One day, we will stop sleeping together.
Actually, any one of our encounters could be our last. You could get sick of me at any moment. It's not very likely that I will get sick of you. It is not that I can't find anyone else--the contrary, in fact, did you know that I have had five lovers at one point in time, yes, I just stack them on if the situation allows.
Anyway, I fear for us. I feel the end is near. At least we have had a good run. We have seen each other at least five times now.
I remember looking over at my trash bin after sleeping with you for the first time, thinking "wow, his semen is in my trash bin."
Surely a lady knows where to draw the line, but I don't, I always write everything, I might as well address it in a letter to you but I post it publicly online instead.
The other day, my friend and I talked about sex, and he used the phrase "snail trail" to describe the wetness from a vagina. I liked that term. I just wanted to share it with you.
Vanessa
11.23.2011
11.17.2011
Zoetrope boy
The sadness begins creeping up in November.
Last December on the road to Los Angeles I texted you. I didn’t even know your name yet. I had you in my phone as “J——-.” The thought of making small talk with you now seems unattainable, it’ll never happen again, I can’t believe I once did it so nonchalantly—whether you even remember my name, I can’t say confidently, although I know you remember my face because I ran into you in a cafe (three times) last month, or maybe it was September, and you ran, ran out, or rather you walked out quickly, because Oh shit! it’s that girl from forever ago.
I met you at Cafe Zoetrope two weeks after I returned to San Francisco. What had happened- one night I was watching Lost In Translation, texting you, we talked about Sofia Coppola. You asked me if I had been to Francis’ Cafe, the Cafe Zoetrope, everyone has their own relationship with the Coppolas. No, I hadn’t been, and so there were our plans.
Imagine identifying as a lesbian for two years of your life, and suddenly one day you’re on the train, on the way to your first date with a guy in what seems like forever, because even before you identified as a lesbian, you liked guys but did not date any—the last time, you were 13, and does that even count?, and you are 18 now.
I could not eat that morning, in fact my stomach felt like it was eating itself, I couldn’t sit still, but your sporadic texts I received (the first one came after I woke up) excited me, I told myself to calm down but hell, my stomach was eating itself. It was maybe 2:00 pm, you were running late because some dishes broke, you had to clean them up and you had to choose what to wear (it was a black coat with skinny jeans, thinking back now I can’t imagine how much time it should’ve taken you to decide on that), I thought a lot about my outfit, looking back now it is funny because I do not dress like that anymore, though I still wear the same shirt, my favorite t-shirt, A Bout de Souffle, I thought it fit especially well since you studied film and so on.
I arrived early, I even had time to walk around North Beach, actually I was lost because I had never seen Cafe Zoetrope before, now I walk past it several times a month, appreciate its beauty, I ducked into a bakery to pick up macarons and asked the cashier where the cafe was. My god, when you walked through Zoetrope’s doors, I thought, he’s a Goddess! but wait, maybe that is wrong, I thought, I was still unsure of what adjustments came with being with a man—or a guy, a boy, sorry. So I settled with, oh, his legs and hair are quite nice.
The core problem is, I’ve always regretted that you were the first boy—had you been my second, third, fourth, etc., I would have identified your tricks, as I failed to do then… which led to sadness, because I liked you more than I should have.
It’s almost reaching December, which means one year since the first boy, my Zoetrope boy. There have been so many more after him. It is a little depressing, actually… I guess, how failed they have been, but after all, I am 19 now, who has anything solid at 19?, I may know a couple of people but the love they have is so foreign to me, I have never made love you know, I don’t know what it means, though I have been naked with a boy, I have never made love.
Last December on the road to Los Angeles I texted you. I didn’t even know your name yet. I had you in my phone as “J——-.” The thought of making small talk with you now seems unattainable, it’ll never happen again, I can’t believe I once did it so nonchalantly—whether you even remember my name, I can’t say confidently, although I know you remember my face because I ran into you in a cafe (three times) last month, or maybe it was September, and you ran, ran out, or rather you walked out quickly, because Oh shit! it’s that girl from forever ago.
I met you at Cafe Zoetrope two weeks after I returned to San Francisco. What had happened- one night I was watching Lost In Translation, texting you, we talked about Sofia Coppola. You asked me if I had been to Francis’ Cafe, the Cafe Zoetrope, everyone has their own relationship with the Coppolas. No, I hadn’t been, and so there were our plans.
Imagine identifying as a lesbian for two years of your life, and suddenly one day you’re on the train, on the way to your first date with a guy in what seems like forever, because even before you identified as a lesbian, you liked guys but did not date any—the last time, you were 13, and does that even count?, and you are 18 now.
I could not eat that morning, in fact my stomach felt like it was eating itself, I couldn’t sit still, but your sporadic texts I received (the first one came after I woke up) excited me, I told myself to calm down but hell, my stomach was eating itself. It was maybe 2:00 pm, you were running late because some dishes broke, you had to clean them up and you had to choose what to wear (it was a black coat with skinny jeans, thinking back now I can’t imagine how much time it should’ve taken you to decide on that), I thought a lot about my outfit, looking back now it is funny because I do not dress like that anymore, though I still wear the same shirt, my favorite t-shirt, A Bout de Souffle, I thought it fit especially well since you studied film and so on.
I arrived early, I even had time to walk around North Beach, actually I was lost because I had never seen Cafe Zoetrope before, now I walk past it several times a month, appreciate its beauty, I ducked into a bakery to pick up macarons and asked the cashier where the cafe was. My god, when you walked through Zoetrope’s doors, I thought, he’s a Goddess! but wait, maybe that is wrong, I thought, I was still unsure of what adjustments came with being with a man—or a guy, a boy, sorry. So I settled with, oh, his legs and hair are quite nice.
The core problem is, I’ve always regretted that you were the first boy—had you been my second, third, fourth, etc., I would have identified your tricks, as I failed to do then… which led to sadness, because I liked you more than I should have.
It’s almost reaching December, which means one year since the first boy, my Zoetrope boy. There have been so many more after him. It is a little depressing, actually… I guess, how failed they have been, but after all, I am 19 now, who has anything solid at 19?, I may know a couple of people but the love they have is so foreign to me, I have never made love you know, I don’t know what it means, though I have been naked with a boy, I have never made love.
11.10.2011
lee on the chinatown bench
as it turns out,
22 year old boys
don't have it any more figured out
than 18 year old boys
the oldest i've had is 26,
and on our date he whined about his sister
"she's 18 and
having a
baby
she doesn't
know
what
she is
doing"
i was also 18
but unlike his sister
i really
did not
know
what
i was
doing
22 year old boys
don't have it any more figured out
than 18 year old boys
the oldest i've had is 26,
and on our date he whined about his sister
"she's 18 and
having a
baby
she doesn't
know
what
she is
doing"
i was also 18
but unlike his sister
i really
did not
know
what
i was
doing
poem in memory of an afternoon forever ago with a boy forever ago
i like the idea of kissing in the streets,
eskimo kisses,
laying in bed in the afternoon.
i like being naked with you
i can't imagine my luck
opening my eyes and seeing
your tattooed arm there.
your
hairy legs
are so cute.
all mouth, all hands.
all of life's answers are to be found in water.
can i just have the
simple things?
eskimo kisses,
laying in bed in the afternoon.
i like being naked with you
i can't imagine my luck
opening my eyes and seeing
your tattooed arm there.
your
hairy legs
are so cute.
all mouth, all hands.
all of life's answers are to be found in water.
can i just have the
simple things?
11.04.2011
beatrice
beatrice dalle, actress
she strikes me as sort of a madwoman. so i like her.
i first saw her in olivier assaya's clean (starring maggie cheung) but i didn't really notice her until jarmusch's NIGHT ON EARTH. i finally bought the dvd last week and i've given it two views already...
by the way... how many times have i referenced winona's character, corky? so many times.
things wong kar-wai taught me about love
1. You will fall in love only once. Obstacles will prevail. The rest of your life is spent recovering.
2. Anything that distracts you from the pain of your loss is good. Some people are more successful in this regard than others.
3. Eroticising their objects will be the pinnacle of your sexual fulfillment.
4. Desire is kept eternally alive by the impossibility of contact.
5. The most potent way to exist is to occupy someone else’s imagination.
6. Technology will only heighten your sense of desolation making you more keenly aware that no one is trying to call.
7. Hook up with someone. Live with them. Sleep with them. Tag along. Don’t be fooled. You are only a transitory distraction. Ask for commitment. Declare your love. Watch the set up evaporate.
8. Some coincidences are deliberate.
this entry is by protohyped
films pictured
chungking express; happy together;
in the mood for love; fallen angels
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