I saw Grass-eater two nights ago. He came to the mental hospital I went to. I did not even know he was coming because he did not write back after I told him that was the only place I could think of where I could forgive him.
I did not forgive him, because he put nothing in my bowl. I wanted a little sugar, or salt, or anything, but he poured me nothing. The “mediation” was unsuccessful. But the love of my life, when I first saw his face, the first time, or the 100th time, felt the same. It felt the same as the first time he kissed me in Golden Gopher. The man of my dream. The part of me, that still loved him and retained memory of him, was devastated. “She” was a so dead person.
I decided to therefore buy a pair of binoculars. I would no longer love anybody the same way I loved him for the rest of my life. I would however observe, just like other sickos in the old buildings, the rise and fall of love of these people in Downtown. When people love one another, and when they no longer love, and separate. And if this gets too poetic for a crazy woman’s blog, you need to understand, comedians have feelings too. Plus, I’m only a part-time wacko. As much as I enjoy being the “funny girl”, I do have a reliable car, a real job, loving supportive real friends, parents still married and loving each other, and perfect health. I have already deleted my early email communications with Grass-eater, but he did quoted “Your soul is oftentimes a battlefield, upon which your reason and your judgment wage war against passion and your appetite.” when we first met. Kahlil Gibran was right although the quoter however was in question. Sometimes, I happen to appreciate love feelings, and enjoy voyeurism.
So I have been ebay-window-shopping for a good pair of binoculars. I think “observing”or what you can call “stalking” is more acceptable in Europe than the U.S. Think about Kieślowski’s characters in Red and Amelie. Hitchcock’s Rear Window period is already so gone for the U.S. We are so suppressedly interested in others’ lives where there is almost no way we could know about them. As much as Grass-eater was a completely gentle, nice, behaving, appropriate Mid-western gentleman, he would fuck my ass so well the first time we casually met until I could no longer stand his x-large sized sex. This’s the world we are living in. Unlike the Japanese businessmen who put their fingers in the pussy of the schoolgirls or secretaries under their skirts in the subway, who immediately show up as the conservative businessmen / husbands kind after the train stops, it is just simply more fashionable for the American men to appear “open-minded”, “accepting” in a “diverse” environment, then fuck the smoking hot Asian mistress really well but marry the wife who doesn’t fuck them. This’s such a great healthy relationship culture in L.A. we’re living in with prejudice and superstitions disguised as normality.
I had not been fucking quite a number of guys for a while already by telling them that I did not like sex. I’m not sure about other women with issues but in my nut case, I’ll definitely be more interested in watching other people having sex with my future binoculars than having sex – with those men that I don’t give a fuck. You can’t argue against that, it really was true that literally I didn’t give a fuck to and about them. As much as I don’t want to admit, sometimes, for a number of reasons, we date guys we hate fucking, especially when we’re very fucked up ourselves, if you understand what the fuck I’m talking about. Oh, don’t I sound familiar?