Creative types
Where do they live? How do they find each other? And how do they stay true to their vision of what they want, when all others are surrendering to 'normal life', to TV and nothingness (like me)? Where are they? Where are they? Where are they?Y
A victim; probably I did wrong – I always think I do! Too much pressure trying to see if she was "the one." X is a sweet girl – but no great urge right now for anything more with her. E says stuff – but it's just words. And on my part – just sex. That's mostly all I want from these girls – Z included. And what more could I want? Companionship, fun – sure – but that all follows naturally (obviously I'm not getting involved with someone I don't like). P? Ah, P! Yes, I'm interested there! But too young, too soon – too emotional and dramatic! Six months – friends (yes, I always say that). Well, in any case…
Dear God
All of a sudden, oh Lord, I'm not sure what I'm doing.
It'll pass.
My head is full of the desert; I can't get it out of my mind.
You've been reading a book about Route 66.
I want to be there sometimes
What would you do there?
I need to write my book.
Yes.
I'm here for now.
Yes.
In a bar in Huddersfield
If this were
Why don't smokers realise that smoke travels?
And for my part? Yes, it's true, when I bought the car I thought, wow, isn't Y sexy, all Amazon and boobs – and the way she hugged…nice! X was a moody sod – lack of energy – reminds me of my mum, when she just lay in bed and I used to shout, mum, mum, get up, get up! E used to stay in bed a lot too.
Oh God, I can't sleep
Why can't I sleep? Because I went to bed too early. Because I drank green tea!
Because I'm thinking of P?
She is bad for me, isn't she?
Yes, I've been silly.
Yes, I should make some space.
But where does that leave X?
Nowhere – for now.
Maybe one day – but not this day.
Fuck P. Number 13?
Unlucky for some.
I guess.
Bristol airport
Dear P------,
I'm sorry about this but I think I've realised you're not going to be good for me; in that I probably don't have the capacity to handle caring for/loving someone who doesn't feel the same way about me. I think I would probably go a bit mad. As it stands, you're in my head all the time anyway – and that disturbs me somewhat; I mean, I don't really know who you are, do I? I don't know if you're honest, or trustable, or anything more than your average drunken student, which I at first thought you were. Yes, I guess I could get hurt; yes, I guess it could be dangerous, my giving myself to you. I wish there was a middle way but, this giving, that's all I seem to know how to do…
I'm going to try to put some space between us; that will probably feel like me ignoring you. Again, I'm sorry for that, I just don't know what else to do, for my own sake of mind – I mean, how else am I going to survive?
I still think you're awesome, and lovely and cool; I guess I should just know somebody better before falling for them. Like I say, I give myself away – just maybe I need to be careful who I'm giving myself to. I don't want to be hurt. I don't want to lose a friend. I don't want to be made a fool. I don't want to lose myself.
I need my head to be here, with me; at the minute it's all on you – but I don't even know who you are.
I was wrong. Sorry.
Rory
>>>
X,
X,
Tomorrow we'll see but already I know: at present, you bore me, and bring me down. Your incessant demands, your emotionality; your taking, and lack of giving, and aloofness and exclusion.
I want somebody that gives to life; I can't make you happy.
I'm a happy soul and I have things to give.
I love you, and bless you, and maybe see you some other time.
In the meantime, I set you free.
With love,
Rory
Oh, P's in my head – but faded fast. Now I'm thinking of X and once more…maybe. Hard to break it off for real – because there's nothing wrong with me; I rarely do anything bad; I'm a great guy. Open, too – so why leave, why stop it? I don't hate, I don't close the door – the door remains open, to those from my past, to those who have walked through it before.
"Do unto others…"
With P? She goes with another, I'll feel wrongly done by – therefore, I shouldn't do that either.
Making plans/keeping dreams alive (with X)? This could go on forever; I'm never going to say "no," am I? I don't have it in me; it's never going to happen.
But circumstances and geography dictate – I mean, what if – just imagine – I said "yes" – what then? Nothing. Not possible. S'just not gonna – can't – happen. I'm not leaving Leeds, or changing my life for
In the airport in
Well I guess that's it then. Hard to believe it's finally done. 4 or 5 years – and the rest – and now it's over. Quietly sad; perhaps should cry; should cry. A lovely girl, that X – s'just certain things, I guess. She's so weak; so almost not there. But I meant it when I said I hope she finds someone to love her, to make her feel better. She deserves it; I didn't enjoy seeing her that sad. And maybe…when we're older…no, I shouldn't think like that.
Sadness. P------. Oxfam. Life.
I'm 31 years old and I'm new again, fresh in the world. My other biggest goal of the last five years behind me.
5 years ago I wanted: X; a degree; to write a book; to be a teacher.
Three down, one to go…
But I have no career, no partner, no home, no real future…and you know what? It doesn't scare/bother me; it's kinda thrilling; it kinda tickles me.
Man, I hope this book things works out!
In the laundromat in
P – sex; fun time; laughter; talk. No, she don't want more than that. December 8th, she goes; doubtful I'll see very much of her from then until February.
So, enjoy, Rory. Laugh. Fuck. Talk. Be inspired.
Love? Sure, why not. Love life, love yourself, and love the experience – love her, if you want, that's okay. But don't let your love be more than love (ie, wanting, imagining, dreaming, controlling, denying). Love love. Just…love.
Easy. Less in my head now. Less needing to see her. Take it as it goes.
Nice.
Dreams
Dreamed this morning of Michael Palin, me seeing him in the street – "Michael Palin!" – and then going biking with him – sort of helping him out – and going on about my book, wanting to send it to him; him strangely resistant, yet coming back to find me in a restaurant after we'd become separated, umming and ahing over giving me his number. Don't know what that means.
Two nights/mornings ago I dreamed of Amma, her pushing me towards Mother Meera and sort of saying "she's the one – she's the Avatar." I went to her and asked her and she said nothing, which I knew was right, and then we chatted and this and that. She said, "do you want to see your body?" and I was expecting to see light – my body turn into light – or something, but instead it was like a long line of Chinese faces (that her face became). Felt good. Then she started confessing that she had sexual feelings for me, which I liked. Don't know what that means.
Also I dreamed P was a signed singer appearing on Jools Holland's 'Later' and maybe it was Dublin/Ireland, and I couldn't really get to see her. A bit odd. Don't really know what that means. Talent being used/recognised? Her me? A sign?
In an Oxfam shop at night
Oh Perdona! The sweetest, most loveliest, most alive and fun and sexiest girl I ever did meet, where have you gone? And what have I done, to say, "it's over," to say, "let's just be friends," to say, so soon and so suddenly, "let's put an end to what we have"? One minute, in arms, in comfort, in bed, the next virtual strangers, me remembering none of this, just a headful of your name, your face, a longing to call you and wishing you were just that six mile bike ride away again so we could talk it through and have a laugh and then do something silly and kooky and fall asleep some point in our green tea sleep and cuddles…
I thought, many weeks ago, that the day you left would be the end of it; I couldn't see you not getting with someone pretty soon, after we said our goodbyes, and I prepared myself for that. And, more so, what with my going on holiday immediately after your return, making it two months absence in total, well, what was the point? We had no relationship – you'd stressed that – so what was to keep it together? Nothing. And what alternative did I have? I don't want to hurt – to lose you – to share you – so, instead, I choose to be alone, and without you, and empty once again. Oh, how suddenly it comes from the days of Craig David and magical bonfire night and even, just last week, making our stories together…
Maybe you're good at that sort of thing, and used to it – I'm not. Maybe that's what the younger generation do, move free and easy, no attachment, no commitment, no sense of wanting or needing, just doing it day by day and, hey, if I roll up one night and you say, "how was your day?" and I say, "good, I spent it boning some girl I met last week," that's fine by you, as relevant as, "I bought a pair of shoes." But I couldn't do that, and nor do I believe could you – remembering the times you've wondered about me, going to Venice with X, writing about meeting someone "new" in my blog. So I ask you/the world/the universe, what was the alternative?
I need to feel free to write; I need to express myself unencumbered. You didn't want that – and yet it was precisely what brought us together. I need to say to the next person, "this is what I do and it's not going to stop" – they know what they're getting themselves into; it's their choice to make.
Oh, my heart breaks for you, for us – and yet you feel nothing. Can that really be true? Is that even possible? I suspected it wasn't – things you said, ways you acted, things you let slip (and there was plenty) – but maybe I'm wrong about that; at least, you'll probably tell me I am; maybe you were just teasing, and reeling me in, and doing it to get what you wanted. Or maybe I should take you at face value: "don't think there's more to me than what you see; there isn't." And yet, I don't and can't believe that; there's more to everyone – so much more – and I can't help but see it.
Talking's hard; I made a mess of that, with you, those last few days, and maybe I should have made more of an effort but you just never really seemed interested. Did it even cross your mind that we needed to say something, that we couldn't just part without a word? Or was it all in my own head? It seems to be – and again, I find it hard to believe; I mean, how can a man and a woman share times like that and never mention it, part again as though it meant nothing? Unless it meant nothing; unless it was just sex. Was it? I guess it was – from your perspective. I guess that's why I can't understand this, and find it so hard to grasp. I don't think I have that capability any more.
Oh, Perdona, yes you've bewitched and beguiled me, and left me feeling I don't know which way is up – and for that I'm unhappy, and confused, and longing for an answer. Yet, at the same time, of course, there was too much good stuff for me to even think about silly things like, "I wish it hadn't happened," and, "it wasn't worth it" – because I'm glad for it, and it was – things like the way I saw I could fall in love again, just when I was thinking it was impossible; things like the way you made me feel like such a nice and special guy, and a great lover, and smart, and funny, and talented, and good. And as for you? Am I just what you wanted and needed, in the short term, at least? Didn't you love someone but hate his anger, his emotional immaturity? And didn't you love another but hate his lack of expression, his absence of passion and spark? And did I show you those things in man – or did I just fill a hole, and make you feel wanted, and give you the love and the attention you desired?
"I'm very easy to love," you'd said, right back at the beginning, "I'm very lovable" – and it's true. But was I like a fly in your web, a bee drawn stupidly to your pollen? Is this lovability of yours real, and is it love – or is it your lure, your scent, to capture doomed sailors and leave them floundering on your rocks, having given you what you want? Thinking of you now I want to say not; I want to say that these are the words of my cynical, afraid mind – which is allowed expression too, if you may – and that I put them here not because I think them right, and not because I am unwilling for them to be wrong, but because they are in me, and in my head, and because they need an out; the only truth I know is that I don't know what's true; beyond that, today, I miss you lots, and am thinking of you, and am wishing you were closer, so that we could talk. You may laugh at that, and it may mean nothing to you – I may just be some older fool who is getting all worked up over nothing – but there it is; that is the truth – of this moment, at least.
A little bit later, having typed up all of the above
Goddamn, I seem to have forgotten how amazing she was! How I gushed when I talked about her with others, how I always used the word, "awesome." And how looking back it all seems kind of inevitable the way we were sucked and drawn together. Oh well. Life is confusing – and no bigger aspect of life than romantic love – and I'm not terribly good at it anyway, so…it's what's to be expected.
Also, I keep failing to mention my psychic said I might meet someone at the end of this year; I guess that's a part of it as well, a reason to stay open and not committed to something over the next few months (committed to what? there was never anything to be committed to in the first place, except my own sense of decency and morality).
Also, I talked to Z last night; my mind started to wander…
I've got a wandering mind and it's just the way I am and – oh, I can't help it! [Laughs] God love me the way I am or not at all! I still deserve it, shoddy though I be at times…
Basically this is all just an attempt to fix my own head - but at some point soon I'm going to meet someone and this is all going to fall into place, and make perfect sense, and I'm going to be grateful for the whole bloomin' lot of it, realising it was just what I needed, that the future couldn't have been possible without it...
Reading 'On The Road: The Original Scroll'
A few weeks back I thought I was pretty beat; now I don't think I am really - but that's not discouraging. 'On The Road' is iconic - but what is it really? Some bloke said, "that ain't writing, it's typing," and much as I love it I'm beginning to see what he means. That book fills me with fever; Neal is a classic character but what is he really? Would you want to meet him in the street, hang out with him, all jumping up and down and sweating everywhere and "Yes! He knows time!" and Bill Burroughs' drugs and all that sleeping around and madness? No, not me, not really - not since I was 21/22. Where does 'On The Road' go? Where does Kerouac's road lead? To kidney failure and insanity? Seems like he was searching for something that he never found - well my road goes there, and that'll be the difference. I'm less beat - less able to create that energy, those characters, that feeling and madness (I think) - but at least it has a point. I do like it still, though, pointless as it is...
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