lipstick. Even on you Jemma. Take it off.

This is where we are now.

Lines are like the things that people might say or do only they don’t but you might understand why they might say or do them.

On page 26 my character is having an existential crisis. “Who am I?” she cries in the middle of it all. Between the black characters in front of the white background she can not find herself. Today I know who I am. Arrogant and wearing the wrong shade of lipstick. At least I know it’s not me and that it’s really the bleach blonde tanned bimbo trying to find herself in between the pages while listening to really bad music.

“Have you seen Alex?”

“Alex? Isn’t he up in San Francisco? You must see him more than me.”

“No. He’s here in town. We’re supposed to catch up. I just thought…”

“Adrian. How long have you been here?”

“15 minutes.”

“It’s been more like 25, but I meant in town. How long?”

“I don’t know. How long have you been a superficial stuck-up starlet faking tans with lines to read?” He smiles and laughs. This is the part where I’m supposed to have a sense of humor and smile.  But I just can’t today.

I put my hands through my hair with a feeling of overwhelming frustration. There’s got to be a point to his damage, I just can’t figure it out. I think I’m going to be late and there are still 15 pages left.  I want to get angry and scream at him when he does this. I want to scream aloud and tell him that I may be a superficial starlet but at least I’m really being me. I want to scream and tell him that he’s a poor man’s shadow, excuse for someone who used to be real, someone who is faking their way through everything. But I don’t. Cause I wouldn’t mean it.

“You don’t mind?” He looks at me with his eyes bugged out and waves a pocket mirror. Adrian is always prepared in a crisis. I wonder what he’d do in the event of a water landing. Take it chilled or on the rocks?

I just shake my head. He knows I don’t care. And I’m supposed to be the arrogant one.

He does lines, like I learn them. With the exception that sometimes his escapades land him in the bath room of a cherry colored bar doing lines of blow off a naked stripper’s bare breasts whereas my performance might land me a part in the next big picture from the next big hot-shot director.

 “Let’s do lines together!” He announces. To this I can smile and giggle.

He does a line. I read a line. He does a line. I read a line. Then another. And another. Until I decide… “I can’t do this.”

“Come on, Jemma. What’s wrong? Want something? It’ll make you feel better. Loosen you up.”

“I’m good. I just can’t. Not now. I have to go to this callback and I think I’m going to be late.”

“Cattle callback?”

I laugh and tell him, “Why yes, with other superficial stuck-up starlets whose teeth and mouths are too wide.”

”Why? What? When?”

“In like 20 minutes.”

“Oh fuck. Let me call the driver. I can have you there in 10.”

“It’s only just around the corner. You can come if you want.”

Adrian is too pretentious sometimes. All morning he’s been riding around in a town car with a driver called Chaz calling it a stretch. The driver barely speaks English and prefers to call us for directions instead of talking or turning around. Adrian has already taken out his mirror to offer the driver a line after telling him about it on the phone. I’m more surprised when the guy doesn’t take it. I keep reading lines. I must look pissed. He won’t make eye contact and now he’s taking out that small object again. Shit. We’re going to pass the place. I’m getting out even though the car is still moving.

On page 27 my character has a breakthrough moment. A door opens and she walks through it. This is the scene the director wants me to read. I keep thinking back to Spandau Ballet and how the only reason this is a movie is because someone wrote a book. Playing my part as a public servant. Helping make the population literate.

This is ‘The Director’ a million girls want to work with and will accommodate in anyway. I should have done the line. But I didn’t. I understand why I said no and may have wanted to. ‘The Director’ likes my face. He told my agent this. This man that a million girls want to work with likes my face. I want him to like my acting. Take me seriously for this part. Because this is why I’m here. Instead my face got me here.

All of this is me ‘getting into character’ while I’m trying to remember my lines. Remembering those things that I might say or do only don’t so that they might understand why they are said or done.

We’re in a stretch. Although it isn’t. This is what they call a stretch in the city; here it’s a town car. It’s almost 11:00 and the driver keeps calling my cell for directions.  I’ve made this arrangement with the driver and offered him something for the road.  He declines. Jemma looks pissed, but I can’t help that she’s in a bad mood today. I offered her some candy. It’s too bad she doesn’t want to play. She’s so much more fun when she falls in the water. Maybe she will after this cattle audition for mindless blonde bimbos with superficial tans and weekend Daddy’s to pay their bills. Jemma is too good for this. I wonder if she still thinks we are sleeping together. I’m thinking of taking another hit as she opens the door. The stretch hasn’t quite stopped. This is what I’m thinking… I’m going to call Alex again.

Fantastic

“Life in plastic. It's fantastic!” - Aqua

Tonight underneath the stars spinning round and round...

8 words. The Cure. NEW. Always a favorite. There's nothing like working with your favorite music and listening to it while you work. Do you like The CURE? Enjoy. kisses, m.

the cure. song of the day: why can't I be you? album: kiss me kiss me kiss me

Tonight underneath the stars spinning round & round

You remind me of a girl I think

She used to just stand there and stare

On that dizzy edge. I kissed her face 

And kissed her head and dreamed of all

My promises. I thought you were the girl

Tonight underneath the stars, spinning round and round

For the last time, then slipped away quietly.

I'm wondering where she's been and I'm crying

Dancing screaming itching squealing fevered feeling hot hot...

I'm smitten I'm bitten I'm hooked I'm cooked!

However much I'm falling down it's never enough. 

Whichever I chose it amounts to the same

End. But this isn't truth this isn't right.

Please tell me this is not for real...

The shadows breathe whispering me away from you.

This wonder always leaves. When the time comes

Then give it to the wonderful, wonderful me.

I know I was wrong when I said 

It's not hard to hide in a moment. 

I never thought that tonight could ever be 

Flowing in and filling up my hopeless heart.

If only I'd thought of the right words. 

I would say I’m sorry if I thought

You’d know that I'd do anything. For you

Make me feel like I am free again.

To learn the new smile you'll have to

Slide into deep black water and breathe and 

Sing me a line from your favorite song.

It's such a gorgeous sight to see you

In the water and your dry lips sing

And smile with the shake of your head.

It's a big bright beautiful world out there.

The same sun spinning in the same sky.

So let's cut the conversation and get out
Softly through the shadow of the evening sun

One last time before it's time to go.

As a strange attraction spreads it's wings the

Happy ever after girl finds the perfect boy.

*Track Listing

10.15 Saturday Night

Boys don't Cry

Jumping Someone Else's Train

Killing An Arab

M

The Lovecats

The Catapiller

Close to Me

The Walk

Inbetween Days

A Night Like This

Catch

Hot Hot Hot!

If only Tonight we could Sleep

Just Like Heaven

The Kiss

Why Can’t I Be You?

Lovesong

Fascination Street

Lullaby

Pictures of You

High

Doing the Unstuck

Friday I’m in Love

A letter to Elise

This is a lie

The 13th

Out of this world

Bloodflowers

Alt. End.

Underneath the Stars

Burn

Sleep When I’m Dead

Never Enough

Labyrinth

The Perfect Boy

The End of the world

Strange Attraction

Revisiting The D Chronicles - (Men): Automatic

You think you know her...
but you've never lived your life without her...
you couldn't tell me...
the things she said...
the books she read...
the way she looked when the morning came...
but you'll never forget the day she ran away.
you think you know her - cause and effect



Ever wake up in the middle of the night? Dead sleep. That's an interesting way to put it. A friend of mine calls it death, sleep that it is. I think it's cause he's a little afraid of dying. Aren't we all a little? Anyhow enough of the sleepers. It's the memories that have a funny way of keeping the brain preoccupied if you let them. That's a shame too. The present moment tends to be the most memorable for myself. Even right now as I listen to the strokes "automatic stop" and think about his plea with the girl I realize that perhaps they were not friends at all. And it's probably both their fault for that. That thought brings me back to think you can't bring back the dead but you can certainly keep on living. So can we all. On that note I'll leave you with a bit of something to read... This is part of an unfinished piece from the D-men that missed being included. Let me know what you think or perhaps how you fall back to sleep once you're awake. Love to hear. enjoy living, loving and breathing. I know I am. kisses. m.

The Dead

(6-28-2011)

“Baby, I love you come back to bed.” She says.

The soft voice whispers and speaks the truth.

And it’s the last truth that echoes before he’s awake.

The same conundrum wakes Classer Andresen from a dead sleep. Night after night, different places, different women and the same thing happens for Classer Andresen. The whisper precedes a memory. Not the last moment, but one all entirely different.

A random instance where she was there in his arms. In the dark of the Study standing next to the window and he was wrapped around her. His mind is surrounded by the smell of the room intensified by the sensation of his touch he lets his mind wander with the thought. Imagining the smell of the dusty room filled with old books could still make him jump hard with a hunger for her.

Stiff, hungry and hung over when he jars himself free from the waking dream, Classer can’t quite shake the sensation of the moment. Looking over, he visually makes out a long pair of legs attached to a thin brunette.  The small dimple of her back feels just like the one in his memory. But it’s not. As he moves his eyes up from bottom to top he can see the signs of his night. Two wrappers trail the edge of the sheets before giving way to a third. At least his efforts were protected even if he can’t seem to remember them. The perfection of the thin body next to him lifts and lowers with small shallow breathes. With the dark hair covering her face she might be the mirror image of Inara. Soft corners of her lips peeking out from the curly mess of long brown locks could fool him the same way the others fooled him every night.

This one, her name was Rachel. She told him that was her name, but it might be something else. He distinctly remembers a Heather or a Michelle. These women seem to be all the same when there’s one after another night after night. And the one thing they seem to have in common is that they can never be her.

The women like the memories couldn’t bring Inara back into his life. She was still gone, a dead memory because he was foolish enough to let her go. Foolish enough to send her away. And much like a dead woman, thinking about her that wouldn’t change a thing or bring her back to  him. Yet his mind wanders from the simplest stimulation. Looking at the book on the nightstand is intoxicating to his mind and sends his thoughts back into the past looking for her.

The air around them was stagnating in the dark Study. Dusty from the smell of old volumes of truth. Although her lips kept begging him back to bed, her hands were making different plans altogether. Down around his back she cups his ass and pulls him close. Without a thought he reaches beneath her robe and lets his hand move up and inside her thighs. Soft, warm and welcoming she kisses him when touches her.

Snapping back to present he’s ready for more. But to wake the creature next to him would only shake the moment from before. So he quietly runs his fingers across the skin of her thighs before getting up from the bed. It’s all he can do to avoid waking his anonymous companion as he gently shuts the bathroom door. Awake means questions and questions require answers. Answers are something that Classer really doesn’t want to supply at 3am for a woman he’s known less than six hours.

In the bathroom there’s wrappers four and five making an appearance. At least there is comfort in knowing that he safely could handle his alcohol and anonymous bedfellows. But this night wasn’t like any other and Classer knew it.

Tonight much like the dead didn't like to rest, the memories kept coming back to him haunt. The cool drip of the faucet sets his mind wandering backwards toward the same sound of water gently tapping at the window in the moment that cannot become again.

Kicking the back of his legs she let his movements climb and rise. The sound of her breath and moans greet the pulse of his hips and the touch of his hands. Slowly the sounds between them come to an end. Inara kisses the soft part of his bottom lip before taking in the whole of his mouth.

It’s there the memory always fades.

Still staring at the floor and standing next to the sink Classer can’t gather himself quickly enough. His face in the mirror seems the same and very different. There are a thousand reasons to go out there and pick up where he left off with the thin brunette named Rachel or Heather or Michelle and only one to pick up and leave…

She wasn’t her.

And none of them ever would be. None of the living could replace the dead memory of her. And none of these women could ever replace her ghost that haunted his memory. Sometimes she was there in a sound or a breath, but her pure essence could never be captured in a night of mindless pleasure. But for a moment or two he could bring back the ghost of her with a thought. And although it was the purest form of intoxication for his mind, Classer knew he couldn’t live in those memories. That’s all they were.

“Baby, come to bed,” She calls.

In a small voice he can hear the woman call to him.

And it’s the only truth that he can face when he looks in the mirror before turning out the light and going back into the room.