The longer I know Cleopatra the more I realize my own foolishness and weakness for not allowing myself to see her true nature years before… I don’t think I have ever met someone so full of it. if she doesn’t need anything she is quiet. non-communicative, not there for me at all. but when she wants something, she will call and be so nice on the phone it is as if she is a different person. now I don’t even listen to her when she calls. don’t ever get sucked in. I used to really internalize her problems, her pain, her sorrow of being. Always trying to be there for her. as a protector, as a father figure. But now… I can barely even listen to her when she speaks. I just feel almost no sincerity coming from her at all. I have an amazing array of close friendships with ex-girls. Very lucky in that. don’t know where I went wrong with Cleo. Don’t know if there was anything I could do different really. Last year on my birthday she called me ten times screaming about something or the other, not even aware that it was my birthday…. six years with someone and she is so absorbed in her day to day drama that she doesn’t remember its my birthday until I remind her…. of course she felt bad and emailed a million times afterwards apologizing… but it was too late… that was it really…the end of the line. it was the last time I ever took her seriously. for the last few years I really tried to hang on to Cleopatra because we were so close for so long. I think it was selfish on my part. Feeling that I really needed to be good friends with all my exs. But now I don’t even care. That’s a rather shallow goal in and of itself. I believe now that it is more important just to be friends with the people in your life who are really there for you, whether you spent a lot of time with them in the past or not. move on. It doesn’t mean the time we spent together wasn’t good. because some of it was. but now is now. then was then. good lesson. Some people we are not meant to spend our whole lives with… even as friends. I know this also because the Italian Stallion doesn’t speak with me anymore. We live less then twnty blocks from one another but we just never speak. Who knows why. but I respect it. honor it. move on. Doesn’t mean I don’t miss speaking with her. but you know, that’s life. in our hearts I think, in our dreams, we still hold a very special place for everyone we have ever been close to. they are there in our hearts and in our mind’s eye always and forever.
Look, I love you. I love what we have. this… is sacred. You hear that.
But you understand that I am an artist. Right?
And you know what that means?
I don’t know what you mean. I think I do.
But I don’t know if you do really. And it makes me worry about you.
You don’t need to worry about me.
But I do. its not easy. I mean… being with an artist… I can’t be like other guys. do you know that?
Yes. that’s what I love about you.
I know. you love that now. but you’re going to grow to hate it.
How do you know what I am going to feel like? Why don’t you just let me be me?
O.k. I will. But you know how I want to go live in France for a while and live this artist’s life? and to Africa? And to Amsterdam?
Yes. and I want you to do that.
But you know. there’s more to it than that. you know.
What do you mean?
Well what I mean is that its not all just about going to school during the day to learn a foreign language and recording in the studio and sitting in a café to write for a few hours. I mean. its really throwing your arms around the world you know. its about love affairs with nameless girls and stumbling home drunk with an empty bottle in your hand in the middle of the night kicking mud puddles and whistling after some debauched romp in the hay with some girl you’ll never see again…
Are you trying to disgust me?
No. and that’s my point. To me that’s not disgusting. Its beautiful. its inspiring. that’s the stuff that songs are made of. And I am afraid that I need that. and I don’t want you to be hurt. That’s what I’m trying to say. And that’s what I’ve been trying to say for months now… and I haven’t known how to say that to you without hurting you or jeopardizing what we have. because I love what we have. but I also love who I am and who I want to be…
Well how does this fit in with your goal of wanting to get married and have children?
Well, it doesn’t. and I guess that’s why I’ve never been married… and maybe… I don’t know… I guess I would have to get that out of my system first wouldn’t i?
Yes. I would hope so.
And I thought of dear julia. The only girl I have ever known who would hear something like that and respond ‘well for gods sake go do it and have fun and tell me all about it when you get back…’ God bless dear julia. If julia isn’t the wife she certainly is the perfect soulmate. And for the life of me I cannot shake the fact that I am absolutely fine with that.
Ok, so not all is hunky-dory in the world of Iran. Or even close for that matter. I don’t think anyone is saying that this a tranquil place of American loving peace loving hippies. just read this article entitled Iran and the Palestinian War Against Israel: Implications of the Karine-A Affair, By Michael Rubin. It can be found on the Internet. The point is that Iran is now sponsoring more terrorism than ever. I don’t want peeps thinking that because I was speaking up against the deceptive practices and injustices committed against Iran by the United States that I was saying that the current regime occupying Iran is a good one or that I am in any way supporting who they are and what they stand for. for all we know or the people who have lived under this regime for the last twenty years things are just as bad as they were under the shaw who they overthrew. And the worst part is that the people there now, they get arrested and whipped just for simple things like playing cards, drinking alcohol, having parties at their homes or listening to western music, wearing jeans, or going out into the streets “uncovered.” Absolutely crazy. you want to hear something really whacked? The chicks there man, if they are accused of a crime they can be arrested, whipped and then executed. But by law you cannot execute a virgin… so you guessed it… the men in charge first marry the girl, then have sex with her, then send her family some “dowry” money (often as low as $5) and then they execute her. this can be for something as simple as speaking up against the government or the Muslim religion. Crazy indeed. For all its corporate greed, blatant media lies, cover-ups, and manipulations, and crass commercialism, America seems not half bad at all in comparison. Of course that’s the way its always been and that’s why we love the old red white and blue so much but that doesn’t mean and shouldn’t mean that we should overlook our own problems here either. Long live the revolution.
Current spin: lenny Kravitz, baptism. This is his BEST ALBUM SINCE LET LOVE RULE!!!! BUT BETTER!!!! THIS ALBUM ROCKS.
The Iranian Princess Little Tree came to stay for a brief 48 hours. One of our secret rendezvous. Just the two of us in this tiny New York city apartment.
There is something very special about our connection, even though there is a fifteen year difference in our ages, there is just something there that is sacred and karmic in it. we have never had a physically romantic relationship. It has always existed in platonic way. a very loving friendly … God how do you describe that… like brother and sister except that you also love each other in the other way… But since our last meeting over the summer in Miami beach things have changed for us a bit… we are more accepting of our infatuation with one another. Still best friends… like children, more like college kids or something like that… but now we have begun to accept our mutual love for one another. With this strange unspoken underlying understanding that we will never be able to take it anywhere more than this… but still willing to explore it anyway.
We have to spend most of our time indoors as always, especially here now in New York, because of who she is and who I am. If we are seen it could be very dangerous for her, for me, and for some of her family who still live in Tehran. Imagine, the ex-Princess — or should I say ‘the exiled-Princess’ I ask her — being seen on the street, un-covered, and holding hands and kissing the American anti-God anti-government rebel and raconteur who calls himself Fishy. It would not be good.
Three days of getting inside, going deep, neurons firing, making love — The embassy is closed she says. Lying there naked. Except to the ambassador… she laughs. only the ambassador can enter the embassy… and I enter her…, coffee in bed, bottles of wine and cognac, crackers and cheese, chocolate, long walks down frozen New York streets and sidewalks in the middle of the night when we think we can get away with it. Beautiful brownstones and fancy shops passing us by. Puffs of smoke from my cigars walking with us. and she always with that eager curious enthusiastic smile about everything…
Walking around the apt naked, just covered in blankets all night… don’t look at me… in between long romantic and short-burst love-making sessions… don’t look at me… o.k. I won’t. laughs… burying ourselves in the other’s kisses…. licking each other like ice cream, in between reading passages from this book of poetry by a friend of ours, Dan coppersmith, The Elusive Here and Now. more chocolate. More wine. More making love. Lots of laughter, orgasms intertwined with tears. Tears of joy. tears of longing for what we will soon miss. Once more. as always.
But thank God we have this. for now. this is fine. This is good enough.
She tells me, “Coming is happy. Going is sad.” And she cries. I write it down. Here. now. And I write some more. I always write. Writing holds back my tears. Writing helps me make use of my emotions. Without writing I would be mad. you are mad she whispers to me as she peers over my shoulder to read what I am writing…
When we make love we enter this other world, I look down at her, her head cocked back, her body arched, her mouth open, we were just transported, transporting ourselves into these other worlds. The window is open… close the window. Are you crazy? Some one will see us. But I need fresh air. Are you trying to get us killed? Sorry.
Non-stop notes. I cannot taking notes. In between climaxes I lean up in the bed and grab my laptop… ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, ‘only for a minute, o.k.?’ and I type madly. Scrolling between different stories, different bits, different scenes, and different chapters I am simultaneously working on… the oracle from new year’s was right.. sparks flying out of my head…. the year of creativity and fulfillment, but only the beginning she says. But where is the fucking money? where is the fucking money? show me the fucking money.
She is crying again… but I remain leaned up in bed… typing…. ‘it is so confusing… I cannot figure it out… my mind wants to figure us out… but I can’t figure us out,” she is mumbling as I keep typing. She laughs…. and then she cries. “this is not a mind creation…. I can create without my mind.” She laughs and then begins sobbing again…. there is no chance of us ever figuring us out… I know this… but I don’t say anything. Our lives are too different. Too far apart…. we both know this… there is only us. here. now. “I will always remember this forever,” she whispers to me as she cries… but then she bursts into laughter, big open mouthed showing all your teeth laughter with her head cocked back. o.k. good.. I think… she is with me… she realizes the absurdity of it, the beauty of it… the ridiculous miracle that we are in each others lives…. she grabs me from behind as I am typing and sobs on my shoulder…. she breathes deep…. I will never forget this….. please stop writing…” but I keep pounding the keys madly as she sobs on my back and shoulders…then she starts laughing hysterically a few minutes later… I come to smiles…. “this is like a fellini movie!” she exclaims and laughs more… I type more, she cries and laughs more… “would you stop typing everything I say and do!? we are in a fellini movie! I cannot go home like this! I am going crazy. I have become crazy! I am crazy now, like you! you are insane and I have caught your insanity! She yells and keeps laughing. I cannot hang out with you anymore because I am going to become insane like you…
“its the coffee! She says. Its that damn coffee!” “I told you to make half decaf. Its too much fucking caffeine … its all just laughing and crying…. too much. that’s why I am writing so madly I think.. so I don’t go fucking crazy. how many cups did we drink? The whole pot. Oh fuck yeah too much. O.k. but still that’s enough. STOP writing. come lay with me. I will miss you.. I am leaving in two hours, come here… lay with me. o.k. one more minute I have to just write down that coffee thing we just talked about.. “non stop, stop writing down everything I say and do or I am not going to do or say anything more. I’m just going to lay here motionless and not say a thing….”
We spend a lot of time talking about Iran. Her home of Shiraz, and then Tehran. The Caspian sea. These are only words to us here in America. They have no meaning to us here. The most basic things that we take for granted here…. would be major changes there… just to have toilets in public – there you just squat over a hole in the ground; always worried about being kidnapped… people with masks on burning flags… I cannot imagine this here in our country… women have to ‘cover up’ – they have to be in full cover from head to toe, only their eyes revealed; I look at her and imagine her all covered up in robes and scarves… I get more turned on by her…
It is like we’re back in college. we barely leave the house, except late at night, so as not to be noticed. different things scattered about the floor. Bottles of wine. Empty boxes of chocolate. a bottle of water, palm pilots, cell phones, Avatar books, poetry books. Cds. I am in love with this moment. I am in love with the Iranian Princess and our own little world…
You see, once you spend time, deep time, pure time, with someone from Iran, or from Syria or Jordan or India or Pakistan…. you learn of their culture… of their lack of understanding of Christmas or Santa Claus…. there is something that happens to you… you lose the grip of it in your mind…. you realize how shallow our traditions are… all of us. not just us here in America, but all of us. humans. Our traditions are only OUR traditions. They aren’t really traditions at all. just little creations we make up in our own minds… in the moment of now we call history…. none more important than the other… I want to cry now. is there not anything sacred? She reads over my shoulder… we are sacred Fishy…. and she kisses my neck…
We have not slept for more than a few hours in two days… we are exhausted. But exhilarated to share each others company once again, even if for a few days.
Current spin: non-stop serge gainsbourg. French music playing in the background 24 hours a day. One of his early seventies albums. Ou de ’exterior. I am so French now that there will be no turning back. it is inside of me. as we say in Portuguese, ‘entra numa.’ It has entered me, gotten inside of me. I repeat everything I hear in day to day life back in French, translating constantly.
One more thing before I forget:
over the last four weeks, since the clock struck the new year I have been getting rid of things. whatever doesn’t feel right, I just discard. Give it away. clothes shoes candles even. towels, whatever is in my space that doesn’t feel right or reminds me of something I do not wish to be reminded of… I have learned something. things don’t matter. They just don’t.
But today in the coffee shop we stared into each other’s eyes —she has very sparkly bright blue eyes—-we talked about how that happens and how its just alright. You don’t have to get upset about it. that maybe even though there might be someone that you have to let go of because of various different reasons, you can’t be together, that you can still love them and cherish them. that maybe that is just something that is there. you will always love them, but you just know that it wouldn’t be good if you were together, so you aren’t together. But that’s all intellectual. Its an intellectual understanding. And its good to be practical like that. But in your heart you still love the person very much and you may still want to be with them.
So I’m not sitting in my thousand dollar Herman miller ergonomically designed chair in a plush thousand square foot office right now. Instead I am actually sitting in a forty dollar office depot special in a space with about sixty other people all of us sharing office space. Its pretty humbling. Its like I’m back to square one. But somehow I feel a sense of power from the honesty of the situation. And I have to confess here, although I know it may minimize the dramatic element, I am going to go grab my Herman miller chair and drag it up the elevator into this space. I think for the last few years I have been living on borrowed time. Living a life that wasn’t completely mine. The truth is that I own the building where my old office is. I can go there tomorrow and have my old office back. all my stuff is still set up in there. but I just feel like it would be going backwards. I need new scenery. New everything. Now I am really in my element. Starting from scratch again. in the empire building process at the very beginning…. I feel more like me. I will be wealthy enough within the next six months to afford my own huge office somewhere else, preferably in New York if I can figure out what to do about the band. This is the promise I make to myself. Now I am just one desk sharing a huge open space, and for now I like that. a private office is actually not that much more, but I just hate the idea of renting anything. Especially when I already have an office two miles away. But we can make a lot more money renting that whole building. And this is cool here. Everything is taken care of. Copy machine. Mail drop. Ups, FedEx, kitchen, receptionist, great view, fax machine, phone, Internet. And without a staff now, this is a fucking amazing set up. I just need a little more privacy.
Current Spin: Gino Vannelli- The Gist of the Gemini , Devadip Carlos Santana- Oneness: Silver Dreams/ Golden Reality