15 Minutes Of Fame (Fitting Day)

I’m left in this windowless room
Me and Vi in each corner of this long table
Both in silence
Lost in our tasks
Lost in our minds
While the city wheels run full blow

We glance at each other here and there
We bond in our loneliness and patience
We stand by to stand by
We run to wait
We dance to the biz’s music
Going from forgotten to suddenly highly demanded

We can hear our circus on the room nearby
We hear the Polaroid snapshots
The incessant phone rings
The stressed voices overpowering each other
We hear the gossip whispers
And the models complains

I close my eyes
I can picture every one of the thirty or so faces hanging in there
Hanging on their hang ups

I fill up my empty minutes with Bukowski’s words
Between text messages, emails and radio transmissions
I look busy
But there is a huge slot of pulsing energy ready to be requested
I’m alert on the starting line
Yearning to feel useful
But they move in their own flow
They play their own song
It looks like a slow day

I stare at the blank screen
I surf the Internet
I read my book
I take small sips of water

I feel haunted by the thousands of clothes
Hanging on this sea of wardrobe wracks I’m surrounded by
I see them alive
I feel sorrow for their fate


They will soon be filled by pale skinny bodies
They will be running around Page Street and Seacliff Beach
Arranging themselves into their hangers curves
Resting their fabric into live skins
Searching for the right light
Posing for the cold lenses of a fancy camera

They will be live and colorful for the photos
Glamorized by accessories, hairstyles, make up
Each piece will have its own important denomination
Their names will be heard over and over again
With an entire crew running after them
Frazzled and screaming if any piece sneaks away for a split second

They will be fundamental
Ultimately, the show is about them
But human ego tends to often overshadow that priority

We’ll be seating around
Running into our overtime
While waiting for the fights to be over
And decisions to be made
They will make, the clothes will
They will be seen in Fashion magazines
And freeway billboards
They will stand tall on the stores walls

Legions of young girls will stare from close
Following their trend
Eager to look just like the girl in the picture
Thousands of young boys will stare from close
Watching their trend
Yearning to be with the girl from the picture

The hero clothes will be then just flat images
They will be turn into dimensionless portraits
Hoping to be seen by the piercing eyes of the fashion world

Their actual lives will be shortly lived
They will expire after the three shooting days
Mindlessly folded on their way back to their cardboard coffin
That will be buried on a dusty stock room of the headquarters
They won’t be worn again
They will be left alone in their melancholy
Remembering the golden hours of their fifteen minutes of fame

The Elephant

She comes out of her steel truck
Moving her sovereignty slowly
She walks calmly
Like she was one of us

She doesn't bother our mindless presence
She doesn't mind our differences

She is there quietly eating
And we suddenly walk in like a sect
Poking her
Taking pictures
Standing around like curious monkeys
Interrupting her peaceful world of instincts
With random commands and stupid orders
all it matters is our shallow satisfaction

She doesn't mind our hostile humanity
Dipped in sorrow and infatuation

She is there
Simply being

I watch her awareness
She looks distracted with her meal
But every civilian move is noted with a head nod

She's gentle
She subtly chooses to allow us being around her

I'm lost in her
Fulfilled with respect and curiosity
I feel her power
Her age
her wisdom
I feel her patience and peace
Massive as she is
Taking her time

She is here and only here
There is no past or future but instincts
All the years she's been on this earth

I'm standing in eerie
Intrigued by the life she leads
Wondering the world through her eyes and paws
I think about every single one of the scars she carries on her thick skin
I wonder how does she feels
How much she knows

There she is
So foreign to this movie crew
There right on top of her
Taking their Kodak moments with the elephant
While not seeing her at all

Humans
Don't they know
Don't they understand

I'm fascinated
More compelled to her than any human in this crew
Wishing I had a little more of her "elephance" in me

I'm left here
Wishing it was just me and her
Learning our similarities
Without intruding our differences

Me and her
Just here and now

Me and her
Just being

Spell

You know what it's the fucked up part
I truly know that you ought to be part of my life
There is no way out of this certainty
It simply is
I can feel it right here in my gut
I can't run from this knot in my chest
It's freaking intense
It's like a spell

I've tried to deny it
Fight it
I've tried to erase with replacements in every level
I've tried to talk to myself out of it
And find the origin of this feeling that must be mad
Must be unfounded
Must be some kind of a rejection complex or something like it

But then, underneath all my self battle
There is this storm brewing in my core every time I think about you
And lets be honest here
It happens all the time
Everything brings you to my mind

I just want to turn the other way
And move on
I want to say the hell with all this bullshit
Truth is he must not be into me
It's just all crazy shit in my head
I got to walk away
But then, when I'm almost starting to believe it
The feeling comes back even stronger
Compressing the entirety of my body from within

See, it's right here
I've been feeling it
Since the moment I started
Thinking about writing these exact thoughts
Here in this blank screen

I lose my breath a bit
My heart beats faster
I feel uneasy
My whole body squeezes
It's physical
Still, it's not painful at all
It just feels like a deep sense
A knowing
A certainty

It makes me wonder if that's the kind of feeling
A psychic has about things
It's a clear intuition
It doesn't recite words
It's not a voice in my brain
Either makes a logical sense of any sort
It's just is

And even if time goes by
And people come and go through our lives
Even if we forget each other
And life takes us into different paths
Somehow I know we'll eventually be part of each other's lives
And it will be sooner than later

We are bound to be together

My Predator Half

I've been feeling like a predator going through my 1/3 life crisis
I've always looked at men with perverted eyes
I take an incredible pleasure from observing them
I can feel their grips and how their hands run through a woman's body
I can picture their smile when in love 

and all the tenderness flashing out of their lingering eyes
I can feel their pain and happiness
Their cries of broken heart or broken dreams

I can see the child in them, and also the tiger within

I imagine how they whisper when making love
Their hoarse voices in the morning
I watch their calves going up and down the streets
Their forearms holding tight to steering wheels
I picture them naked
I imagine them jerking off in their dark bedrooms, living rooms, showers
I think about what kind of horny thoughts trigger their minds
How their bodies shiver when they cum
I love men and their details

I can now tell from far the thrivers from the complainers
Those who shut down when hurt
Those who go right back into their teenager fighting tools
Those who use their sorrows as character builders

I can smell their methods from miles away
But I've been arrogant in my wisdom
I may soon get broken in 

from the high I'm getting off this pseudo knowledge

And this is where my 1/3 life crisis begins

I want to eat and be eaten by them

I want to explore and discover men like promise lands

I want to possess and be possessed

And all that sounds great

Problem is that age and, consequently, experience (blah)

Has brought this extremely high standard 

As if there were no men perfect enough for my imperfections

He's not smart enough

He's not handsome enough

He doesn't like his job

He's not creative

He's too artsy

He doesn't have a twisted sense of humor

He jokes too much

He's too proper

He is not philosophical enough

He's too trashy

He's too trendy

He dresses badly

He's too metro

He's not cultured enough

He's a snob

He's not sexual enough

His kiss is not my kind

He's too sloppy

He's not bad ass enough

He's just a bad ass and nothing more

He's not affectionate

He's too into me

He's not into me enough 

There’s always a red flag to be found not allowing me to fall enough to at least get some ass out of it, I mean dick. It's been almost a year or so since I’ve had fallen for one, and it's not like I'm looking for a boyfriend, or maybe I am and I'm just too cynical to accept my own romanticism. 

Paul has warned me, I still insist on acting on a mindset that no longer matches my level of maturity. I keep denying I’ve grown up. I try to fool my brain, but my body stops me. I don't even get wet anymore, and, I mean, I'm attracted to the men I go out on dates, but not enough to take it to the next level.

 

I went on a road trip full of porn fantasies excited to turn my masturbation dreams into action. There he was, hot and available, eager to jump all over me. I couldn't even get a hard on, and by that I mean myself. He, on the other hand, stayed hard all weekend. I didn't even try, one thing there is no way I can do is the charity fuck (not anymore). 

I got back from the road trip not only hornier, but with frustration added to the hot pot. So what now, am I waiting for the right guy, even if just thinking about this kind of bourgeois mentality makes me puke a bit in my mouth? Am I the suburban princess with marriage dreams? Have I been brainwashed?

 

I got a fuck buddy. A man who serves me whenever I feel the need. He's as hot as it gets, lives nearby, one call away. In fact, I heard something about him the other day that made him even hotter — apparently, every vanity girl in the industry has been trying to get under his pants, so far, no one has won the trophy. I’m secretly the lucky one, although I treat him solely as the obscure object of my desire. Yes, yes, I must admit, I considered him for the boyfriend post for a second, but he was quickly demoted to the boytoy level since I’d given him a chance and he didn't managed it well.

Back to fuck buddy basis: he walks in the door with entrée and dessert. We drink wine at my little dinner table and laugh under dim lights. He washes the dishes and immediately gets naked in one smooth move, all his clothing falling off in a matter of seconds. I find it endearing. He stands bare in my living room with a bright smile and emerald eyes full of tenderness. It makes me love him for the time being. I take him by the hand and lead him to the slaughterhouse. We spoon and watch a few episodes of Family Guy. making out while still paying attention to the TV show, long kisses interrupted by laughter. We eventually get lost in our bodies, turn off the TV and fuck for a while. It used to take longer. He couldn't cum for a while We eventually figured out that Planned Parenthood condoms sucked, with the new upgraded Whole Foods Japanese condoms we are done in half hour or so. 

I used to have more fun with him, it's now finally getting old. His ripped body has been looking dull to my predator eyes, his smile doesn't soften me as much anymore. I guess, back when I considered him as a potential boyfriend it had more to it. I used to feel a buzz around him, now it's just a hard dick who kisses really well and comes with a smoking body, a delicious laughter too, he does have a very sweet child-like streak. See, when I put down on paper, he's great, everything I could ask for, but I just don't get the thrill from him anymore.

We used to spoon, but lately I've been only forking him.

Farewell

I spotted him first thing in the morning. I approached him randomly about some parking matter and we simultaneously had that split second that runs for what seems to be hours, when you first look into someone's eyes that you can feel there is a storm brewing your way.

The five day traveling job suddenly became exciting, and it was still 4am into a foggy first day of shooting.

Initially, I ditched the dirty thoughts with reasonable explanations to my reservations about dating coworkers. I avoided looking. I kept myself busy. I noticed him again. And again and again and again. He would seat right next to me and look straight into my face and chuckle while asking me something. I was trying to focus on the job. I tried to be short on my answers and not look at him too much. I looked.

He was gorgeous. He had taken out the beanie and the jacket since we're inside the location, by that point. His jaws had a strong square angle and his puffy lips hugged his almost childish smile. His teeth were slightly crooked, what made him even more endearing. His scruffy dirty-blond beard looked so soft it begged to be rubbed against my lips and his emerald eyes pierced through my thoughts. He was stunning. Every muscle of his body was the right size; his posture neared a Greek God. He did have his share of Greek. He was Croatian, from a far far away Island of the Adriatic Sea. He was built and tall, and genuine and somehow even pure. He was a grown ass man. A men's man, malicious and flirtatious; tender and dangerous. He was enigma.

I needed to hear him. I needed to get to know him and look out for every red flag I could find to excuse myself from falling into another precocious relationship.

We ran into each other at a convenience store after work. He tried to scare me from behind an isle but all he could get was a huge smile popping out of my face. There was no way out. This train was bound to glory.

We kissed that night. I've run into a different coworker at the hotel elevator after the convenience store encounter and ended up heading to the room everyone was hanging out. Soon, I came to find out that the room belonged to my Greek Statue. He came out of the shower in towel and stopped for a second startled that I was right there hanging out in his room. He chuckled. He had that "you know what I'm thinking" look, I'm pretty sure I had it too.

Everyone eventually left, and as predictable as it gets, in about ten minutes we are all over each other. I liked being under his body weight; I liked his kiss, his taste, his smile. I decided to head to my room before it got out of hand, just so I could save some anticipation for later. I didn't want to have it too easy; I didn't want to lose my curiosity that quick, not with him.

The job went as well as it could get, even though we went through some heavy rain and even hail, all it mattered was that he was always close by to inspire my naughty thoughts.

Every spare moment it was all about watching him work
Him carrying his Art Department heavy shit around
Him with a screw gun or a chainsaw working on wood projects
Him driving that 5 ton monster truck like a Mini
Everything so small compared to his scale of man power

His masculinity intimidated me
And that couldn't be more of a turn on
I've never expected to get wet watching a man chew and spit tobacco
He made me. Again and again and again
His voice on the radio
His interaction with his coworkers
His way of just being
Everything about that man was a massive turn on to me

So it comes out that he's my neighbor
No, seriously, blocks away kind of neighbor
Which makes it that much easier to turn it into a weekly basis thing
Escalating to a many times a week kind of deal

We have fun
We ran together
We had brunches in cool cafes
And dinners we cooked for hours and hours
We love desserts and we were always hunting for a new one
We watched Seinfeld and Family Guy like we had never watched it without each other

We traveled separately
And missed each other like crazy
But we shared that with each other very subtly

We fell for each other but we played it
We longed the same things but we hid it
We wanted more but none of us brought it up
We secretly knew it
But we were too cool to be the first one to give it away

Then our time expired
The games and the lack of sincerity ripped us apart
We built a dull routine
Of no first-hand answered calls and late callbacks
We became unavailable and cynical
Eventually, all that was left was the reminisce of what it could have been

It's too late
We both know
We don't want to let it go
We don't want to let it go
We still see each other

It's been almost six months
It's been too long
I now want to let it go
I still have fun being around him
But it's not enough anymore

So long, farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Goodbye

BOYS

He is trying to impress me. I can tell by his always halfway-open eyelids reinforcing his cocky way of letting the words come out of his mouth; it is all part of his mating technique.

He knows from the start he can’t actually ever have me, so he avoids, as best as he can, wanting me. Still, I can see through the smoke he insists on blowing; he wants me. Or at least, he wants me to want him. I have fun watching him playing me. He complains about my proximity but keeps himself around at every possible occasion. He disdains out loud the things he is secretly compelled about me. He stares when I’m not looking. I’m looking. I make him nervous; he moves faster when I’m around and often makes clumsy moves.

I enjoy the twisted power I have over him. I let him believe he owns me. I almost wish I were into him just so I could fall into his amateur trap and fulfill his macho fantasies. I wish I could build him, but I’ve been over that “saving men” part of my life for a while. I’m not into him, but I like being the obscure object of his desire. It takes me back to my younger days when men were admittedly boys and I was naive enough to believe I was smart enough…just like now. We never are smart enough.

He throws angry elaborated sentences out in the air totally uncalled for. He moves things around in the truck and shifts his balls from side to side consistently. He lights a cigarette intensely and blows the smoke slowly, looking into nowhere. He’s choosing his moves. He feels rough. He busts out a blazé attitude not convincing enough to overshadow his concealed enthusiasm. He asks things about me indirectly and every comment I make echoes in his brain; he keeps bringing them back.

He picks up a six-steps ladder from the gate of the truck and throws over his left shoulder in a quick move; the lit cigarette is mounted on the side of his mouth, smoke coming through the other side straight into one of his eyes, which is now squinting. He holds the ladder with his left hand, squeezing the cigarette between his right hand index and middle fingers while pulling it away from his lips. He rearranges the ladder on his shoulder and about two inches of his midriff sneaks out of the shirt. I can see his pubic hair running up into his abs. I keep checking him out through his whole train of actions. I know he knows I’m watching. I allow him to know. I like feeding him.

- I’m used to this kind of shit…

- Showing off to chicks?

- Caring ladders.

- Fireman?

- ACs installations, had to carry a lot of heavy crap.

- Oh, wow… – I chuckle within.

- Yep... I’m a cop though…I mean, I could have been.

- How did you end up on a movie set?

- I went to the Police Academy, you know. - The words "Police academy" announced in surround sound - I did it for over six months… I almost finished...three months and I could have been done.

He starts carrying the ladder away to set, and right before disappearing
behind the working trucks he shouts:

- And I was a Boy Scout too!

Intuition

You got to trust your body
To pay attention to the things you know
Even before you're able to understand them

You must follow your gut
That tight knot in your core
Squeezing all you insist to convince yourself
That is too early to believe

It's within
It's right here
Listen to it

Road Trip

Lets go to a Hotel
Fuck
Hike
And eat well

Backdrop

So I'm here staring at a set being built, watching the process of prepping a project and thinking about our process, our project.

First, I must say, it feels so good to have you as the backdrop of my days. You are always around my thoughts, constantly intruding the live animated foreground of these singular scenarios I float around. You reside in my brain, dancing through the seven holes on my head, swimming freely through my currents.

Still, I'm once again, a bit uneasy about your up coming visit. Never worrying about if things go well, but dreading the possibility of lacking chemistry. It's almost like I'm resting on the taste of you in my mouth, so pleased with the idea of watering this garden of giant sunflowers, that just considering the idea of looking at you and not clicking into all my perverted thoughts makes me cling. Chemistry does hit right away.

There is a lot to do with life baggage and past experiences; it has to do with opening my vulnerability and investing my heart into someone that I don't even know how it feels being around. And honestly, it has a lot to do with the longing for sexual compatibility - which is major- , because a friendship is obviously already here.

I'm afraid of picking you up at the airport and wanting to run the other way and not knowing how to walk away, if that's the case, without creating an awkward situation.

Jeez, I feel silly for over thinking, and I'd love to freeze these fearful thoughts into ice cubes, but I guess it's natural to hesitate due to the circumstances.

There is much I haven't told you and time will come to share those thingies, only then you may finally grasp where all these cloudy feelings are coming from. In the mean time I'll keep welcoming you into my sea.

Let it be!

Long Distance

Seating aside, picturing me and you laying in bed, getting lost into each other's eyes; me and you just learning each other's tides, gently peeling our layers.

I'm here yearning the texture of your touch; the sound of your laughter rippling through my ears, the taste of your tongue in my mouth.
I've been wondering how warm is your kiss.

I feel that certain rawness of an infatuated soul. Getting truly involved requires vulnerability. I've been drunk of you.

In my brain I save vivid portraits of your expressions, mannerisms, your ways of being you. I think about you floating around your world, riding your bike through rails, walking up the hills, talking to your peeps, focused in your classes. I wonder what color shirt you're wearing, how does your jeans seats into your legs and hips, what kind of shoes are hugging your feet.

30 more hours until I duck dive into your arms.