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2001-08-02 / 11:04 p.m. ~He wants to sleep with me~ This is one of those three entry kind of days, I guess. I have a lot to say. Things keep popping in my head, I write it down, some of it, then I think of more I want to say, and all the time I am feeling strange. Here I am obsessing about Jeff Buckley, looking at pictures of him posted all over the internet, and god, he was beautiful. Really different looking, my kind of attractive, the exact kind of man I'm attracted to. I'm thinking how attracted I am to him, how horrible this is, not because he would normally be unattainable, rock star/celebrity kind of unattainable, but because he's fucking dead! Then I'm angry because he died the way he did. What was he thinking? What kind of "accident" is that anyway? Damn, next I'm going to get David Browne's book and read it and totally immerse myself in this person. And I will need to come up for air. Reminds me of Jim Morrison. Try reading all that's been written about him, try reading his poetry, listening to him recite it, listening to him sing, watching him on tape, reading No One Here Gets Out Alive - yeah, it's richer, he was crazier, but Jesus, the similarities are there. Hendrix, Joplin, anyone who died too young, who had so much, and died stupidly. Gone. And Buckley didn't leave enough, just this insane tease, this little legacy to suck someone like me in, make me crave more, but there is no more. It sucks. And I'm looking at him, saving pictures to my hard drive, and there is Robert, on Yahoo Messenger, all of a sudden, and he is talking about wanting another kiss from me, telling me he's decided he is ready to sleep with me. And I do want to hear it, I can't believe someone is wanting me, thinking about me, and I'm no longer invisible, and I am desirable to a man, and I could have sex with him, if I wanted. But I don't want. I want passion, I want mad, crazy abandonment, total involvement, losing myself in someone, wild intense, ravishing, totally emotionally insane, fill me up until I want to scream, sex. I don't want mechanical sex, the kind that makes me feel nothing. I know the difference. I know what I want, that's why I'm not getting it. I'm sorely tempted, I'm feeling like grabbing a handful of condoms and heading out, finding the first one who looks me in the eye and makes me feel something, something more than just wet between my legs, something more than just an ache that needs to be removed. I don't know what will happen with Robert. I am terrible to not just say, Look, I'm not attracted to you. I like you, yeah, a lot, we could be great friends, but I don't want sex with you. It wouldn't be what I want, I know that, it's clear, no doubt in my mind. Women know this. I know this. I can tell in the first few seconds if I would have sex with someone, and like it. If I'm going to feel it, I feel it. Jeff Buckley, were he still alive of course, yeah, I'd fuck him in a heartbeat. Robert? No. But it felt so good to hear/read him saying it, that he thinks about me, that he misses me, in his own crazy way. He still feels some kind of "connection" with me, and now he knows he wants to have sex too. Yeah, I won't stop him from saying it. More thoughts I couldn't let go of: I dreamed one of my co-workers was dead. This morning. V., out on sick leave, died, and her spirit was at work, she visited, and I could see her, and I was torn up, more than anyone else. They wouldn't let themselves feel, just went about their business, but I kept saying, "She's dead, I can't believe she's gone", and I was crying. It was devastating. Like when I worked at the bookstore and Venus was killed. I cried at her memorial, I was really touched at the euologies, at the speakers, at being in that gay church, all those beautiful lesbians paying their respects, and I missed Venus, and I cried. People asked me if we were close, "Oh, I didn't know you two were close", like it was wrong of me to feel. And I would say, "No, but it's just so sad that she's gone. I can't believe I'll never see her again". And I dreamed one of my cats died also, this morning. Double dream deaths. Gladys was gone and I was left with Norma and it felt so wrong, one without the other. One was missing, like losing a limb or something. It was a huge absence. The other thing I've been thinking about a lot lately, every day, is hockey. It's almost time for the season to start and I cannot wait! Thrashers send me email all the time, announcements of the schedule, the new players, who's been signed, etc., ticket prices, TV schedules, radio, etc. It's going to be so great to go to games again. It already seems like it's been forever since our season ended in April. Playoffs were great, but there's nothing like having your own home team, going to the games, the sound of the skates and sticks on the ice, eating those Bratwursts, and drinking my Bass Ales......the men. Oh yeah. Hockey, I love it! I can't wait to see this season's team play - so many new players......... I guess that's it. I'm going to watch Nicole Kidman on Letterman. Nicole Kidman, the one Lisa says looks "sick" because her skin is white. Lisa, the one with the coal black skin who thinks light skinned white people "could use some sun". Fuck her. Nicole is beautiful. Lisa's ugliness erupts from her otherwise beautiful outer core. I hope I dream of Jeff Buckley. Maybe I could concoct a dream wherein Jeff Buckley sends me a Yahoo Messenger message saying he knows he wants to sleep with me....and we can be angels making mad crazy love in a musical heaven. Cost of the War in Iraq
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