in electric dreamsss

the sex with a rather well known comedian in my dream last night was mindblowing until i noticed that the haircut was shorter, the curve of the spine softer, the skin darker: all of a sudden i was making mad love with an ex i am *so* sure i am over and done with. so why the dream? now i keep telling myself that it was a mosquito that woke me up at four a.m. and kept me from falling asleep again. yeah, you know.

I have what you want. I can get you what you can’t have.

Every time I find myself holding up a corporate job, I pretend I’m Ralph Fiennes in Strange Days.

[secret because, hey, it works, but the toll it takes on the spirit? Massive.]

I’m your worst best friend

Now that you finally broke up your fifteen year old relationship ( “old”, as a teenager would be, bored and constantly complaining about everything, and playing overly simple music at an overly excessive volume), I can let myself really be honest with you: I prayed that it would happen. I hoped that it would. So much so and for so long, that at some point I couldn’t be bothered anymore, so I stopped hoping and I stopped praying.
Well, imagine my joy when it finally did happen.
Let me get this straight: it’s not that I hated him. It’s just that he wasn’t the right person for you. So shallow. So materialistic. So rude. So petty. It was obvious, but you couldn’t see it. You really did think he was your better half. Amazing. You were oblivious. You just couldn’t see it at all. So I harbored this secret wish, that you finally could realize how completely apart you were supposed to live to finally be happy. You didn’t. Not only! You didn’t even realize everyone in our circle of acquaintances faked sadness and anger and disappointment at the news of your break-up, when really they were all relieved as me! Another jerk bites the dust, I guess. Maybe I won’t tell you that. Or maybe I will, and by then you will reconsider the whole of your friendships.
Oh well. What can you do.

Previously on The L Word.

True story: last year I contemplated flirting – ok, flirting more than I already was – with an ex boyfriend’s ex girlfriend.

And the only thing that stopped me was a moment of clarity.

How does a Lesbian Moment of Clarity sounds like, you ask?

Like this:

You just had an improptu coffee and cigarettes session in a nice bar.

Phone numbers were exchanged, as were promises of meeting up in the near future.

There might have been some fairly clear looks involved.

You walked away planning your next move, as it happens.

And then you went:

OMG, this one here’s an actual human being, 3-D and all that, not a doll I can spin around whenever I feel like “trying something new”. Wheee!

I did, however, feel all noble, like I had just saved a kitten from drowning or something.

And soon after that I felt unbelievably dumb for allowing myself any pride about such a small, ugly thing.

Popular culture

There’s this video, he said. It’s shot in black and white, it has faces fading one into the other. The song is really sad. At some point somebody is shouting,  or so he seemed to remember. I didn’t even have to think about it. Countless childhood afternoons spent in front of the tv. When the music channel actually played music, and music videos. When one would discover true visual masterpieces in a four minute format. I said, that would be Cry by Godley and Creme. They directed the video, too. He was happy and kissed me on a cheek. It was that important to him. We finished our coffee.

It was last month. A sunday when I was happy and with my head full of wind.  The first cold day in september. Summer was over on that sunday, a sunday when I wasn’t thinking of you. Up to that moment, anyway. Because after the song was id’ed and laid gently on the kitchen table we looked for it on YouTube. We watched the video. In my head I kept hearing the line “You don’t even know how to say goodbye”. Over and over.  I keep hearing it now.

And that’s what I would like to say to you. It’s better than anything I could ever come up with. I’d write it on a postcard. I’d send it to you. Would it be too cowardly? I don’t even know your address anymore, so it wouldn’t matter. It’s just an idle thought, really. There’s no harm in thinking about this all, now that I finally pinpointed what is it that you did to me, the exact notion. You went away by not going away at all. You couldn’t handle one simple task as letting me go, once and for all. So I’m doing that for you, I guess.

It’s both maddening and a relief. Weird, uh?

All the kids who were lost.

Last time we met you were 12.

Last time we spoke you were 16.

When somebody asks if I ever “lost somebody”, all I want to say is, I lost you – not to addiction but to poverty, to not having a father.

I hope you’re good. I hope you’re safe.

Resurrection of the Poor Little Match Girl.

Darling,

You’ve got a job.

You’re ridiculously needy, self-absorbed to the nth degree and prone to treat anybody as your personal assistant.

Now, I wouldn’t even mind that much (pot, meet kettle), but the blatant disregard of other people’s mere chance of having trials and tribulations of their own? Hell to the no.

Of course, if we wanna get all respectful, I hope you’ll come to your senses and start acting human again, because nobody knows the trouble you’ve seen, and maybe you just haven’t dealt with some issues properly.

There is, after all, a way of putting yourself first and still retain some specks of common decency.

… Until then, though?

I shall not hope for somebody competent to get fired – but I’ll break out the pom poms in case you do.

There you go.

i started sleeping with the blinds open. i feel not as alone now.

K. meant so much to me.

I left a girl that I loved because I was obsessed with her mother’s death.
and because I thought she was waaaaay more intelligent than me.
I kept thinking of the fact that a phone call would have come while we were making love.
I’m still not sure which reason was worst.

[submitted anonymously]

I get older, they stay the same age

For emotional, biographical and plain old ethical issues, I cannot condone any sexual contact whatsoever between teenagers and grownups.

I don’t even find kids attractive.

Imaginary kids, though?

That’s a whole different area.