love at its most unconditional is still conditional, even if the only condition is, "respect the value of what is being given."

i think that condition is the most important key to making love unconditional.

sometimes when you search for other people to give you the answers, you realize that the only person who can give them to you, who can help you out of this, is yourself. that's why no one could ever give me what i needed. i have to be able to get these things from myself.

what i am to you, is not real. 

i know people are scared to get close to me sometimes because they're afraid to see into themselves. my honesty can be blatantly reflective.

so i make up lies about why when i know why. every person looks for a reflection of themselves in other people. if you want to have a real partnership, you have to find someone who's seen himself and accepted it. but i don't really want that because i'm still looking for a reflection myself. so that's why my deep interactions are unconscious, people seeking and projecting reflections. i know who he is in this relationship is not really who he is, but completely who he is. he's also wearing what i ask him to wear whether it fits him or not. i also know that i am exactly who i truly am but also what he wants to see in me. i don't know much else from his perspective because i just can't see it. 

is it fair? is it balanced? does it matter? we're seekers. but sometimes it's hard to face the hard truths, because those hard truths are lonely journeys inside ourselves and we're afraid to take the dive alone.

what i am to you

is just what i'm going through

this is nothing new

just a phase of finding what i really need...is what makes me bleed...

but not anymore. i found the secret in how to stop wanting things with sharp edges last year. i can always go back to that craving like an addiction, but why would you want me to? to everyone who's connected to me this year--i can see your pain when it mirrors my own and i can show it to you, as well as show you the beauty of what you were before you lost your innocence. this is why we meet. this is what i can give. i can't do it if you raise too much darkness in me so that i start fighting imaginary demons instead of focusing on the real positives i can give. 

i don't want to hurt myself anymore. i haven't in a really long time and my life has been very positive, completely free of the negativity of my past. i just stopped caring about it. i can still write about the darkness but i prefer to write about the light and hope that the divine source where creativity comes from will grant me the imagination to write about the darkness without having to touch it. but even so, i will not go back to it. why? because it never really owned me. it thought it did, but it didn't.

so i want you, knowing me, knowing what i can give when i'm strong, to ask yourself if you really want me to wrestle with your darkness. to wrestle with your darkness means to wrestle with my darkness which is fine if it's helping you, but i know i can offer something much better. 

really ask yourself, what kind of story would you like this to be?

 

i was supposed to have flown back today and i'm still here. good decision or bad decision? in a way, i need contact with my old life, with friends and loved ones so i can gain perspective on this period of my life whose purpose was to allow me to gain perspective on my old life. now i need the enlightened old to triangulate a perspective on the "new," this place where i've come for better or for worse. i have definitely seen the shadow, coming face to face with it, tasted it, heard it, felt it, believed it. and now i need to know to what extent it is still working, to propel me to understanding through polarity, or by pushing me towards my own self-destruction.

i'm so deep in the well, so deep in the murky water that i no longer know which way is up. while it's not a problem in terms of drowning since this whole thing started because i learned how to breathe underwater in my dreamscape and thus, be able to breathe in the face of emotional/existential crisis, i don't want to lose my bearings. i don't want to stay in this water forever. 

i want to be careful that i'm not fucking myself over by going too deeply in the wrong direction.

i think extreme ways is a fitting song to go over the end credits of this part of the journey. good enough for jason bourne, good enough for me.

Extreme ways are back again
Extreme places I didn't know
I broke everything new again
Everything that I'd owned
I threw it out the windows, came along
Extreme ways I know move apart
The colors of my sea
Perfect color me

Extreme ways that that help me
Help me out late at night
Extreme places I had gone
But never seen any light
Dirty basements, dirty noise
Dirty places coming through
Extreme worlds alone
Did you ever like it planned

I would stand in line for this
Theres always room in life for this

Oh baby, oh baby
Then it fell apart, fell apart
Oh baby, oh baby
Then it fell apart, it fell apart
Oh baby, oh baby
Then it fell apart, it fell apart
Oh baby, oh baby
Like it always does, always does

Extreme songs that told me
They helped me down every night
I didn't have much to say
I didn't give up the light
I closed my eyes and closed myself
And closed my world and never opened
Up to anything
That could get me at all

I had to close down everything
I had to close down my mind
Too many things took over me
Too much can make me blind
I've seen so much in so many places
So many heartaches, so many faces
So many dirty things
You couldn't even believe

I would stand in line for this
It's always good in life for this

Oh baby, oh baby
Then it fell apart, fell apart
Oh baby, oh baby
Then it fell apart, it fell apart
Oh baby, oh baby
Then it fell apart, it fell apart
Oh baby, oh baby
Like it always does, always does

secrets.

let me speak honestly here for a second. 

the last two years, i've been exploring secrets and the lives they lead. so i've been chasing people's secrets and following them down down down, like worms into the deepest flesh of a person where it's sunk its teeth. and it has brought me down down down, into places where the truth suddenly becomes very murky, not in what it is inherently, but by melting the world around it until there's no distinct place to put it.

there are people who carry secrets because they have serious things to hide and don't want to be associated with them.

there are others, who because of oppressive childhood experiences, carry secrets for the sake of having secrets, so that no matter what was taken from them, no matter what was withheld from them, there was some power in resistance of domination when they always had something that was theirs that could never be taken away or touched -- tightly kept secrets guarded by only themselves. sometimes this is all a person has to survive when there's a force in the world trying to break them.

i'm one of those people. no matter how much people and circumstances tried to break my spirit, no matter how many times i got pushed into a corner and held there to see if i would break, i always knew they could never touch my thoughts, my mind, things known only to me. the things that only i knew were the magical stones i carried with me, whether dark, scarred chunks or smooth, marbled rounds. in some ways, i superstitiously trusted their magical powers to keep me from ever letting go of myself as long as i in turn kept them to myself and guarded them unwaveringly. 

the key to keeping secrets is to not let the world know you have any. let it suspect, but don't let it ever catch you.

i have secrets. so many secrets that i've forgotten about many of them and that they were even secrets. i'm not a liar by intention, though by semantics, i know that i am. but i've never held secrets that hurt other people, only occasionally, myself. my collection of secrets is compulsive. some secrets are so small and pointless. i'll tell someone i had a donut for breakfast when i had a croissant, because in that moment, i didn't want them to know what i had for breakfast just because. some secrets regard who i am and where i'm going, not necessarily because i don't want people to know, but because i may not be sure yet myself and i don't want them to tell me. some secrets are memories of things that happened, some secrets are events i created purposefully knowing i planned to create a secret. some secrets involve not allowing people to paint an accurate picture of where i come from. some secrets deflect people's ability to paint a full picture of who i am.  but there aren't bad intentions with my need for secrets. it's just what i need. deflection, protection. a place only i know. a place only i own. it's what i know. it's having things that no one can ever touch unless you choose to allow them. the very fact that you have control over something that allows you the space and freedom to make a choice, such a simple choice, is sometimes all the control over yourself you were able to carve out for a long time in your life.

i try keeping the fact i compulsively keep secrets a secret. it helps by appearing to be a gossip. in a way, if you are an information sieve and you're the wildfire with which news spreads, no one really questions whether you have the ability to keep a secret. they just assume in a way--quite rightly--you don't. but i know when to keep a loved one's secret as tightly and loyally as my own and sometimes if you really listen to me, on one level i'm being 100% truthful, so truthful that sometimes people have no idea what i'm talking about, and on another level, i'm not really saying anything. people will either respond to one or the other and that's how i get to know what kind of people they are.

my secrets have lives. 

they take me to places i would otherwise never see, meet people i would otherwise never meet. sometimes those people scare me, sometimes they enlighten me. sometimes they teach me a better point of view. sometimes they help me strengthen my point of view. my secrets have propelled me not in a positive or negative direction per se, but in a direction of more--higher faster stronger deeper. i always thought they weren't a big deal. i try not to get myself in any situations where i create really bad, dark secrets, and at the end of the day, it's like a secret collection of anything--some people like star wars figures, i liked collecting things that only i know.

maybe this is karma.

if right now i'm staring at this aspect of myself in the face, projected, firsthand experiencing how annoying, frustrating, devastating it is for people who want to get close to someone who keeps secrets for the sake of keeping secrets, then i feel very, very sorry for having not had more self-understanding. i feel very sorry if i have hurt anyone because my compulsion to keep secrets was more important to me than letting them in and truly being with them. in a way, i understand it now, that it was about autonomy and not being completely dominated while i was growing up, but now, i don't know how much it serves me outside of having an emotionally masturbatory quality to it. i want to change this.

i would rather you lie about the things that weren't important than hide the things that are. like i do.

today's clue:

This influence also may signify a relationship in which you feel fascinated by the other person, even though you feel that the relationship is bad for you. You seem unable to get away. Actually you are experiencing a repressed aspect of yourself through the other person.

fuck. i'm having so much trouble sorting it out.

if i lose everything, i'll just start all over and rebuild myself, my perspective with people i trust. it might take me a long time, but it's not something i haven't done before, so if that's my destiny, then that's what i accept.

there's no trust without letting go.

i've just put on the table everything i've built my identity upon, everything that i own that's important to me--my life, my self-esteem-- for something that has been described to me that i've always wanted, sight unseen. i'm either going to own something that i've always hoped existed, or i've lost everything.

all the anger in the world can't help you piece together the fragments of your life unless you have a mirror.

okay, so life depends on how you write it to a degree. i feel like my next move could determine my reality in one major direction or another.

oh, i just realized i talked about my shirt but still haven't put it on yet.

i am watching some dutch melodrama on nickelodeon . isn't this a channel for kids?

there's tuxedoed boy-girl drama and tears and sobbing and best-friend hugs and pep talks and a giant poster of wentworth miller. then they cut to dark alleyways and there are slutty bitch girls and old lady landlords and a stuffed raven for some reason. now there's screaming and a girl in a porn-cut "businesswoman" suit and i'm terrified it's going to turn into a european porn. i really wish there were subtitles because this shit is uninterpretable.

oh, now there's a soliloquy from an old man in a bathrobe sitting in the dark amidst stuffed ravens as dark villain music plays. now it all makes sense.

i just realized i was sitting here with no shirt on and had to look around the house for it. i found it crumpled on the floor outside of the kitchen.

?

i haven't left random pieces of clothing around the house while writing since that one really creative spurt in 1999. 

this was how she described herself:

i'm the kind of person who can suddenly turn to a person she's been with for years and say, i'm sorry, i'm in love with someone else, when inside her head she's screaming, i'm sorry, you're WHAT?

so you don't know who.

i don't know who.

i laugh. 

amsterdam's a great place for finding things like that. amsterdam's a great place to find keys you've lost in the ocean.

i have no idea if she understood what i meant. i gave her a free guide and she left.

promoting was so good today.

finally got to work with zahra. one of the guys had told me the guys don't like working with her. she talks to you a lot so you can't hand out guides, but everyone always takes guides from her. 

she's awesome. the flirtiest 20 year old girl i've ever seen. she's like a beautiful creature. we just kept making each other giggle. i told her i was 30 she said, oh my god, my stepmother is 31! i just laughed and laughed. she couldn't believe how old i was. 

i saw ken walking up in the crowd. he always wears a cap. when i saw a picture of him on facebook without it, i remember staring in shock because there was a part of me that couldn't believe he has hair, so the hair in the picture almost looked magical. it made me realize that the thing about having these brief and intense meetings with people out here, is you don't really know much about each other except the sum of these snapshots you retain after each encounter. and i never know after seeing someone, if this may be the last time i ever see them.

libras are the true lovers of the world. they fall in love with everything. i bet zahra is a gemini.

bomb ass article

okay. i'm going to give it my all and try to dig it out.

remember how i always say that you have to be careful of running into a ghost at night, because if he recognizes you, he'll follow you home?

i'm pretty sure ever since berlin, i've been living with a ghost named eli. he seems to reside in david.

i'm not really sure what i'm supposed to do here.

i once had a conversation with my friend bobby about mirroring people's energies...i'd been gleefully wearing his leo energy while playing basketball for a few months and i'd been having the time of my life. that energy seemed to affect bobby as well, even though it was just a reflection of his own energy, the purest part of his energy. 

the past few months, i had once again become a mirror, absorbing energy so that the person i was absorbing it from can see. see the silhouette and shadows of his own painful insides, his darkest, deepest cave. 

in a way, i had been inexplicably preparing for this for a year, training my body like an aspiring pro athlete, cleaning up my diet, heart, mind and psyche. even though i didn't consciously know where i was going at the time, i can say with confidence in hindsight, that i knew that what i was going to take on would require me to be the strongest i've ever been. 

the more secrets of his i knew, the stronger the projections of his insides into my perception of the world. very quickly, my world turned into bizarrely bright days and hushed rainy days. there was intense beauty, from the flowers, to the rain, to grass in the yard gently swaying by the wind. there were thunderstorms and candlelight and silence brimming with conversation. and then i wanted to see the darkness, and suddenly, i was within it. 

people always think it's worse than it really is. whatever it is inside them whose pain radiates in powerful waves of energy. but when my world becomes their projection of these things, it always turns the world into a caricature of dark alleyways and menacing whispers. 

the more time i spent with him, the darker my mind became and the more power surged through me, a battle between a gentle, infinite desire to be good and a dark, hissing shadow. i became obsessed with the red light district, knowing that so many problems were started here. and then somewhere in the course of my fall into the darkness and my search for the reason and my belief that i am ultimately showing him these things for good, something breaks and everything that churns in my mind from my connection to this dark world suddenly spills out of his mouth, as though my thoughts and words were a magnet for his secrets. 

and from there, comes the most absolute, painful truth between two people. 

i believe i have two choices. i've always felt that life is a series of decisions like 90 degree left or right turns. and the sum of those decisions creates the circuitboard of my life. in this case, i don't know which decision, left or right, will be the one that gives us the best chance of making it out of this.

but i'm working really hard for the answer. 

please, i just need some help.

sometimes it's just hard for people to realize that taking responsibility for themselves isn't as difficult or life-threatening as they seem to think.

talking helps.

i'm sitting in the dark because sometimes it's the only place i feel comfortable.

it was raining today and i stood out in the rain doing my job even though i was seething inside and didn't want to be there. i didn't want to be anywhere. i saw a black man on a bike, red baseball cap, sitting at the intersection watching me. he had a beautiful, kind smile. i smiled at him, an instinctual response to light, but i refocused myself because the last thing i wanted or needed was for him to come over. i continued scanning the crowd, picking out the english speakers and the ones i needed to draw in. i saw him ride away slowly, continually turning to smile at me, trying to catch my eye. i wanted him to keep going, keep going and not look back.

i am sick with darkness right now

the day continued, and while water kept falling, i wasn't getting soaked so i stayed, scanning and scanning the crowds, trying to outlet the seething silently, careful not to let it draw attention. smile, genuine warmth. i will people to say thank you, because in a way, i dare them not to, and they do and i smile warmly, genuinely. i want the positive to outweigh the dark that i feel, the slow burning with emerging pools of blood, so fucking angry, like a razor cut that just won't end.

the important players i met yesterday all appeared in the new chapter today.

i remember being stationed for work in the red light district yesterday, which is like sending a recovering alcoholic to work in a bar. the red light district repels me, destroys me, as strongly as it allures me and promises me more of my sickness that gives me that metallic taste of blood that makes me crave more and more and makes me so goddam fucking thirsty. i hate it, i want it. it destroys me. i want to burn the whole fucking place down if it weren't made of so much goddam brick. i want to destroy it, turn it into blackness the way it does me. i want to fuck it, hurt it, remind it that we were all children once, every one of us, and a long time ago, that innocence meant something.

i want to mean something again.

i stood there, staring at the sky, sometimes a sky within the sky as it has a way of opening up the longer you stare at it. i wanted it, i wanted to confront whatever it is i have to confront to get it over with. its grayness draws me in, wraps me in its multiplicity, disorients me.

when i looked down, a man of absolute blackness walked by. black pants, black leather trenchcoat, black dreads, black skin, black hat, black eyes. eyes like an alien. eyes like a snake. eyes of darkness only someone with knowledge would have. he walked by, never breaking his stride, never breaking eye contact. he's fixed on me. he knew i knew what he was, and he knew that meant he could try to scare me. i was prepared to take a stance against those eyes, but inside, it sent a cold surge of terror inside me. i would fight someone like that to the death if need be, but i wasn't going to let him see me scared. i looked away, saying hello to an italian couple who was completely unaware of me. i didn't acknowledge his existence anymore, though i knew he would be back.

i needed help.

i saw a dark-skinned guy with large eyes who looked vaguely familiar. i had seen him in the crowd earlier and remembered scanning his t-shirt in hopes it was a school in the us. i asked him if he wanted a free guide and he came over.

he listened to my pitch then he asked about me, wanting to know about me and why i was here. i told him about quitting my job and traveling to europe and he said he had a friend who did the same, got sick of america and traveled the world. he was a good energy, a safe energy, a familiar energy. i knew he wanted to connect with me positively and i needed it, especially out of the corner of my eye, i saw the snake man take a slow pass back, staring at me.

i talked with this guy who had gone to illinois, and told him that a lot of my cousins went there. i told him i went to michigan and we talked a bit, then he told me where he was staying and wanted to know when i got off work. i knew where he was going, but while i was thankful that he had been there for me when i needed him (i could feel the snake man's energy was gone), i didn't want to get in a complicated situation in real life, so i told him i had to go home and cook dinner for my boyfriend. i did offer to walk him back to his hostel which was on my way home, so he asked me if i spoke mandarin and i said yes. he said, i love you, in mandarin. i said, aww, that's so sweet, in english. he said, i want to kiss you, in mandarin. i laughed. did you understand what i said, he said. yes, i said. you want to kiss me. that's pretty good, he said. most people don't understand what i'm trying to say.

did you actually study mandarin or do you just know a few useful phrases, i ask.

i dated a girl from taiwan for two years, he said. that would explain his fixation with me, i thought.

that's the girl who took off and traveled the world, he said. you remind me so much of her.

ah, i thought. that definitely explains his fixation on me.

he invited me to the happy hour at his hostel and i declined again. he said he was leaving the next day.

well, i said. good luck with everything.

in hindsight, can i say that it felt like it wasn't goodbye yet? in some ways, i feel like i should know better. but there is this blissful ignorance in those moments that later helps you realize that maybe life is in the plot after all. but back to the story.

i leave, walking away. i decide to try one more shopping area since promoting has been shit lately. i'm standing at a dark corner, again fixated on the sky and how the gray of the opposite building blends into the sky. i look over and i see three guys walking towards me. their clothes tell me they're american. i offer them a guide and ask them if i can help them with any directions. they ask me where the nearest smartshop is, and i write out recommendations, as well as the best coffeehouse and wherever else they might be interested in. as i doodle on the map, i find out that they're from florida, alabama and philadelphia. the outgoing one mentions he wants to get another tattoo, he already has 7, but he's a gemini. my ears perk up and i say, really. when. may 29th, he says. i'm june 14th, i say.

the quiet one on the right suddenly pipes up. i'm june 3rd, he says.

i look at the third guy, the one on the left from philadelphia. he has a shaved head, smooth skin and clear, penetrating hazel eyes that are intimidating in their stillness. when's yours, i ask him. april 1st, he says. good birthday, i say, but i think, aries. i just had a dream the night before about meeting an aries and having a conversation, but right after he left, i remembered something but realized i had no way of getting in contact with him. i take a closer look into his eyes, but his steely gaze unnerves me so i look away.

the outgoing gemini wants to know about me and what it's like to live in amsterdam, and i tell them that it's cool. a lot of americans come out here for a few days, but somehow meet someone and end up living here for a decade. it's just what amsterdam does to you. he asks me what i'm doing after work but i tell them i'm working all night (a lie) and he asks me what i'm doing tomorrow night and i say that i'm going to be out in front of the theater promoting the show. mostly, i just want them to consider seeing the show because that's how i get paid. they're gonna go check out other things so they say bye, but the one from philly lingers back, taking a last look at me as he walks away. he wasn't that friendly to me when they were talking to me in that he hadn't really said much, and his eyes unnerved me, but then it occurred to me that some people hide themselves well even when they're interested, when they're connected. i put it out of my mind because i'm just really over standing out in the cold talking about a comedy show, and i just want to get home.

******

woke up today and was feeling bright. was feeling close to david. we had a serious and open talk last night. i wanted to talk about the red light district. i wanted him to know that it consumes me. he told me he doesn't want me hurting myself anymore, but he also understands that i'm writing a book and he wants me to write a book, but he also doesn't want to see me hurting myself. i know he understands my pain, but i also feel like he doesn't understand my pain. because wouldn't he have explained it to me if he knew so i could stop searching for its name? he's afraid that i'm only going to find bad things there. that i'm only going to draw a bad experience to myself. will you still be there for me even if i did, i ask him. he has to think about it. yes, he says quietly. i think neither of us is sure whether when the shadow leads, if it's a good thing or a bad thing. i remind him that it was the shadow side that urged me to quit my job, travel to europe and that ultimately lead me to him. that it was the darkness in me that was drawn by the darkness in him. so does that make the darkness bad? there was some intense staring on his part so we dropped the subject and had a beautiful night.

and the morning started the same way. i missed him as soon as he was gone. went to the gym, did the dishes, then surprised him at work with soup and his favorite candy bar. but then somehow, the other girl in the shop brought up anal fisting, and i brought up testicle weights and we were in a full-on, one-up battle of crazy sex shit. david started railing that these things weren't real and just videos people made to shock people and we insisted that there's a market for these things because people do get off on them. he kept saying he didn't believe people were into this and i swore up and down that people do a lot of crazy things behind closed doors and they do it because they get off on it, not because they want anyone to know about it and be freaked out by it. i don't know why the conversation upset me. i don't know why his stance upset me. i felt like we had just talked about this stuff the night before, that people did some messed up things to each other sexually, and knowing that disillusions me. but i was angry that he was denying their very existence. when david walks away to help a customer, his coworker said to me, david's so naive. no he's not, i said. and i meant it.

i was quiet as i started thinking again. i started getting dark again. what are you thinking about, he asked.

you know, i said. the red light district.

he looked tense, like he wanted to say something but knew he shouldn't.

i looked away. i decided i wanted to go write rather than spend time with him after he was off work. i was overcome by a sudden, overwhelming urge to leave. he walked me out and said goodbye. i knew he didn't know why i was suddenly turned away, disappearing before his eyes. i'm not sure i knew why either. i said goodbye and walked away. i wondered if he knew. i wondered if he was conscious that i was walking in the direction of the red light district.

its energy both enraptures and repels me. it destroys me as it compels me. it feeds me and it breaks me down down down. this energy is the worst drug i've ever been on, the greediest drug. i can feel it like a slug slowly eating its way up my veins, burning, but giving me a satisfaction with no name. it makes me want to give it more of myself, feed myself to it. and the worst thing about it is that it's familiar and i don't unwelcome it. it's something i've always known since my earliest meetings with darkness, a shadow i have met before, perhaps have known even before i knew myself.

i sit at the edge of the water, at the edge of the district and think.

i don't want to keep hurting myself.

but there's something here that i need.

there is something here i need to find, that i need to know.

i put my head in my arms, closing my eyes, needing the black to help me think.

it's so hard to unravel, so hard to untangle.

what can't i let go?

why is julia so angry?

it starts to rain again and i have an hour before my shift so i start walking. at the outskirts of the district, i see walking towards me the guy from yesterday, the guy who speaks mandarin. i say hi and he looks shocked. i ask him if he's on his way out (he has his suitcase with him), and he says he can't believe he's seeing me again. he introduces me to the guy he's with, some old dude from california who's got a huge mustache and skateboard, and he comments again that he can't believe he ran into me, that he had missed his train. we talk. he wants to know if i want to share a joint with them and i don't. they start talking about the area, about the district, and i ask him if he's tried it out. he says no like he would never do it and he makes a joke about if i've tried, and i tell him that stuff messes me up in the head. i tell him about the sex club in la and going there so i could write an article about it, and how it fucked up my head for a couple of years, how disgusted and disillusioned i was about sex and people. especially since while i was there, i'd run into someone i'd gone out with, and he was there fucking two girls. his friend leaves, and we're alone, and he's buying what i'm selling, even though i'm not sure what it is exactly that i'm selling.

i hate the red light district, i tell him. but i only write what's true, and i'm writing something and i need to see what goes on in there. so i've been trying to get someone to let me go in with them so i can write about it truthfully.

even this is kind of a lie. he's the first person i've broached the subject with. i'm winging it.

you should totally do that, he says. i'll do it with you.

you would?

he has a train to catch in 45 minutes. i don't mind because his energy is safe.

let's talk while we walk, he says, and he's excited about the idea. now the truth comes out, when earlier he was feigning complete innocence about the district. he wants to go to a specific alley where earlier one of them offered a blowjob for 30 euros. all he has on him now is 25. and he admits he's gotten a blowjob in belgium before.

personally, i don't think that qualifies him as a badass just yet. i tell him he should fuck her today since you get both for the same price.

no, i would just get a blowjob. a blowjob's like nothing. you're wearing a condom so it's not like they're even really touching you, he says.

secretly, i want to know if he'll fuck her. i want him to answer a question for me. i need to know if he'll fuck her. so i press on.

i say to him, you know though, one day you're going to meet your future wife, the person you've spent your life looking for, and she's gonna wanna know all of your skeletons. and she's gonna find out you've had sex with a prostitute and she's gonna freak out. so would you tell her or would you lie?

why would i tell her something like that, he asks.

because she'll want to know about your past and she'll want to know the truth, and you're going to want to tell her. and if you lie, you'll have to live for the rest of your life knowing you looked someone who loves you in the eye and lied, but to tell the truth means you have to face the truth. what if she straight out asks you, have you ever had sex with a prostitute?

but i haven't had sex with a prostitute, he says. i've only gotten a blowjob.

well yeah, technically, you could say no because you haven't actually had sex with a prostitute. but what if you had? would you lie and be able to live with it or would you feel you had to be honest? the knowledge could break her heart.

he considers this.

do you think she would just be happy that i'd gotten that stuff out of my system so i could completely be with her?

who knows, i say. i think mostly she's just going to wish you hadn't done it. there was a lot of stuff i could have done in my life. a lot of things i had the opportunity to do, a lot of things i could have done just to know what it's like, for the experience. but a lot of times i didn't do it because i would think that one day, when i meet my future husband and he wants to know everything about me, i don't want to have to lie about anything, i don't want there to be anything that i've done that could potentially break his heart if i could help it. there's often a choice.

that's a really noble way to go about things, he says.

not noble, just idealistic, i say. but i get fucked in the head because of it. sometimes i wonder if i should have just said fuck it and let the outside world taint me. sometimes thinking life is more beautiful than what it is, thinking that devotion and faith could be more precious than what it is, makes me feel like my whole life has been a giant idealistic delusion. who the fuck did i think i was that i might be better than this.

we see girls in the windows and he's asking them how much they would charge for a blowjob. i know they won't go under 50. i tell him i'll subsidize him 25 if he fucks a girl. he thinks about it, and i repeat it a few times as we talk to the girls, and he considers it, though he mentions to actually fuck a prostitute is weird. he says he doesn't think he would be able to come, that a blowjob through a condom is barely touching but to fuck her is so much more and he doesn't know if he can do it. it means he knows he's crossing a line, and somewhere inside me, i feel a twitch of something pure that might still be alive inside hungry blackness. bleeding and dying on its knees, but possibly still alive.

he knows there's a line.

while he ultimately has free will, i know that i'm willing to push him but if he goes through, i won't be willing to catch him. a part of me has no idea how this would end, but a part of me is hoping that it won't come to that. for the salvation of both of us, that it won't come to that. he had asked me to add him to facebook and i will, because whatever happens, we'll be friends after, because without any other choice, we'll be connected. but the money is on the table. he doesn't have enough to get just a blowjob like he wants, and we both know that, so he has a choice and i need to know what he's going to do.

as he's thinking about it, i have the strong urge to remind him what's at stake. once you do it, i say, you've done it. it'll be a permanent part of your personal history.

i really mean this. i mean this because as much as i'm his devil right now, i'm also his friend.

we stand there, on the cobblestone walk that connects to one of the oldest churches in the city a few hundred feet away, connects us to what this area once stood for--hope, faith, a belief in something bigger, better, more pure and holy than the darkness that human hands and hearts create. in a way, i think i know what i'm hoping he'll say, but i know he has to make the decision on his own.

what time is it, he asks me finally. i pull out my phone and i tell him.

let's just go to the train station, he says.

i smile, in some ways, proud of him. sure, i say. follow me.

i lead him back to the train station and he asks me about my writing. he asks me why i wanted to experience that and i told him because if we had gone through with it, it would have hurt me tremendously. so you were using me to hurt you, he said. that's fucked up.

only because you were willing and only if you got something out of it. because it's something i need to face. once i've seen it, i can't deny it, i have to come to terms with it because there's nowhere else to hide, i said. i would have had no choice but to look into it, to confront it, to live with it for the rest of my life. but it would have really hurt me.

i can understand that, he said.

it's starting to rain again as we cross out of the district, back into the real world.

we're quiet for a bit and then he says, sometimes when i'm mad at a girl, i'll go out and sleep with three other girls. but it never makes me feel better. it just makes me feel sad about the first girl.

i look at him and smile, sad, happy, who knows on days when it all feels the same.

would you ever cheat on your boyfriend, he asks me.

i don't know why but the question makes me sad, though the answer is strong and clear and as close to the truth as anything about me.

never, i say.

we get to the corner where we part.

it was really nice meeting you, he says. he holds out his hand but i tell him, i'm gonna give you a hug.

we hug, and it's strong, like long-time friends saying hello and goodbye in one tight, drawn-out note.

thanks, i say.

good luck, he says, and then we walk away in opposite directions.

*****

the shift was bad. all the positive energy from earlier had dissipated and i was left with just me, my echoes and a feeling of not wanting to be there.

the kid behind the bar knew i was standing out in the rain and came out of nowhere, bringing me a hot coffee drink with a curl of whip cream. i was astounded and touched. it was so cold and miserable out there, it felt like the coffee was saving my life and i was so thankful to him.

the other guy on the shift, a japanese guy from canada with massive dreads, told me to come in and sit, that it was too cold out. so i sat and talked with one of the actresses who was from nebraska. i had half an hour left to go and i was anxious. i didn't want to go home. i didn't know what kind of energy i would be bringing home. i was talking with a couple i had talked to a couple of times earlier, and they wanted to talk to me about weed, so i gave them some recommendations. i noticed someone step out of the shadows to my left, and i thought it was him but i wasn't sure...he had a hood on and was moving fast. i stared at him and then i said his name:

ryan.

how the hell did i remember his name. he put his hood down and smiled. it was the guy from philly from the day before. i was talking with the couple and he was waiting there, so i asked him if he was here to see the show.

what time does it start, he asks.

in 15 minutes.

i have to check with the other guys, he says. but he stands there and waits, and in a way, i'm glad he does.

i finally convince the couple to get their asses into the theater and see the show, and ryan asks me if i'm getting off soon. yes, i say, and i know for sure now that i'm not going home anytime soon. i ask my partner if i can leave and he asks if i want to stay and share a joint with him. i would like to, but i need to see what ryan wants, so i say no thanks and i leave with ryan.

as we walk, he tells me that he overheard me tell the couple that i'm a writer, and asks me about it. he mentions that he also likes to write. as we talk, he apologizes for not answering my questions faster because he's on shrooms. i tell him that it's okay.

he wants to find his two friends so i go with him back to their hostel. the outgoing gemini is on myspace and listening to his ipod, and he's almost orgasmic over how good his music is. ryan informs me that his friend is on mexicans, and their other friend is upstairs on hawaiians. oh crap, i think. hawaiians are the strongest ones and most visual ones. they're the ones most likely for people to freak out on.

so we go upstairs and indeed his friend is standing outside of their room, looking a combination of terrified and confused.

you guys left me, he said.

you were sleeping, ryan says.

i didn't know where you guys were.

says he wants to get into the room but he tells ryan that he has to open it and gives him the keys. ryan opens the room and asks him what he needs from the room and he just says, he's really confused.

c'mon, i say to him. you have to get outside.

we go down the stairs and i'm asking them when they took the shrooms and how much. i'm worried about the kid on hawaiians. we get downstairs and the first guy is gone. i had loaned my lighter to the owner at the door and he lights up when he sees me again. did you see a kid in sunglasses talking about how good his music is?

he went that way, the guy points out the door.

the three of us go looking for their friend. i hand the guy on hawaiians 3 sticks of sugar that i happen to be carrying. if it starts getting too intense at any time, go buy a bottle of water, pour these in, shake it up and drink it, i say. it will help you come down.

he takes the sugar and nods solemnly. i think it's funny that i sound like i'm an expert when i've never done them.

we search mcdonald's and then the comedy club. they see a latin dance club and ask if maybe he went in there and i ask them if he's maybe too high to be able to read at this point. finally we see him walking across the tram tracks towards us, giggling and almost skipping.

these guys don't really know what they want to do so we just walk around. one of them wants to go to the red light district and i flat out say no. why, they ask. because it makes me evil, i say. but it's because of ryan. there is something beautiful in him, a belief, a hope. a belief in innocence. and i don't want him to go near anything that could threaten that. as cynical as the mind can get, as devastating as the eyes can see, they must never tell these things to the heart so that it becomes what the heart believes.

as we walk, philly talks to me about writing. he's a little bit awkward and shy, and it makes me tell that he's young. he reveals that he's written a novel, and that he wants to take a dead writers trip across the country, visiting the graves of writers and drinking what they drank. he tells me about one of charles bukowski's poems that made him cry, and i take out my pen and take down the name of it, because i really want to read it so i can understand what moves him. i tell him that i would like to read his work.

he sees one of the more majestic buildings in the city lit up against the night, and he stops and admires it. it's beautiful, he says. i grew up in a bad neighborhood. i'm not saying the hood or anything, but it was an ugly neighborhood. so i love seeing buildings that are beautiful. he laughs, embarrassed, and walks away. i don't want to lead them too far, but i don't want them to go drink beer or smoke weed like they want to. again, i'm worried about the guy on hawaiians. so we double back and i lead them back towards the area where their hostel is.

philly asks me questions about what made me move here and i tell him it's because i met someone. i tell him that it's really true out here, that a lot of people come out here to visit for a couple of days, but then they meet someone and they end up living here. he asks me how long it took for me to decide to live in europe and i tell him a few months. he says that he wouldn't mind living in europe.

i take them around, but it's getting late and they're still an hour away from when i think they should hit a dance club. before i go, philly wants to know if i like the same music as him, so i look through his ipod and see enough that i recognize to let him know that i understand and appreciate his music taste. he wants to add me on facebook so i promise him i'll look him up tonight.

i had a question though.

i ask him if he happened to walk up to the theater and run into me, or if he had gone specifically looking for me.

i was looking for you, he says without hesitation.

that's really sweet, i say, and i'm astounded by the honesty between us. good luck with writing.

he reaches out his hand but i give him a hug, then give the others a hug and say goodbye.

be careful, i tell them, and in that moment, i'm really happy for them, happy to have met them. i get to the tram stop just as the tram i need is pulling in, and i get on, happy for no complicated goodbyes today.

now in the dark again, i feel safe, but i am also afraid that after i sleep, tomorrow will be an entirely new, invigorated beast.

how to separate the head from the tail of darkness.

how to believe in innocence again.

i thought gays in space was the highlight of the evening. i'm proud david and i created it.

what if my baby mama were always sending people over trying to fight me? i think my feelings would be hurt.

what if jesus really were a rockstar. but he had a serious coke and sex addiction.

i wish i were psychic enough to know which of my coworkers are secretly sleeping together.

on the other hand, i like catching fish but i refuse to be responsible for killing them.

snakes are sensual creatures. i don't want to own one or have one in my house, but i do love touching them and having them across my skin.

on saturday my boss came by, captaining a tour boat through the canal as i sat on its edge, deep in thought. he surprised me by saying my name as he passed, and i looked up and saw him smiling. i smiled and waved, happily.

yesterday, i ran into him before my shift and he asked me, "so what were you doing in the red light district?" i got a little embarrassed and then said, "i live there."

"you do?" he said. i know they talked about me. i introduced myself to a bartender yesterday who said that she's heard about me. i was surprised he didn't already know that fact.

"yeah." i paused then grinned. i could never keep a secret. "you want to know the real reason i was there?"

"sure," he said.

"i was watching the building across the street and i was timing this guy. i had him pegged for a 7-minuter."

"7 minutes!" he said. he sounded incredulous but i couldn't tell if it was a reaction to my timing guys as they fucked whores or because i only gave him 7 minutes of stamina. "were you right?"

"giving him 5 minutes to take off and put on his clothes, he came out after exactly 12 minutes."

the green is so much better in california.

but the people are much more colorful here.

yesterday i was paired up with a white american guy. he was squat but solid with a round, shaved head, and wore a gray hooded sweatshirt, baggy jeans and a black cap. he reminded me of the guys who were always on bart around oakland.

we started talking and he was kind of a gruff, but as he opened up, he started talking about his life and his passion. he loves growing weed. he's lived all over the country but he loved being in humboldt and growing. he loves walking into a room full of vibrant plants, and watching them bear fruit. he's entrenched in the underground of weed growers and he's very frank about it being a business like any other, though with more shadowy characters and risks.

he's staying here because he got caught with quite a big load in the trunk in the midwest. the potential sentence is jaw-dropping. you would think he had heroin or guns or a body in the trunk. so he can only stay here for 3 months before he has to move on, and he believes unless obama becomes president, he can never go back to the states.

if i could go back to the states and live anywhere, i would definitely go back to california. i really loved everything about it, he said in a moment when it was just him and i.

i could tell he was a guy who had dealt hand to hand with life enough to make him tough but proud. everything about him reminded me of a bulldog. but in that moment, as he thought about california, i could swear that i felt his heart beating warmer.

today i went to the red light district and waited in the alleys with the girls and their tap-tap-tapping, watching the tourists pass, watching for the real customers. i saw a kid about 24 years old come out of a room and greet his two friends who had been smoking cigarettes outside, waiting for him. the blonde he'd just been with waved insistently at his friend from her doorway, her thong replaced in such a careless rush that it was twisted in a way where you could see the top of her slit. he was talking to his friends excitedly and rapidly, but it was in a language i didn't understand. when he walked by, i inhaled deeply, trying to pick up his scent, not quite sure what to expect. i smelled mostly ozone and a faint whiff of baby wipes. it just seemed important to me at the time that i do this, because i just want to make sure i get it right.

spent the last few days vacationing in the beautiful city of maarstricht. well, it wasn't what i was expecting but i guess i really created a ticking clock for myself.

i've been feeling that if anything were to happen, it would happen on September 11th. And now I'm going stir crazy and moody as the day approaches.

it bothers me. it all bothers me.

it's my day off but david had to work in the morning, so i got up while he was in the shower and started the tea. later, he brought the mugs in and placed them on the square of moroccan tile on the floor, getting into bed next to me.

i can't stop thinking about marrying you, he says.

he brings this subject up a lot but as usual, i'm feeling everything he's feeling, but i look at him and don't say anything.

from the moment i woke up, it's all i can think about, he says.

i look deep into his eyes but i don't say anything.

sorry, he says.

why are you apologizing, i ask.

i don't want to freak you out.

what were you thinking about.

i don't know. like where you would want to get married.

where would you want to get married?, i ask.

wherever would make you happiest, he says.

the conversation drops. later, after he's left for work, i text him.


hawaii

just don't do it for the money. then you'll never feel like a whore.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/06/technology/06sweat.html?_r=1&ei=5088&en=b9031b1ab51405e4&ex=1365134400&partner=rssnyt&emc=rss&pagewanted=all&oref=slogin

i suspect it's going to be a big, big problem when it comes time for me to leave.

?

jessie lou's report for wang convention:

report from wangcon recon: wangs at sapphire (a recommended venue) are really dumb and not nude, i repeat, NOT NUDE. it's like f'ing me in the v, when you're not planning on f'in me in the a: TOTALLY POINTLESS.

agree or disagree?

the men are intriguing in europe. i highly recommend a trip during a time when it rains.

david and i are really smart people who both got C's in art.

i got it because seniors in the period after kept pouring paint over my work, so i had to repaint something every day based on what I could cover. the art teacher (also the woodshop teacher who chewed tobacco and had a stump of a left ring finger), appeared too bored to take my unusual predicament into consideration when handing out grades. later, in parent-teacher conferences, my biology teacher, this manic-depressive woman with a bowl of bangs looked over my report card and yelled, "how the hell did you get a C in art? no one gets a C in art. How the hell did you get a C in art?" i was mortified at the time and my parents were embarrassed, but in hindsight, her reaction did help me put that situation into perspective. my mom keeps that fucked up painting in her office-- it's a bridge on a stormy night with red warning lights because i had to find a way to incorporate the red paint they'd poured on it the week before it was due. i always wonder if that experience just completely demotivated me to try hard at school.

david went to a similar school where people in general were idiots. in terms of art class, he wasn't interested in copying someone else's style, but wanted to create things that would be original. he got yelled at by his teacher that everything's been done before and there's no such thing as original art. for the final, he knew everyone was supposed to do something classical but he wanted to draw robots. so he turned in robots. "i'm like 15 or 16 and we're supposed to draw something that we'd learned, but i wanted to draw robots, like i'm 9 years old. i was well into robots."

fuck art class.

a goddess equation i love for its beauty, wisdom and simplicity.

6 + 9 = 6

hide the human and the words take on more meaning.

gentle downpour over a gray and white city and somewhere in the open clouds i swear i can connect with god if i could completely let go.

a friend wrote me today and asked me to be honest and tell her if i'm secretly married. she said it would be "just so...you."

it made me laugh because it is something i would do, but i wonder what about me made her come to the same conclusion.

i'm learning a lot of things about myself here, and pixel by pixel, i'm starting to see what i look like from the outside in.

yesterday i rode the tram.

usually, i'll only sit in seats that are by themselves. if only seats next to people are available, i usually prefer to stand. but yesterday, i wanted to think so i decided to sit by a woman in her forties with a large purse that was laying next to her, touching the empty seat. i expected her to move her purse into her lap, because when a stranger is around, you always want to make sure you keep your valuables close. but while she did move her purse as predicted, when i sat down and looked up at her, i realized she'd moved it not to protect her valuables, but more so to make room for me. once i'd sat down, she let the purse sit between us, against my thigh.

i started thinking about the american mentality, how we do learn to be careful in case someone steals your things. i've had my wallet stolen twice in my life--once from an employee of an ice skating rink who took it off the table, and once in college when someone stole my entire bag while it was next to me. the idea of having your things stolen from you seems to be one of the facts we accept in terms of society, and it's just a given that if you have something stolen from you, you probably weren't "careful" enough.

but then another thing hit me. maybe it's so solid in our collective unconscious because we are brought up in a world where being stolen from, having something taken away from you without any power to stop it, is so prevalent because we grew up in a country where our own government steals from us.

if it's true that if you examine what a person fears most, you'll find it's often what a person fears most or hates most about themselves, then the message that our government consistently gives us is that people are always trying to take our shit. be it illegal immigrants, or communists or terrorists, people are always out to get us. people are always trying to steal our money, our power, our freedom. there are always threats and the mentality that's so prevalent that it feels like a fact of life is that we always have to keep an eye out and be suspicious or people will take what belongs to us.

i remember reading a guide book on europe and the writer commented that most europeans perceive americans as being "naive." i was very curious about this and i remember asking david when i came in may why americans would be perceived as "naive." he didn't really answer the question, but i asked him again this time (we're communicating so much better). he told me it's because the world sees america as the only country that lies to its own people, and that's what makes it so dangerous. he said that america is always going to war when it's known for being very bad at war, that they give undertrained young guys really good equipment but they don't know how to use it, and the generals are bad and have been known to have made mistakes that killed so many of these men. but that america still goes to war, probably to make mone, yet it lies to its people about why and how well they're doing. that's why americans are perceived as naive...they're like children who don't know their parents are in the mob. and even though the rest of the world knows what bad things their parents have been doing, the kids have no idea.

that brought me back to what i thought about the woman on the tram and the purse. she obviously was not worried about me stealing for her, probably because these ideas of people out to get her and her things is not a prevalent idea in her consciousness. and maybe these suspicions and fears are in mine, because i live in a country where my own country steals from me. i don't care if it's money (to fund frivolous government spending), a sense of security (stop trying to scare us with this terrorist crap) or just the knowledge of what our leadership is doing that's affecting all of us so that we can hold them accountable.

i never realized that it could be different, kind of like if you grow up in an abusive household, you never realize that not all households are abusive until you're invited into one. but being in amsterdam and being able to hear the opinions of so many different people about the us and having to answer their questions about why our government does what it does, i realize that not everyone grows up suspicious and afraid of other people. it's just the way certain corrupt people and organizations in power have kept the people, so they are too emotional and anxious to actually realize they should be asking questions.

i've never been a person who was that knowledgeable about politics or that involved in it, but at the very least, i realize it's about perspective. being able to be in a safe, objective place, i can really look at my life and try to figure out what were the things that made me so unhappy, sometimes without me knowing it. and i realized that there are so many things that add to a person's anxiety level, and so much of it isn't even consciously recognized because it's part of the landscape. i realized that our government's dishonesty, disrespect and lack of integrity towards the people it's supposed to represent and protect is probably a stress factor for the majority of the american population, either through direct strife (services for the disabled, unemployed, etc) or just a general feeling that we're putting faith in something that's not being honest to us--it's not too far from the silent stress a person suffers perhaps unconsciously when they have a feeling their parter is cheating on them, but they haven't allowed themselves to really think about it yet.

in a way, i think what america needs now to heal all the damage it's leadership has done over the years is an archtypical benevolent father who can get us away from our fears and help us start asking ourselves what we can do to become the people we want to be and live the lives we want to live.

this is my favorite picture because it reminds me of when we used to live by the water. i think that's an underlying part of why i've always been so sad in la. i was around all these things that reminded me of him, but he wasn't there.

today i sat on the deck david built for me and watched the clouds.

in amsterdam, i can seriously contemplate quitting a job because i don't enjoy riding a bike.