Alas... No, she has an apparent rock in her eye. It hurts, a lot. So after dumping half a bottle of saline solution into her eye, dunking her head under water and opening the eyelid, and various other silly little activities, the crying stops. I�m rewarded by a half grinning face with one beet red eye.
Okay, now that that�s taken care of, I�m going to go have a fucking heart attack now!
Unngh... So last night I get home around 2am, unlock my gate, unlock my door and enter my house. A sticky sinuous filament clings to my head and left arm as I walk through the door. The web is strong, I recognize the maker of this web to obviously be a black widow. The room is dark, I reach over and click on the light and start picking the steel like strands from me and notice a black bulbous spider crawling on my shirt sleeve onto my arm... For one brief moment I was a Hindu cow. Mesmerized by the site of this beautiful spider as it made it�s way onto my arm, fascinated.
Oh yeah, the next moment I was a panicking buffoon. I think I probably even screamed like a little girl as I thrashed and jumped around. �OMFG GET IT OFF ME!� Was probably going through my head at some point, I can�t remember. I was too amused with myself and at the same time desperately trying to save my own miserable life. Thinking back on it, it�s pretty damned funny.
I probably knocked the poor thing off in the initial spasm of panic but the steel like web wasn�t giving up so easy and my panic stricken mind wasn�t willing to sort out the sensory differences of a poisonous spider crawling over my body and a desperately clinging web.
So after removing my shirt, throwing it to the ground, flaying my body haplessly with my arms and jumping up and down on the shirt in a paroxysm of desperation, I finally stopped and looked around. Over by the door was this black widow sitting there. If I didn�t know better (do I?), I�d say it was sitting there looking up at me saying �What the fuck?!�. It even crossed my mine to maybe open the door for her so she could leave or maybe offer to get her some refreshments or something. I actually felt rather guilty for my poor manners. Instead? I just squished it. I can�t allow a vassal of my guilt to just be walking around making me feel even more guilty, can I? No, instead I wipe the guilt stain off the carpet and try to forget it ever happened. Er.. so why am I immortalizing it here? I�m stupid, that�s it.
Now that my heart rate is somewhat regular, should I go back to bed? I was hopefully going to shoot today but I�m not sure, I�m rarely sure. So maybe I�ll just go lay down and wait for the phone to ring, yes.. that�s a good idea.
Gobstoppers and pyrotechnics,
-G
4:12 p.m.
I broke down into a crying jag for probably the 4th time this week, I got out of the shower and just hit the floor sobbing. I�ve snapped out of it, obviously, but the event distresses me. I�ve always been known as a deeply introspective and thoughtful person. Typically, I�d find myself sitting for hours somewhere just reflecting on thoughts and events. These days I try and occupy my mind with as much candy as I can handle. If my eyes burn from reading I�ll even submerge myself in video games or movies or whatever I can do to occupy my meticulous mind from turning it�s focus inward. Obviously, this only works sometimes.
These crying jags make me think of my grandfather. Someone I�ve never talked about on diaryland, or really to many people at all. When he was alive he was always nice enough to me. I enjoyed some of the time I spent with him because he had a wisdom about him and a lightness to his personality that I enjoyed, that is, until he�d start with the whole god spiel.
A little background information on my grandfather... He abused my grandmother violently. Numerous beatings near death before she had the sense and strength to break away for good. After that, the blow of grandmother leaving sent him spiraling into self destruction. After a fairly severe nervous breakdown he found his strength in the church and was able to overcome his violent tendencies and view life differently. Even as much as I loathe Christianity to an extreme, I will admit that it has done some good. Unintentionally, of course.
So he was a good guy in the end. I didn�t really know much beyond that in regards to what he did or who he really was. He remarried an evil money grubbing whore of a woman and endured all of the abuse from her as if it was a sort of penance.
He died when I was 17. I saw him, perhaps, twice in the year leading to his death. Both times he would caution me when we met, saying �I�m sorry, don�t let anything I do alarm you, if I start crying I�m not really upset or if I start laughing, I�m not laughing at you.. I have these emotional jags, please forgive me.� I only saw one spell of crying, and it was a deep sobbing as he�d rush away to hide until the spell passed. He didn�t want the people he loved to see him like that, understandably. It was about a month or so after that he passed away due to massive stroke.
It was about a week after the funeral when I first thought of photography differently then previously. I used to view it like something else other people did and I appreciated their work. I thought that I wanted to be the person creating images for people to marvel at. I wanted to see the world through mm lenses too. I bought my first camera with the guidance of Molly, one of Blaise�s best friends at the time, on my trip up to South Dakota to visit Blaise.
It was a full year after that, that I had found out what my grandfather did after he retired from the railroad. He was a photographer in LA. A fairly recognized one at that from what I�ve found in the film from his studio. Countless movie and TV stars from the mid 70�s through the late 80�s before he retired. Hell, even my uncle Gary (the good one) was a photographer during the Vietnam war. All this news blew me away. I couldn�t believe it. My mother told me in tears, saying how she thought the spirit of my grandfather guided me and was so proud and how she wished I could talk to him about photography. If only I had known...
Anyway, this story has really no point other then sharing. I�m not sure what�s going on with these crying jags.. Things are slipping and breaking for me on almost a daily basis lately. Feelings of abandonment overwhelming me for stupid inconsequential things. This detached and utterly miserable feeling regarding damn near everything. And perhaps even more disturbing then my fits of tears is my desire for physical affection. I want to kiss a neck. I love kissing necks, feeling the press and the breath of the woman, soaking in her warmth and her passion. These thoughts typically draw me back to Susan. Probably because our relationship, or.. my relationship with her was the most intimate. Not saying we had sex more often then my previous relationships or the ones sense, that would be untrue. There was something more personal, as I said, more intimate about it.
I do miss how in awe of her I was. Her beauty varied depending on who you asked, she�s generally considered an attractive woman, some think higher and some thing lower, it�s to be expected with different tastes.. But I.. I thought she was the world. I never thought there could be any other more beautiful. She had flaws, like any human, but I loved literally everything with a burning and delightful passion. Make up, no make up, clothed in the finest silk or the cheapest t-shirt and sweats.
I don�t miss the relationship itself, no... While we had our amazing times, it was basically one disaster after another. The physical affection side of it though... Just the way she smelled, the way she felt. The smoothness of her skin and how she moved was... amazing. This is probably one of the prime reasons I clung so long to the ideal of her and I together. I didn�t want to lose this. Her touch could make the worst pain vanish in an instant.
I�m not yearning to be in love, or even to be loved. Yes, the frost of loneliness makes me shiver, much like the rest of the planet, it�s something I�ve learn to deal with over the years. I�m not even lamenting about sex, I could have sex tomorrow if I were so inclined.
I just can�t get the memories out of my head. Aren�t these supposed to glaze over with time, forgotten? They burn with an almost preternatural passion in my mind. I�ve no doubt I could share these things with another woman. I even remember Lyndsay, my last girlfriend rather fondly as she was sooo affectionate. It was different, of course...
I just want to hold someone and kiss a neck right now, why? It isn�t some vampire fetishism so don�t even think of it in such regards, that�s silly. I�ve always enjoyed a woman�s neck and the reactions kissing it elicited.
Well, no matter. I�m going to the desert.
-G