pixelated.me

all i can see is beyond the make-up.
The constructed process of her captured image.
all i see is the moles that have been airbrushed away and a missing birth mark.
i remember cellulite and random body hairs.
the shear vulnerability of it all.

Behind every centerfold, porn star, erotic model, escort, hooker, stripper, or catalogue model is someone who was or is privy to their unconstructed self.

There's always a wizard pulling the levers,

truth is found in the good intentions we share even if we turn right around and turn them into falsehoods.

I spoke to my ex this evening. She'll eventually read this post which makes this feel a bit exhibitionist of me, more than a blog usually is, in any case.

"i don't feel any particular way good or bad about talking to you." i said, or something like that. I think i may have lied, because while i don't feel anything AS particular about talking to her as i did say a year ago, i do feel somewhat, stirred up. It's unprecise but there's this slight scrambled sensation in my gut/head.

So we exchanged pleasant updates about our lives, work, family, holiday plans and all is rather okay and unremarkable until she mentions she's in love and though it pains me to admit it, for it paints me as rather Neanderthal, i felt some odd sort of...discomfort at idea. It was somehow so much easier when my idea of her was of someone jumping from crush to crush with all the speediness of a tigress devouring prey, It made me feel uniquely privileged to have loved her, been loved by her, and somehow the knowledge that she's happy, settle, has found another someone to love feels bitter.
Sure i'm happy for her in some generic sense of the sensation but truely i suppose that despite my own life, my own relationships, my own loves, I liked the idea of her as not in love, but perpetually struggling through relationships.

Perhaps that is a bit petty of me or just selffish and egotistical, I may always be her first love but, in love, being first rarely means best since we tend to improve upon our ability to love the more great loves we've fucked up.

at least, like everything else in this blog, that's my opinion.

"little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
I won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
I won't blame you,
instead
I will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and I won't use it
yet."

- Charles Bukowski

It's an old ritual i suppose.
watching the clock. Hoping that somehow as much time has passed as you feel has passed. It never has. This might be of little interest to anyone but typing keeps my fingers from the phone.

If only i could type something a bit more useful.

waiting can be one of the most difficult things to endure when you're trying to give yourself and someone else space.

Understanding that the minutes must go by, that decisions, thoughts, tears can't be rushed. That the silence is necessary.

every bloke i think has some part of him that wants to fix things now. Like a broken faucet or in my case a broken mac.

If i come across a problem with a computer, doesn't even need to be mine, i have a hard time not wanting to solve the puzzle then and there and fix it.

but the human heart is complex, and there is no wrench or techtool pro that you can you use on it.

So this girl that i love is crying somewhere, and the best thing i can do, even though it feels like the exact opposite of what i should do, and IS the exact opposite of what i want to do, is let her cry and wait.

which is hard.