i wonder if anyone will read this....

The dream last night was intense. Leesa was the object of my affection and we were both lost and thriving off each other’s attention. She was radiant, with a timeless breathtaking beauty reminiscent of the actresses of old Hollywood: a kitty kat with the raw sexual energy of Natlie Wood the je ne sais quoi of Audrey Hepburn and the elegance and grace of Vivien Leigh. Oh how the paparazzi adored her, their camera’s fixated, flashing, exploding with praise and adoration….following her every move across the carpet…and yet my the collective camera was my gaze, my focus, my reality.

We were in attendance of an awards show with Uma Thurman and Kelly Preston, Meg Ryan and an Asian Stella McCartney. For a larger portion of the reverie, Leesa’s love for me was evident in her persistent acknowledgement of my being. One might describe the chemistry as the type of innocent youthful love where the fires of passion were stoked by the urge allow two to become one, physically, emotionally, mentally, playfully, as children do, rolling in the grass, locked in a daze, in a sacred dance, completely ignorant of all around us.

And yet the vision pivoted around a point that escapes my immediate memory. A sort of otherworldly reality set in, one which I’ve become so accustomed to in the daily gear grinding doldrums of life and the pursuit of happiness. In an eager attempt to ensure that she understood my infinite desire to hold her heart in my hands, I attempted a casual kiss, the type that says I love you not because it accompanies pomp and circumstance, but because it follows a glance or a laugh in which the moment wraps your heart in a blanket of warmth through which no thought of past or future can distract……locked in a Kodak sort of moment, time stopping for an instant, an expression of connectedness, of love, sealed with a tender, unexpected kiss. Instead of her lips, I was greeted with her left cheek. No longer did she love me and no longer were we together.

My entire life in an abstraction reminiscent of a Tuesday afternoon Lifetime made for TV movie. Only the struggle is completely one sided, the product of years and years of worries and fears, lost hopes and waterfalls full of tears. The manifestation of that perpetual mental battle I fight, in which I try and love those who take me for a joke or who don’t seem at all interested in that which I have to say. Maybe a large part of the problem lay in the fact that I place too much stock in others when others are just as flawed and as human as I. Or maybe there just isn’t that physical attraction, or I don’t have a large enough bank account, or my hair’s too long, my teeth too discolored, my mind and disposition too, well, different.

All too often friends confront me with, “you think too much,” as if I’m supposed to turn my mind off, take a break as I did in college by smoking away and stalling the onslaught of maddening thought and worry, never able to slow down, forever in a hurry. But thinking seems to be what I was born to do: to think and to analyze. To occupy my days dissecting that which grabs my ever fleeting attention. For so many years I’ve run from this turbulent state of emotional overload. It’s such a lonely state of being when one is best suited as being an observer who documents his inexperience for no one to read. Doubt has always existed deep in the confines of my immature mind. It’s hard to say whether this doubt is an innate flaw out of which I will never escape, or if it was a product of my tumultuous youth. A rather large part of me wants to the peark of a mountain and scream until I release all the negativity I allowed be absorbed from the “positive” influences of my youth: a grandfather who hated my father and who tainted his discipline towards me with visions of a man who I will never become. A father who was delusional, abusive, immature and unmotivated, who kidnapped me from the grasp of an innocent and loving mother for an entire fear filled month. A stepfather with whom I’ve yet to connect after 19 years of his having been married to my mother (and yet to whom I owe much of my scholastic success).

Forever focusing on the influence of my youth on the days and minutes passing by at the speed of life is quickly becoming a depressing bad habit. Why worry? I’ve finally begun to reach a state of self worth unlike I’ve ever known. Two years ago at this EXACT moment, I was informing my ex-girlfriend that I was walking the streets of San Francisco in hopes of finding a bus in front of which I could jump and extinguish the fires of mental hell which burned incessantly for months from which it was impossible to escape.
And now I’m on the road to success again. The only hurdles I see are debt for which I can work endlessly to discard and a hazy view of how I can best escape a conversion into a corporate drone.

So I’m off to begin my day at 4:00 in the afternoon. Kathy saw the real “drunk” me last night. Jamie has two pieces of my work. Barrett and Ben and Paul know I can, in fact, throw down some panty dropping beats. Nate and Jeremiah, Shannon and Rachel, Rashid and Timmah are all about to discover that I can go cold turkey on weed. Lust has begun to drive my mind towards thoughts of satisfaction through the touch of another and tomorrow is my first date in two months. All in all, I’d say it’s a good life.

Sunny and beautiful.
Hungover in the Park in Lincoln Square.
Whoisjobe?
9/25/2004