She inquired about her own recommendation

All the recent talk about the new Prince albums(s) has me listening to his entire back catalogue otra vez!  How I love the albums Around the World in a Day and Parade.  These are very distinct and interesting albums as they are the works which follow Purple Rain and precede Sign O’ The Times respectively.  Yet they are both mini masterpieces in their own right and in many ways every bit as creative and astounding as their powerhouse predecessors and successors.  There is so much melody and rock and funk and beauty on these two that it tears me up just to think about them.  Pure art.  I cannot find anything greater.  Flash forward to 1995’s The Gold Experience for a moment.  “Billy Jack Bitch” is a spectacular thick slice of funk and “Endorphinemachine” is incredible righteous rock. Prince’s albums make my garden grow. 

I’ve been swimming around way too much in dolphin water as of late and though it has felt utterly golden I realize I need to lay off for just a bit. 

For the past 5 weeks I have listened to the album 1.Outside by David Bowie probably 7 times a day.  That is a total of 245 times in 35 days for all you mathematics fans out there.  I remember purchasing this album on the day of its release back in the summer of 95’.  Bowie and Nine Inch Nails would tour together later that year and hearing The Thin White Duke sing on “Repile” or hearing NIN play “Subterraneans” was a transcendental experience I will always treasure.  I recently made a wager with a beloved friend of mine that in thirty years this album would be as revered as the other iconic works from his discography and I would to publicize this belief here.  1. Outside is an amazing, dark, beautiful, haunting, comforting, wonderful piece of art and I am so thankful that I am alive and can listen to it every day.  All the joy I see through this album’s eyes.  Thank you so much. 

She asked me if I wanted to kill her but the truth could not possibly be further from that misconception.

All of a sudden there she was.  A gift from God and gift wrapped in my favorite wrapping.  How I desired that that she throw me down and tell me what a pathetic, ugly loser I am.  “Patetico” she would say while spitting on me.  And then she would finally take off her brilliant black high heel shoes after such a long hard day of work and press her soles against my face with fury in her eyes. 

I watched the movie Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles last night. 

They always looked so strong and still so feminine.  I used to think they would fit perfectly in mine and now I knew this to be true.  And I knew the strength I saw in them was only the tip of something much more resilient that reached all the way to her heart. 

            I felt a brief moment of shame when I realized how special her honesty made me feel.  All things beautiful and ugly we could share with one another.  But the shame left me in the way most other emotions and feelings had that weren’t directly empathically connected to her. 

These past two paragraphs are incredibly poorly written.

            She needed my support; my stolidity and I would not let her down. 

            When she spoke, the ocean came to my mind.  Everything seemed to be going up and down in waves.  The talk of her daughter Rosita had at first given way to still, wonderful waters, with the sun reflected golden in their surface.  But those waters had become violent and terrible and the only thing reflected in them was the gray and black sky above. 

            Was she looking for a way back to something more clear?  Would she be able to find it?

            I pictured her in these waves, reaching for something.  

            “And she drew you in the picture too?” I asked.

            “Yeah, Joaquim and I were standing by our house and she was in the middle of us, we were holding hands.  I stared at that picture for a long time and then and I just crumpled it between my hands.  I didn’t mean to do this, I just did it.  I immediately felt horror over what I had just done and I uncrumpled it the best I could.  I put in on her desk and tried to smooth it out but you can never get those things out, you know?  Joaquim started to ask me why I did that but didn’t finish.  He probably knew I wouldn’t tell him anyway, and I wouldn’t have, I didn’t.  That thought I told you about, it kept getting stronger and stronger very fast and when I crumpled the paper, it was at the front of my mind.  Looking around her room, going through her things and remembering how close I had felt to her and knowing that she was gone…pues, I knew no matter how dumb I was and how many times I thought I saw her or prayed for it that she was not coming back and…I found myself wishing that she had never been born to begin with.  And with that I felt all new kinds of shame and sadness and guilt.   But I did not feel like I could tell that to anyone, even Joaquim.  Or maybe especially him.”

I sat in my car for a long time, asking myself what I was doing. 

You can’t do this.

This is horrible, this is truly awful. 

And disrespectful.  You think this is right?  Is there actually a part of you so messed up that you actually believe its okay for you to do this? 

I guess that shouldn’t come as a surprise though, right?

Not a surprise at all.

I was in the parking of a very old and very large church.  It was one that I had passed by hundreds of times in life, sometimes with my parents, sometimes with friends and sometimes on my own.  But it was one I had never seen inside.  It was a beautiful building, the steeples rising high, ending in a single white cross at the top.  Grass surrounded it and a sign at the entrance read All welcome, all in the grace of our Lord.  It was a nice sentiment, all welcome, but hard for me to really accept. 

The communication was so regular and beautiful and then in an instant it disappeared.  What happened?  Why am I so repulsive?  I hate myself so much.  There are so many moments where I do nothing more than wish I were dead.  I imagine myself dying and it is so beautiful and perfect and wonderful.  Please tell me what I did to burn that bridge!  I swear I wasn’t even trying that time.  I am so sorry!  I am such a pathetic ugly loser!  I don’t know what I did, I swear I don’t, but I am so so sorry!  Please forgive me!  I only experienced it one time but I miss it so much!  I miss it more than anything! 

There was an apology for the late notice but the interview went superb anyway.  I can’t think of any found footage movie which has been as effective as The Blair Witch Project.  That is the classic; that is the best representation of the then new and innovative technique and nothing has really utilized that method anywhere near as well since that time.  How depressing.  Still, it deserves to be the most profitable movie ever.  What an experience.  I really believed it was based on a true story.  What an ingenious marketing campaign. 

What a pathetic loser I am.  How I despise myself.  The hallways were so alive.  You grossly overestimated things but for me it was pure beauty.  I wasted my chance at real genuine beauty.  Please just sever all ties already.  I cannot go on like this.  Wherever I go I see you there.  I do not mind the hi-hat being so loud at all. 

Also, where would you like this to be conducted at?  I can walk anywhere on campus given enough time, so it could be your office or that French ad building or the Center or even someplace very dangerous like the middle of the freeway.  I apologize, I am tired and my humor does not translate well to text.  But truly, wherever you are most comfortable would be best. 

Basically it says after a request for alcohol at an event has been made there are A LOT of stipulations, one of which reads: An annual alcohol education session through such and such must be attended by the organization advisor and a minimum of five organization members, one of which must be the president/main contact, prior to holding an event with alcohol.  A reasonable fee may be charged for this.

So, I won’t be asking you about any of the technical stuff with this procedure.  Instead I will be asking you the more fun philosophical questions.

Is it too late?  I wonder this every day.  I hope to God it is not too late.  I wish more than anything it is not too late.  But it is not for me to decide.  Please do not let it be too late. 

Every night, all night, I will hold you like this if you give me the chance.  You are both so beautiful, the most beautiful I’ve seen.  Please just give me the chance.  I am on my hands and knees.  You returned and I had no idea.  I am so inadequate.  Please forgive me for missing every relevant thing from the last century. 

Hallo Spaceboy, have you been paying attention to Kate?

I lost her in a rain storm

Amidst the plentiful movie watching which I discussed in Mondays’ post (helpful link here for all the new readers: http://creamybrandenblog.blogspot.com/2014/08/she-performed-surgery-on-me-at-bookstore.html ) my Sunday evening was pleasantly interrupted by the announcement that Prince is releasing 2 albums on September 30: Plectrumelectrum and Art Official Age.  The news immediately enabled me to walk on walls and like a hamster on a wheel I ran circles from the floor to the ceiling and back again in my excitement and frothy anticipation.  It’s been 4 long years since Prince’s last album, the appropriately titled 20ten, and fans know 4 years is an eternity when it comes to Prince’s music as he has rarely let a year pass without releasing something.  Instead the past four years has been filled with doubt, speculation, heartache and dry heaves from wondering if and when The Artist was going to make his next big move

News trickled in earlier this year with word that he and Warner Brothers had reconciled their differences and he would once again be on their record label after nearly two decades of being essentially a free agent.  While no one in the fan community knew what this meant for new albums we were all plotzed to hear that Purple Rain was going to be remastered and reissued.  My mind raced at hearing this initial news as the press release did not specify what, if any bonuses would be included on the remaster.  Perhaps even more important, the press release left it horrifyingly vague as to whether his entire Warners back catalogue would receive the same treatment [Incidentally I once served as co-anchor on a popular political debate and news program and I recall one night while recording live when my co-host pronounced the word “vague” as “vag” (rhyming with “bag”).  He was quick on his feet upon realizing his error and added that it was a French word, hence the pronunciation.  I have always admired his quickness].  And so it was that many a night since I have fallen asleep dreaming about hearing things like “Lady Cab Driver” and “Adore” in beautiful remastered sound or finally having a non-bootlegged copy of a song like “Moonbeam Levels” (I would die in an instant if that happened).  In regards to the remaster issue I only have my dreams for now but from all indications these new albums are very real.

From what I’ve gathered and based on the track listing and credits (as well as the detailed press release) it seems Art Official Age is the one man band style Prince album and with more of a funk/R n’B/electronic type sound while Plectrumelectrum is meant to have a live feel with rock instrumentation, analog recording and writing credits shared with his current band 3rdEyeGirl which consists of Donna Grantis on guitar, Ida Nielsen on bass and Hanna Ford on drums.   Since I am a vinyl nut the analog thing is especially ear percolating and I hope these are both released on wax stateside that I may drop the needle down and party like its 1492.  I’m not entirely sure what to expect from Art Official Age but I did have a chance to see Prince with 3rdEyeGirl at the wonderful Shobox venue in Seattle when they toured last year and that concert is easily tied as the best I’ve ever attended.  Trust me when I say there is nothing quite like being in the very front row at a Prince show and singing the opening lines to “Sign O’ The Times” while The Purple One himself is mere feet from you doing the same thing (albeit in much better voice and style).  This is one of the tightest and most talented bands he’s ever had with him and their musical combustion is fiery rock and the dirtiest of funk this side of Funkadelic.  Prince is one of the best guitarists around – possibly my all-time fave – and any chance to hear Ida’s bass playing must be taken advantage of as she is one of the greats  

Regarding the aforementioned remaster(s?) this year also marked the 30^th anniversary of Purple Rain (hard to believe it’s been that long!  I remember picking it up on vinyl during the summer of 84’ and then buying the cassette for my car, man those were great days!)  I’m very curious as to the particulars of his new contract with Warners but am pleased to see the promotion already kicking off on TV and internet for the new projects.  But are these new albums also serving as publicity for some type of Purple Rain deluxe thing?  Would that type of promotion even work?  I have no idea!  I’ve never had much of a mind for publicity or marketing or business so I don’t know if that would work or if it would be oversaturation or if one simply can never tell until the pre-orders are in, the digital copies uploaded to iTunes and the sales figures start tallying up. 

Though to that end it is interesting to note that the cover for Art Official Age has the Purple Rain platinum records in the background which is an odd choice but aside from the aesthetic could it also be a key to understanding the plan for the remaster? There are 4 of these platinum records on the cover.  Does that mean the Purple Rain remaster will be a 4 disc set?  The album, b-sides, outtakes, protégé tracks (The Time, Apollonia) and a live recording?  I can certainly dream!  Or is he still even interested in remasters?  And those glasses?!  Surely it is no coincidence how strongly they resemble the glasses from the “When Doves Cry” seven-inch single cover (aside from the third lens).  Remasters can mean nice money for record companies so I imagine it would be part of his contract for a series of these.  My Warner Brother’s rep has failed to respond to my queries but I will keep trying.  While the subject has been brought up about the artwork for the albums I must say I love them both.  Plectrumelectrum is stylish and classy but the cover for Art Official Age is gloriously gaudy and perhaps recalling some funk records of old?  I won’t comment on any possibly illuminati connections. 

Of course the only thing that will ultimately matter is the music itself (and tours!!!) and for that I am leaving my mind and heart open.  I personally love when he releases these multidisc projects and I have lots of new music to absorb.  I can say that 2009’s Lotusflow3r (a 3 disc set!) started strong for me but has since dropped off quite a bit while 2010’s 20ten is something I’m still listening to and quite enjoying so these albums could go either way.  But isn’t that the beauty of it all?!  A new Prince era is here and as an entitled fan I have waited long enough!  It’s time to rejoice!

I need to fix my life up. 

She performed surgery on me at the bookstore

My evening last night began as any other.  I put on The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King that I might complete my viewing of the trilogy.  Savvy readers will remember I am re-watching these flicks having only seen them once before decades ago and so far I have been enjoying them considerably more than the first time around.  That said, I found it difficult to focus and I began nodding off around the 55 minute mark.  I do think it was more a matter of being genuinely tired and perhaps not in the mood for this type of story but I also believe this third entry has a much more haphazard and sloppier first hour than its two predecessors (similar to the exposition heavy The Dark Knight Rises in comparison to Batman Begins and The Dark Knight).  The Tolkien faithful have noted in many other places the reason for this is Director Peter Jackson wildly deviating from the source material – vastly changing the structure and content of The Two Towers in this case – with the result being the concluding movie requiring a much more contrived start and setup in order to put these characters where they needed to be for the big finale.   All the same I was and am fully prepared to view it as a movie first and adaptation second and in order to grant it the necessary attention I removed the disc and vowed to finish it at a heretofore undecided date in the future. 

At that point I radically switched genres and watched Desperado again for what could have been the third or even fourth time!  I find Robert Rodriguez’s Mariachi trilogy to be largely perfect and I never tire of these films.  Desperado – the middle entry – seems to be the common favorite but I actually prefer the final chapter Once Upon a Time in Mexico with its wild excess and gleeful indulgence.  I am deeply curious about Rodriguez’s and comic book great (though that is certainly a divisive opinion) Frank Miller’s futures.  Why?  Because Sin City: A Dame to Kill For – directed by Rodriguez and Miller and based on Miller’s work and sequel to the 2005 original – tanked hard over the weekend.  This is not the time or place for me to share my thoughts on this film though I will say I loved the first one and view it as something of a modern classic.  

There are many reasons which could be behind this new film’s commercial failure: a 9-year break between movies, poor marketing, lack of star power, once innovative technology now far more common place, etc.  But ultimately the reason behind its fall is less interesting to me than what happens now.  Rodriguez seems to have his hands full for the moment with his El Rey TV network (I dare say he’s been spreading himself a bit thin in recent years) and after this debacle it may be some time before a studio trusts him with any type of substantial budget.  However I do think that could be a blessing.  El Mariachi was famously made for a scant $7000 and he continued to have a reputation for stretching a small budget to the max and finding creative ways to make unique films.  Imposed limitations could give his work that classic spark that some feel has been missing in recent years.  Would it be too much too hope for another Mariachi movie?  Most likely, but I’m going to do it anyway!

But regarding Frank Miller?  Outside the charitable co-directing credit Rodriguez gave him on the Sin City movies it is hard to imagine him being trusted with anything by a studio now that he has this and 2008’s mega nuclear clusterfuckery bomb The Spirit on his hands.  Readers, please understand: The Spirit is one of my all-time favorite awful movies and I typically watch it in the bathtub while shaving my legs.  It is so bizarre and ill-conceived in nearly every possible way that I cannot help but look upon it in wide-eyed slack-jawed awe.  It is a treasure in its singular trainwreck of a vision.  But you see that is precisely the thing I love so much about Frank Miller; he always produces exactly what he wants which may make his comics or movie audacious, absurd, shocking or even mind-meltingly godawful but they are never less than fascinating.  In this way I can always at least respect the man and his work even if I do not particularly like it.  I have faith he’ll land on his feet but will stick mostly to the comic world from now on where his stuff still easily sells out.  I can’t begin to speculate on what his next move will be in that area but I remain as interested as ever.   

At some point I also put on Muppets Most Wanted for the first time.  Since the moment of my conception I have been a hardcore Muppets fanatic.  I own all the seasons of the show on digital video disc (even the ones which inexplicably have not been released) and all the feature films.  Despite this fandom I was unable to view this most recent adventure in the cinema as I was in Europe at the time and the proper circumstances never came together.  Unfortunately, I found there was something a bit off about this latest Muppets flick.  It wasn’t exactly an unenjoyable experience but the flavor I’ve come to know and love just wasn’t quite there.  Actually, just thinking about it now fills me with great sadness at what a missed opportunity it all was.  I think the issue was the amount of screen time given to the villain Constantine who was largely an unpleasant creation to watch and hear.  Regrettably the Muppet character of Walter who was created for the 2011 movie has not become any more interesting than when he was first introduced.  This newest romp played rather soft at the box office and I guess one could say I am partly to blame since I waited until it hit the streets. But I hope this will not be their last theatrical outing.  I still believe the course of this ship can be righted. 

I just realized this very moment the new Opeth album Pale Communion comes out tomorrow.   No lesser an authority on the subject than Allmusic.com gave it the coveted 4.5 out of a possible 5 stars and said it is “…nearly unlimited in its creativity”.  I trust Allmusic more than anything and this thumbs up definitely started turning my wheels of excitement.  Also, unlike some Opeth fans, I am not at all bothered by their move away from death metal and growls to more prog-like material.  However despite my love of Opeth I am not sure if I will be making this purchase.  Fear is at the heart of my uncertainty and those closest to me understand what I am talking about.  Only time will tell.  Won’t you all take that journey with me?

I should just shut up and bleed.  

In your most private moments I want you to remember...

Having recently been diagnosed with a rather nasty airborne pathogen I was unable to attend Comic-Con back in July where it was held in beautiful sunny San Diego.  I will no doubt regret this for the rest of my miserable and diseased life.  The new Mad Max movie looks surprisingly good and I would have savagely murdered anyone – even my closest friends and family members – to be at the Hannibal panel.  Undoubtedly, the biggest news was all related to that mouthful of a movie Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice which included 2 new pictures of Batman, the first actual footage ever screened for the flick which showed a high tech suited up Dark Knight about to throw down with an angry red eyed Man of Steel, and of course the unveiling via photo of Gal Gadot as Wonder Woman.  I’ve always had a great love of discussing things well after the buzz and hype has passed and everything has been said as it makes my contributions completely irrelevant.  I’m not sure why but I take a kind of giddy excitement in knowing how irrelevant I am. 

I’ve spent the better ¾ of the last 5 weeks examining this photograph and trying my damndest to formulate my opinion that I may promptly put fingers to stained keyboard and articulate exactly what my dark heart is feeling.  Followers of The Cream have been privy to my vocal skepticism of Gadot being cast as the Amazonian princess and all my fans have been dying on the inside to know my thoughts on this unveiling and if they have taken a dramatic reversal or have simply been solidified harder than the glue that dries and hardens on the orange caps of Elmer’s brand glue. 

All right, I’ll stop mincing words and spell it out real simple like: I love what I am seeing in this photograph.  Let me repeat that now with a playful use of capital letters and exclamation marks for dramatic emphasis: I LOVE what I am seeing in this photograph!!!  I hate myself so much but that made me feel a little better.  Her costume is absolutely identifiable as Wonder Woman while still modernized – though not in a negative trendy way – and fitting in perfectly with the world Man of Steel established.  I am not a massive fan of the muted colors but if that is the biggest gripe I can find then I will be able to sleep at night without issue.  Also, Superman’s costume color scheme appeared similarly muted in publicity photos for Man of Steel and it was a complete non-issue in the actual movie so I have faith something similar will happen here.  All the classic elements of her costume are present: the starred tiara, the eagle emblazoned bustier, the bracelets, the lasso!  All are present and accounted for and they look bloodie spectacular!  I have made the decision to respectfully refrain from further commenting on Ms. Gadot’s acting or physicality until I see the movie (or at least a trailer) as she deserves a chance to show what she can bring to this role.  How generous I am since my opinion will likely determine the success or failure of this film!  At this point I am simply choosing to be exceedingly excited at seeing a big screen Wonder Woman and this photo indicates many good things to come. 

It’s no secret that I discovered the classic Wonder Woman television program starring Lynda Carter at a very pivotal time in my life and the rich combination of stunning beauty, Amazonian strength and intelligence, a lasso and of course hosiery stirred something incredible inside my mind and body.  I do not think it is any exaggeration at all to say that this show and Ms. Carter’s portrayal is easily the biggest thing – and the most often associated with the character – in the eyes of the general public.  Other things such the story arcs in her own comic book(s), the costume changes in the 70’s and 90’s, her appearances in animated movies and video games seem to be of interest only to the already initiated, the folks who would normally buy that stuff anyway.  To put another way: her co-leads Superman and Batman are known to the general public for many things beyond who has played them in the movies whereas almost everything those same people know about Wonder Woman is from the TV show.  That is no slam against the show for it was and is spectacular entertainment and a beautiful adaptation.  It is very easy to fall in love with that iteration of the character – as I did – and to develop a highly inappropriate attachment because Ms. Carter was so impossibly perfect in the role.  However my hope is that this upcoming flick and its spin-offs and sequels will further increase the popularity and awareness and enrich the legacy of a truly excellent character.  Some of my favorite arcs in all of comic books are in her series and I would love for more attention and respect to be granted in this area. 

In other related news the Brothers Warner wisely moved the release date of Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice to the end of March 2016 rather than opening it the same day as Captain America 3 in that year’s first week of May.  This makes gaggles of sense as Marvel’s track record has been incredible as of late and I do believe Cap 3 could easily overtake DC’s gamble.  Despite my love for the characters I have almost no faith whatsoever in Warner Bros slash DC’s ability to successfully launch and maintain a cohesive and quality comic on film universe but I am eager to see the results.  

Though I am definitely excited to move past Nolan’s “realistic” (dull would probably be a better adjective) bat-world and see a more physically capable and intelligent dark knight on screen.  At the same time I can see director Zack Snyder and star Ben Affleck going too far in the opposite direction and creating some horrific hybrid of the worst sensibilities of Snyder and comic writer Frank Miller, whose work in part serves as the basis for Batman’s characterization, in the film.  Snyder already successfully adapted Miller’s work in 300 though that success is all relative as I have great disdain for that movie and Miller’s grumpy “Dirty Harry” version of Batman has never much appealed to me.  With that aforementioned footage though (which kicked all kinds of loose booty) and the photographs it is honestly getting harder and harder to let Affleck’s presence bring down my excitement for this feature film.  Harder but definitely not impossible and I still wake up drenched in sweat, heart pounding and certain this casting can’t be real.  But know this, dear readers: if Affleck knocks it out of the park I will be the first to sing his praises and pretend that I supported and defended him all along! 

One good thing I can say Warners slash DC is slash are doing is their courting of one Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson (or Dwayne “El Piedra” Johnson for all my Spanish speaking fans) to play Shazam and/or his nemesis Teth Adam in one of their upcoming slated films.  I say “Shazam” because that is the magic word that mild mannered Billy Batson says in order to be transformed into the muscular, dashing and heroic Captain Marvel who has the power of 6 different mythological figures.  That is correct, there is a DC superhero named Captain Marvel.  This character’s history goes all the way back to 1939 where he was first published under Fawcett Comics and became one of the most popular characters around.  The company eventually expanded his line to include other members of this superhero family such as Mary Marvel and Captain Marvel Jr.  These are all great classic comics that have remained favorites of fans and creators alike.  The character eventually languished in part due to a lawsuit by DC alleging that he was too similar to Superman and the company would eventually acquire the rights to the character though his comics were thereafter typically titled Shazam or The Power of Shazam to avoid any infringement or confusion with the company Marvel Comics (which incidentally also has a character named Captain Marvel, what a fucked up world we live in).  Fun fact: The King himself Elvis Pressley was a massive fan of Captain Marvel Jr. – the youngest and perhaps pluckiest member of the Marvel family – and took inspiration from the young hero’s costume and hair for his own stage outfits and style.  Man I love knowing stuff like that!  Point being it is a great character who could easily be the subject of a successful and fantastic franchise if done right and I do believe this new universe needs a popular face and name to give people some faith in its content and The Rock can definitely provide that jolt.  We shall see.

I’m off to eat a blood Popsicle now.    

A hug before you go Part 2

How dejected I feel in this moment.  How could there not be the one?  I see so many and they are all dressed so nicely but my interest in each fades within seconds.  The place is sufficiently not upscale enough that there are representations of many shapes and ethnicities.  And yet…I still do not see her.  My stomach begins to twist and turn into knots.  I have already gone to the ATM machine and my wallet is full of money that I am more than happy to throw away.  How can there not be – ah, there she is.  I was starting to worry so much.  She is radiant and I am so thankful I can watch her and stare without hesitation and turn my head when she walks bye.  I wait patiently for her name to be called. 

I go in for a closer look and sit right next to the stage.  I am careful to make protracted eye contact.  She looks right at me and smiles.  I look better than most of the others sitting around the stage.  I pull out a stack of ones to let her know how serious I am.  Hopefully she will remember and then when she is off the stage she will come to me for a private dance.  I place some ones on the edge of the stage, folding them and she does tricks with some.  She rubs them on her pussy and it is gross but wonderful.  I want to spend the rest of the night with you.  You are different.  What a beautiful place this is.  She takes off everything for me and I can see her massive areolas and that her ass isn’t really 100% perfect but it will still do.  There is something about her, maybe a quirk or a naturalness that the others don’t have. 

She is sitting on my lap and the simple fact that her body is on top of mine is immeasurably pleasing.  I kiss her back and let the tip of my tongue run a few inches up its center.  There is a brief moment where I wonder how many others have done the same thing tonight.  I smell her hair and it is shampoo and staying products.  My left hand runs down her side and onto her thigh.  My right goes down her arm and eventually reaches her hand and we interlock fingers.  This must be something unique.  We are holding hands; there is a genuine intimacy here.  I cup her breast then move toward her ass but we remain holding hands.  God shut the fuck up already; I don’t care if you have a friend that lives where I’m from and what a crock of bullshit that is anyway.  Stop pretending I’m witty or that you give a shit.  No, she is truly interested, she’s opening up.  She is trying to save to go back to college.  That’s beautiful. 

We kiss.  This is not something that all of them do.  It is tender and lasts for a few blissful seconds.  She did not have to do that.  But she wanted to; in the moment she wanted to kiss me.  You’re an ugly piece of shit.  She kissed you because she sensed your desperation.  You’re going to stay for another dance, probably a few more and she’s going to pay all her house dues and start having a very profitable night.  And so what if that’s true?  I am her client and I am paying her to have a good time.  If I have a good time does it matter what her motivations are?  But I do believe she really wanted to do that.  Are you sure you couldn’t taste anyone else on her lips?  I wonder if there is any disease.  I laugh to myself and think of course there must be or there will be at some point.  How could I even begin to trust someone like this?  Why am I not responding?  I should be on the verge of something great right now but I don’t feel anything.  God this music is awful.   What does she think of me?  She’s made no real indication.  Am I big enough?  How many different sizes does she feel every single day?  What would excite her?  God, thinking about sex is such a disgusting and pathetic thing but that’s what I want.  I want to fuck her.  No, I want to make love to her, Jesus who actually says or thinks that.  But I would be able to make her happy.  She’d feel something different with me.  She is so beautiful.  Why does she work here?  I’m glad she does.   

How does she know exactly what to do?  She knows exactly what I want to touch, what I want to feel.  Fuck, this is all so fucking stupid and worthless.  What a fucking waste of money and time.  I’m throwing away my night on this.  I am a sad pathetic individual to need something like this.  No, look at that group.  They’re having a great time throwing money around.  And this guy next to me is so into things.  You know, for a couple hundred we can go to one of the really private rooms.  We’d have a lot more time.  Two hundred better buy me more than a dance.  I don’t say this though, I just ask for the particulars and she skates around things.  When the dance is over she asks if I want to buy her a drink.  I have absolutely no desire to do this but I do anyway. 

She gives me a card and it has a Bettie Page type drawing on it with her stage name and her number.  She quotes me days and prices and says she doesn’t give this to anyone but she feels like she can trust me.  I knew it.  I knew she really liked me, that she really felt something.  You’re a fucking idiot if you believe that.  She’s telling you what the price is, she only hopes she did a good enough job that you’ll be stupid enough to withdraw more money and keep going or to call her in a couple days.  Christ, she even tells me how much she typically expects for tips.  I know I’ll give her a call though.  How can I not?   She is wonderful.  And prices are always negotiable.  Depending on what I want to do she may lower them a bit or I can pay a little more if need be.  I see us laying together afterward, holding each other and she sees how different I am from other clients.  I won’t just be a client for you. 

I glance over at the bar and see an obese and ugly man enter.  He looks around and one of them walks over to him.  All she does is smile and extend her hand and he accepts and they walk to the back for a private dance. 

“Do you want another?” she asks me then. 

And I do. 

A hug before you go Part 1

A car salesman’s voice announces it is my turn.  One of them steps down and we do not a say a word to each other.  It’s much easier to avoid any communication with her than it was even just a few weeks ago.  She takes longer than necessary to collect her tips.  I glance at the bills – some lying sweat stained and crumpled on the wooden floor and some clasped in her hand – and I know there cannot be more than twenty dollars there.  I smile because I am sure I can get more than that.  She sees the smile but does not return it and I hope she knows what I am thinking. 

I’m on my knees now and my back actually hurts more in this position than when I am on the pole.  A fat sloppy one is right in front of me.  He has an orange hat on and a t-shirt with the American flag.  He is smiling and there is so much satisfaction there.  He is not ugly enough to never receive any attention and he has tipped almost nothing despite sitting through 3 different girls.  All the same, I fondle my breasts and merrily spread my legs, my thong is still on but I run my finger up my pussy and give him a quick eyebrow raise.  These lights are flickering so fast.  There are so many ugly ones here tonight and that can mean a very profitable evening.  I think I want to go home and eat something or maybe I want to sleep, I’m not sure.  They love to watch me touch myself.  Sometimes I practice in front of a mirror.

Here is one who loves my tits and I finger them and pinch my nipples and balance a few dollar bills on top of them.  I am smiling and when he laughs I laugh to and he throws a few more dollars my way.  There is one next to him who could possibly fall in love and his eyes are so sad and pathetic and I will ask if he wants a dance once my set is over and if he says yes once he will say yes at least four more times.  I am sweet and maternal and kind.  I bend over in front of and stick a hand between my legs.  I swing around and there is glee.  I am a gymnast and I am graceful and everyone is in awe.  I used to love dancing when I was a little girl.  I loved dancing and I loved my stuffed bear Jimmy.  He was purple and my mom bought him for me.  Sometimes I love when they love me.  How long has it been since a woman has touched you?  Jesus.  She came home one day after work and gave him to me.  But I always think of you dad.  In the backroom I set about cleaning myself.  I touch my crotch and ass and bring my fingers up to my nose and they smell like him and sweat and I laugh a little.  I strip down all the way and rinse and perfume myself and I put my underwear back on.  Jesus, panties is such a stupid fucking word, who said that? 

There’s that voice again.  I don’t have to ask many before I get the right answer.  God when is it going to kick in?  I sit on his lap and say some stupid thing in the same moment.  I’m not even sure what I say but it’s all some variation on him needing some company or the girls here being so welcoming.  He grunts when I put all my weight on him and puts his hand on my back.  His hand is warm and clammy.  He smells sterile, he smells like aftershave and bleach.  My mommy and daddy are somewhere else, my sister too.  I met a guy last week and we had a drink and we fucked later that night and then I never texted him and he never texted me and he made a very feminine noise when he came and I hadn’t finished yet but this distracted me.  Oh God I hope I have more because the one I took earlier is not making me feel any better maybe Alicia has some.  I think I took four, I can take another.  I’m on fire.  I still have to pay the house. 

I shove my tits in his face and shake them back and forth and when I pull back I tilt my head down and give him that pleased smile they love so much.  He returns my smile with one of deep satisfaction and I can feel just the slightest inkling of an erection.  He likes to see me pleased and believe he is the one making it happen.  I turn over and grind my ass into his dick and flip my hair around – God I hate this fucking song oh who really gives a fuck though and this idiot could spread his fucking feet just a little farther apart to make this easier what was that show I watched the other day I’d like to see more and maybe read a little I am the best here.  I turn my head and let out a gentle girly sigh of satisfaction.  He is much harder now and I bounce up and down in accordance with the beat.  I am the one you love.  Your smell is on me like so many others but you love me now just like everyone else does you want to fuck me but we’ll go this far and I will sleep later and I love these lights.  He loses his erection after a few seconds but I grind just as hard as ever and then I stand up and my pussy is right in his face and he breathes deep and exhales and I feel his breathe right there in my center and I have so much energy and I can see at least three others who would want this.  Where is everybody?   I need to stop by the store later. 

In this moment I love you so much and I can feel that you really love me.  No, I’m not thinking of you, I’m thinking of him, how long have we known each other?  Does it even matter?  It doesn’t matter at all he’s different in a weird way and we’re going to go away.  I love you too though, look how easy you are, I’m starting to feel better too.  The music is so loud tonight but it doesn’t really bother me.  I don’t have to listen to your voice if the music is loud enough.  I have to register by Thursday.  This one doesn’t need any tricks or stupid little flirty remarks and he doesn’t need me to laugh at his jokes.  He just wants me to grind my ass against his cock and he likes to smell my hair.  He pinches but who really cares?  They sometimes tip more if they pinch.  Should I give him my card afterwards?  He seems nice enough, maybe I will.  It doesn’t matter.  I have appointments with Jason and whatever the fuck his name is for Friday afternoon. 

He tells me I’m beautiful and it’s easy to feel nothing but it’s easier to feel how funny and sid that is.  You actually pay for something like this but I will happily take your money for so little work.  Oh no, this one does need me to talk and laugh.  Maybe I can get a drink out of it though.  I’m not sure which line I use: the one about my shoes or the one about the color in my hair or my tattoos or maybe I talk about the friend or family member which lives in the same city where he’s from.  I would love to go home and sleep right now.  You have not showered today.  His eyes look familiar, I am made of gold.  The others are laughing and I join in, I won’t remember him later on or maybe I will.   

Who's been wearing Miranda's clothes?

I was in my own car this morning and my hands were on the wheel and I was staring out at the road but I did not feel like I was actually driving.  However time passed and I arrived at my destination so I must have been.  Still, I felt a strange haze over things, like my basic senses were being smudged out.  A lack of clarity is not such a bad thing I suppose.  An overall diminished capacity to feel anything must be better on some level than feeling everything too strongly to a detrimental effect. 

There is an angel dressed in white.  It’s been five years which is such an absurdly appropriate span of time.  Five years, my brain hurts a lot.  It was an accidental meeting at a time and place quite fleeting.  She smiled so wondrous and my heart was fastly beating.  I loved her!  I loved her!  I was too afraid to say but I loved her.  Oh how I see that time and scream in unbridled joy.  There was food on the table and doppelgangers abound.  However I soon came to realize this was not some genetically perfect clone but an actual heaven sent power of body and mind.  This was beauty and intelligence and such exquisite fabric.  Good gravy how I longed for her. I tell myself not to be so honest and I buy my suits at the thrift store by the pound.  She made me wax poetic before destroying my fragile ego.  I sacrificed all professional ethics and was all too happy to do so.  I climbed walls and drank tea at parties with madmen all in the name of her. 

I was like a child following you around and I laughed at all your jokes.  And I knew we were compatible, you were the egg whites to my yokes!  See, the poetry just flows out of me now because of her!  Words truly cannot express how much I hate myself.  If I just sit down and let my fingers do the talking they peck out thousands upon thousands of self-loathing sentiments and rightfully so because I am an impossibly ugly and worthless individual.  I now always hear a rich and wonderful melody when I picture her face.  I know that I will be calling to mind her smile and hearing her song for the rest of my life.  This gives me great comfort.  In my most tortuous moments I think of you and I am feeling fine. 

The morning was pure shit as always.  I saw you enter the room and in that moment all the awful and meaningless garbage which I’ve allowed to run rampant in my life ceased to matter.  There were zombies all around us but they did not approach you.  Were they somehow afraid, I wonder?  With a snap of your fingers you made them all go away. 

As Adler’s words echoed through my brain I was entranced by another.  Even after all the cigarettes and booze and all the leads the private eye was able to track down he never could have predicted who walked through the doors on that particular day.  Was murder still being considered art?   The death of the last century certainly could not have come at a finer moment.  In the end all was well.  He received his payment.  The mystery may never be entirely solved and it may haunt my brain for the rest of my days but I at least I still met her.  Oh that day when I met Ramona. 

In my dreams I was lost in a world of black and orange.  And what a sweet new heaven I discovered.  Was I thrust somewhere onto a bed of flowers which stretched out into eternity?  There were millions of bottles lined up with brightly colored liquids, perfumes crafted by the gods themselves.  All this put my body in a state of shock and ecstasy.  I closed my eyes and let this wash over me.  My nerves were connected to live wires.  “Because I bathed this morning.”  That is what you said.  But the language was decidedly not of this world.  You created machines and their mechanics generated music.  Hand on my neck and then pain is inflicted on me.  Something made of cotton or silk is stuffed inside my mouth to prevent me from crying out.  Oh such thrills.  My tongue tastes sweetness.  There is metal kissing my lips.  Then I am on my back.  There are no words which can accurately describe the exquisiteness.  What a furious day you had running to and fro, up and down, back and forth and all in those glorious black high heeled shoes and the oh so appropriate office garb.  Please let me inside so I can fully appreciate the thoroughness of your work.  I am a beggar.  She gives me a thousand lashes and I hear a saxophone in the background. 

You put something inside my head which makes it pulse and throb and I am unable to think clearly and words do not come easy.  How could such beauty be so close?  Someone out there is telling lies at more than a thousand miles an hour.  My life is only the accumulation of so many days in which I have utterly failed you.  There was a white mask and I stared into the eyes which were behind it.  They made me feel joyous for the return because I finally realized the full depth of what was previously lost.  They were all also frightening and I wondered about all the hidden thoughts and all the darkness contained behind the stark white.  I do not know how many years are left and it is not a question I like to ponder.  I think of us meeting somewhere at a department store here in Manhattan, maybe a mid-level floor with nearby escalators going up and down.  For some reason I picture it in the jewelry department.  Our eyes meet and the moment of recognition is a sweet shock.  Then I tell you everything. 

I see so much joy looking through your eyes. 

I helped Jonathan on the train

I felt deranged for the better part of this day.  Everything I wrote seemed to come out in capital letters, bolded and in extra-large size.  I had to say goodbye the other day but even once the act was done and even after hours of crying I did not know to what or to whom I was saying goodbye.  There is such romanticism as I watch myself bleed.  Yet I see this trait in another and it does not move me to create the earth.  You are my Delilah and it only took one look into your eyes for me to be trapped and I know it is there I shall remain.  It is a new age of sadness and unbridled passion and it never appears so lonely as when the moon casts a light across the bed and its thin grey covers form sculptures of imperfect and beautiful bodies.  Tears always fall on opposite sides and always onto the sheets, never onto a chest or shoulder. 

Did I ask for this?  Desire has a way of creeping into your brain and soul and taking over.  One second it is a passing glance and in the next it is every thought and the entire universe itself once your eyes are closed. 

I remember meeting on the corner there on a very busy city street.  I walked through the city and felt so many dreams unfolding around me.  There was so much joy in the city landscape.  The skyline was changing by the second. 

It was casual happenstance.  It took millennia for everything to line up properly and then when it happened it existed in the space of a few seconds.  There was a tearless embrace and in that moment there was more safety and beauty than in any other which had come before.  So many mistakes had come and gone but that moment could never be a mistake.  Who was passing by and who bore witness to the history unfolding?  He was lost inside and there was no sweeter place to be; so many soft lies in that instant where love was felt for the first and last time.

The nails were black and dripping.  Inside her blood was wine.  Sin was lurking just beneath the surface and it felt so exquisite to give in.  The uncommon silence and the innocent touch transformed into something restorative.  Complacency and boredom were both murdered and in their place grew the body of a seductive and untrustworthy savior.  Down in the dungeon they are being whipped but they are smiling all the same and the stone floors are stained with their joy and ecstasy. 

Venus is so beautiful in the morning.  I awoke and saw you there fulfilling that aching need.  You smiled at me and seemed so far away and this was somehow comforting.  Do you remember on the beach when I set fire to the ambulance and danced all around while it burned and sent smoke to the sky and across the ocean?  My hands were upraised and I was screaming and I felt like we had accomplished this all together.  And then you drove off without me and I gave chase but it was futile as ever.  Regarding those final moments though, I always choose to believe you were happy and that you were able to feel the freedom you deserved but which so frequently eluded you. 

My conscience is breaking glass.  Most days I prefer never to leave my room.  None of my ideas are my own and my feelings and desires always run contrary to what should be.  I believe when they are staring face to face there are moments when they both know and understand exactly what is going on.  There is screaming inside both their brains.  There are no more sacred vows or promises which are not made to be broken.  Everything held to be true flies away like doves and what remains is the sweet lust and the lovely pain – like biting a lower lip until blood is drawn – which never goes away.  They are both stained and nothing can wash it off.  They would not want to anyway. 

The days have turned to grey again.  I feel like I’m looking into a deer’s eyes when I wake up in the morning and it is alluring and frightening.  There is no one holding me back yet I have such a strange desire to murder my darlings.  Black birds fly past my window and they are so close I can sometimes feel their wings flutter against the glass.  I sometimes imagine them breaking through the windows at once and flying around me and sticking their beaks in my eyes.  I have devoured all romantic yearnings and sexual desire has always been such a disgusting thing that it is easy enough to repress.  I would be surprised if anyone could truly know my mind but I still put it out there for anyone so inclined. 

I drowned it.  There is no simpler way to put it.  Sitting there by myself and watching cars pass by I made the conscious decision to hold it underneath until it could not breathe anymore.  The death was slow but as thankfully absolute as any other.  There were so many pitying eyes.  Why did they bother to apologize?  They knew I was the only one who should have been apologizing.  I am not allowed anywhere.  When everything was spinning I opened the door and something walked through and it is now hiding behind every corner.  It’s hiding inside of me.  I splashed my own blood on the canvas and thought of that night.  Your gift echoed in my brain as it would until my final moments and I screamed in delight over everything I had destroyed. 

Something’s going to happen to me. 

I'm confused

I opened my eyes asked myself the same questions as always and I found I knew even less about who I am.  Upon that moment of awakening I choked back a few tears and as I stared at the ceiling I could only conclude their presence was a reaction to this continuing charade.  As ever, I was mystified by your ability to stop time.  This should no longer be such an impactful surprise to me but somehow it still very much is.  It seems I deny miracles at every second yet they never stop coming.  There were several empty bottles on the mantle by my bed and an old sound system which was still playing the music I’d put on the night before. 

There were red curtains and I parted them and walked outside, as Leon had taken us outside almost two decades prior.  Standing on the balcony, I sang to myself and though the words were not my own – or perhaps because of this – they provided a momentary comfort.    I held my arms out and I think if anyone was looking at me they would not know if I were making a crucifix pose or if I desired an embrace.  I stared at the river and the cityscape beyond its current and they were both beautiful.  I considered jumping into the river and imagined the comfort of no more tomorrows. 

But still I found myself in the familiar place and as ever I was unable to entirely fit in.  No one noticed me all the same but I noticed them and all these kind faces were a stark contrast to everything that was winding and coiling beneath the surface.  But what is this debt that I still need to pay?  And those who have been inquiring about this battle inherent in the natural state of things are likely to walk away deeply disturbed and perhaps irrevocably broken by the answers.  I wish I could say I see everything through your eyes and that it is all brilliant and shining.   

I could scarcely understand my own words.  How is it that everything else was able to continue turning in that instant?  The piece of silver hanging around my neck felt heavier than ever before.  I wondered if any of it could actually be real.  What were they expecting of this sad creature that lives only at midnight and who is undone at every dawn?  I could feel my spirit vanish and for a moment I did not know who I was.  This sensation is recurring with far more frequency than before.  It disappeared before my eyes and my hands shook at the full realization of my hypocrisy.

Finally, I felt the embrace I had desired for so long.  Was this cause for celebration?  I saw it coming from the corner of my eye and in that moment I felt a strange mix of wish-fulfillment anticipation and a self-loathing at my inherent falsehood.  The palace doors were as welcoming as any I’d ever entered and what an honor it was to go inside.  A wave of tenderness passed over me and I wanted to relinquish all control succumb to its sweetness.  I closed my eyes and for a moment the blackness I always saw turned a shade of blue.  But this was not my place and never could be.   

Everything was casually broken.  I was struck by the silence of so many tears.  I have traded grace for the bag of coins in someone’s pocket.  The hesitation I exhibited would only seem more pathetic in retrospect.  I walked through falling leaves and heard an elegy but did not know whom it was for.  There was a mother with me and I saw weariness in her eyes.  Her smile was no longer her own but something the years had given to her, a worn scar of what used to be there.  She wore a long black dress and she cradled a stuffed bear to her chest.  The bear’s stitching was loose in several places and the stuffing was coming out, one of his ears hung by a few strands.  She was saying things I could not understand and the harder I tried to make sense of it the more distant her voice became.  She reached out but I pulled back.  Staring in to her eyes, I was struck by how unafraid she was.  She walked away then and I watched her go into the sun and disappear.  I cried for a long time afterward and I knew I would never see her again.  My time with her in this life or in any other was done. 

I keep disappointing you, every day I find new ways.  I don’t know any more what is genuine.  There is a coldness which is threatening to overpower everything.  Everything is outside and it’s happening now.  They appear to me, new and full of promises and I reject them.  I see things that are going to happen and I do nothing to alter their outcome.  I never would have imagined any of this.  Am I truly speaking with you?  And if so does it even matter what I say?  My very public disgrace and shaming was not nearly enough.  I do not know which voice has been silenced.