Wed-Thu: Dream, all night, about Atsuko. In one dream, she runs into me with her bicycle. Trying to focus on her through the nauseious haze where she's collided with my balls, I ask if there's any chance we might become more than just friends. Later, in another dream, as she's eating pizza and I'm trying to mould my body to hers, she says 'I'll never be worthy of you' (this is a line from Balzac). I almost tell her I'm not interested in her worthiness, I'm only interested in her sex (this isn't a line from Balzac!), but then, five minutes later, I see her sitting at the table of a cafe with her legs intertwined with a South American named Carlos whose hand hovers an inch above her knee. I am devastated, of course.
Fri: Schola Cantorum de Reykjavik @ St. Sulpice w/EVK.
Sat: Watch Collateral again with K. There's not really a lot I can tell you about it that you won't already know or, if you don't yet, you will soon (and if not, I can't teach you). Collateral is about the same things that all great cinema is about: about chance and destiny, about free will and determinism, about life and death.
After another disappointing meal (French cuisine is so over-rated), we go to Susan's 30th birthday party in the cellar under the Fifth Bar, rue Mouffetard. It's an OK evening, but, once again, I have the facheuse impression that I am completely invisible to women. Or, no, not invisible (I am, after all, 6'6" tall), but that I am immediately anad definitively classified by their radar as an object of no possible interest. It is as though I am either unambiguously gay (but, again, no: women like gay men) or else some kind of monster.
As usual, then, all my most interesting conversations are with men. I talk at length with some guyabout the difficulties of playing Beethoven piano sonatas, with another about why he likes being alive. Why is it that men respond to my searching questions with gratitude and expansiveness whereas women respond with terror, evasiveness and, most frequently, flight? Whata is it I'm doing wrong? (Again, I know the answer, have been told many times: the way to be successful with women is to act like a wanker, but I'm afraid i'm not prepared to sacrifice my soul in this way and, anyway, couldn't if I wanted to: it doesn't belong to me (another lesson learned in the cinema).)
'I hope I make it to a warm heart
I hope that's where I belong
I hope I don't run out of breath
Where the washed-up are hung'
American Music Club, 'Home' (this song is fast becoming my anthem)
Fri: Schola Cantorum de Reykjavik @ St. Sulpice w/EVK.
Sat: Watch Collateral again with K. There's not really a lot I can tell you about it that you won't already know or, if you don't yet, you will soon (and if not, I can't teach you). Collateral is about the same things that all great cinema is about: about chance and destiny, about free will and determinism, about life and death.
After another disappointing meal (French cuisine is so over-rated), we go to Susan's 30th birthday party in the cellar under the Fifth Bar, rue Mouffetard. It's an OK evening, but, once again, I have the facheuse impression that I am completely invisible to women. Or, no, not invisible (I am, after all, 6'6" tall), but that I am immediately anad definitively classified by their radar as an object of no possible interest. It is as though I am either unambiguously gay (but, again, no: women like gay men) or else some kind of monster.
As usual, then, all my most interesting conversations are with men. I talk at length with some guyabout the difficulties of playing Beethoven piano sonatas, with another about why he likes being alive. Why is it that men respond to my searching questions with gratitude and expansiveness whereas women respond with terror, evasiveness and, most frequently, flight? Whata is it I'm doing wrong? (Again, I know the answer, have been told many times: the way to be successful with women is to act like a wanker, but I'm afraid i'm not prepared to sacrifice my soul in this way and, anyway, couldn't if I wanted to: it doesn't belong to me (another lesson learned in the cinema).)
'I hope I make it to a warm heart
I hope that's where I belong
I hope I don't run out of breath
Where the washed-up are hung'
American Music Club, 'Home' (this song is fast becoming my anthem)
VIEW 9 of 9 COMMENTS
trixel:
aaronsrod:
Just dropped by to see what you have been up to and to say hi. 