Love Painted Here (The Original): 08/15/2004

Overly enthusiastic

I am too open, too enthusiastic, too trusting, too silly, and too much thinking that someone is interested in me as a person, when really, they generally are not. Or, they are, but then without reason or explanation, they back off. I suppose it is something I am doing, but lack the ability to figure out just what it is. Or I don't care to stop being myself. Or of course, it could be the men I bother to try to connect with, my choices are the problem perhaps. Or, it could just be bad luck. My first knee-jerk reaction though is to find fault in my own behavior.

Christina told me that my other blog (where I reveal my love life---or lack of one--- in glorious, sordid detail) is a "gift to all of us." When I asked her what she meant, she said that I am brave enough to reveal all the things about myself that no one else dares to say, but what they all feel and experience as well.

I suppose that's the point, at least somewhat, of why I write about it.

In the spirit of the title...

The Way of Zen Guitar is to play what you are meant to play, not necessarily what you want to play...You must reconcile one with the other or you will not make any progress on the path.- from Zen Guitar

I have resisted the notion that I should write about love. It seems so banal and inane. I mean, everyone writes about love. And most of that is bad writing, correct?

But it is much of what I write about. Sometimes funny, angry, and hopeful as well as despairing. I certainly have enough experience to write about. It is what I write about, whether I like it or not.

A Story: L' hotel Ho in Paris

So posting all these photos of Paris reminds me of the last time I was there (these are not from that trip). I went with two of my male friends and we all stayed in the same room together (after all, all we were doing was sleeping there---or trying to, since T snored out of control it was difficult---ok ok kiddng T! XO) in this nice little hotel just outside the Latin Quarter.

My friends had never been there before, but since I had, I didn't want to do all the usual tourist things. So we came and went on our own a lot. Well, of course there were men that worked at the hotel who just happened to notice me and notice that I was staying with two men and not hanging out with them all the time.

Being the friendly American that I am, I ended up chatting with two of the men on a nightly basis when I'd come back from whatever I was doing, alone. Both of them worked at the hotel. They were friends. Nadir, and well, I can't remember the other guy's name now so I'll call him Adel. Nadir was VERY handsome. Like, really nice looking and very sexy. Ugh. Bad news. And he was very charming and pushy. Double ugh.

Anyway, they were very curious as to my sleeping arrangements (I just let them wonder), had the impression from my accent that I was from Sweden (???huh???) and wanted to know if I married a Muslim, would I be ok with my children being raised Muslim? (You can see where this is going...) I think my answer was...I don't know...

Well. One especially sweet night, I came back all happy from seeing a lovely chamber concert in a cathedral nearby, and Nadir happened to be hanging around the lobby by himself. We chatted for awhile and then when I got up to go to my room (my friends were out at some nightclub of which I was not part of "the club") he walked with me to the elevator and then he made his move.

He kissed me. I mean REALLY kissed me. And I let him. Hey, it's Paris after all...what's the harm? So we get in the elevator and he steps back and takes his finger and runs it along my neck and says in the most sexy voice (and of course that dammed accent) "Brenda, I want to make love to you"

GASP! Oh no. Stuck in the elevator with beautiful man (with great name I must say) in Paris while friends won't be back for hours. What should I do??? I stared into his deep eyes and he tried to kiss me again. I let him, but didn't really kiss back this time.

Hey. What ever happened to taking me out for dinner or even just a few drinks, or even, geeze, I'd settle for a bottle of wine along the Seine (ah...spent many hours there with Hamid...boyfriend from school there...sigh...great story for another post). But just kissing me and expecting me to sleep with you? Well, I DO have standards. Not much (especially recently...heavy sigh...when will I learn?) but some.

So I didn't sleep with him (am just now kicking myself, thinking, well, what were you THINKING? silly woman). Boy, was he mad. I guess not too many women must turn him down (and I could understand why). He was indignant and standoffish with me the rest of the time I was there.

Of course his friend Adel was happy as a lark, because now he tried to play the sweet one. Talking to me like I was actually a real person, showing interest in getting to know me, and of course, not attractive to me in the least. But nice enough. Somehow he managed to get my phone number from me, and actually called me when I got home.

Adel and Nadir exchanged snotty words one night, over me, and Nadir stomped away. It was all I could do not to laugh. Really. I mean, neither one of them had any sort of chance with me. After all, I DO live an ocean away.

Well, when my friends found out about Nadir and my refusal, they were disappointed. "Why didn't you just SLEEP with him?" asked D. He was aghast that I'd passed up the chance to have wild sex with a gorgeous man in Paris. I think it was more that he wasn't getting any, and well, if one of could, then he wanted that. LOL. Silly men.

When we all got home, D and T had decided to call me the Hotel Ho. How nice (I've known them since 6th grade---so they are allowed). BUT I DIDN'T even sleep with him! I protested. But it does make for a charming story. Now I wonder if I had...well, never mind ;)

And lastly...view of the dirty but much beloved Seine

Paris from the top of Beauborg

Notre Dame and the Pantheon rising above Paris

Mournful statue

I wish I could have gotten closer to these two. Daddy and his little boy. You can't really see this, but the little boy is wearing little French striped pants. So cute! :)

What? No they are NOT! (I will not post a photo of his actual grave)

Oh yeah, we love him...those Doors, who knows what might have been?

Some helpful graffiti on the way to Jim Morrison's grave in cemetiere Pere la Chaise

Statue of Mercury (?) just upon entering Place de la Concorde (where met very nice French man named Basil, who related the history of the area to me, and just HAPPENED to know a woman from North Tonawanda :) Very strange, but I like that sort of serendipitous thing :)

Statue dans la Tuilieries

View of the obelisk (from Egypt) sur Place de la Concorde et l'arc de Triomphe from la Tuileries (spelling...too lazy to look up)

More Paris with Notre Dame in the background

Paris street from the top of Beauborg, heavily backlit by the setting sun. See all those little people?

Street mime (he's all dressed in silver and painted silver too)

Paris at night

I believe this is the Bastille in the background

Missing Paris...now for some B & W's from my second time there. This one is me about to apply lipstick in a restaurant on the Champs Elysee (sp?) (taken by Bernard)

Romance

Will someone PLEASE serenade me? I need this... ;) I don't need a boyfriend who can sing, just one with enough money to hire someone to sing for him :) I'll settle for arts appreciater. Or decent non-arts appreciater. Or just nice. Or just. Or....never mind!

Iraq

I just heard from my friend Jim (Hi J :) who's scheduled to be sent to Iraq after they send him to California for more training. This depresses me to no end. It sure makes whatever I am currently moping about seem like nothing at all. He just finished his graduate degree with me, and had 2 months left in the reserves but they activated his unit. They can't let anyone go now. Bastards.

Dreaming of Jewelry

I had a dream this morning about a piece of jewelry (only I would have a dream like this--lol). Someone in the dream was giving me my own jewelry, a large piece of jade as the centerpiece on a beaded choker. I had made the jewelry to sell, but for some reason this person insisted on giving it back to me (I don’t know who the person was). I resisted, and then, when I finally took it back, I realized, in the dream (I knew I was dreaming at this point---I think that’s called lucid dreaming) that this was symbolic. (I was also thinking within the dream that it was strange that I would dream about a piece of jewelry) This gesture, of giving me back this necklace I had made, somehow meant that everything I need is inside of me. Everything I am looking for, in other words, all the outer things that I think matter, come from within rather than the outside. I took it in reference to my creative life, since the jewelry is symbolic of that (I do make jewelry, as many of you know). It’s hard to separate the need for community through my writing and art, from the need for the act of creation itself. Sometimes anyway. I guess I want both. But I’ll continue to create, no matter what.

Revelation

Everyday she has loved you
there has been
a baby
growing inside another
your child
eyes
ears
lips
nose
forming
hands grasping
legs kicking the belly
you made
this baby
after her
after
her
and she did not know
that the whole time
she thought your relationship
was growing
it was something else
a baby
your baby
she didn’t know
until now
her head full
heart emptied
she has given birth too
though her love
nurtured now for ten months
is dead
gone
stillborn.

Daydreaming While Playing

"When I play from my mind I get in trouble."- Stevie Ray Vaughan

Sometimes I get into trouble when I am playing my own songs and singing. I know the music so well (because they are mine) that I start to think and daydream about other things when I am playing and singing. Don't ask how this happens, but it does. It's not good because then when I find myself back in the "present" moment, I frequently can't remember where I am at in the lyrics or music.

In order for me to remember my songs, they have to tell a story, and then I know what comes next. That's true for acting too, for me. I can't remember lines if they are chaotic and don't make sense in the bigger scheme of the play.

Well, Thomas Swan said that as musicians, we don't have the luxury of completely feeling the emotions of a piece, because we have a responsibility to the score, to the composer, to the interpretation. If you lose yourself completely in emotion, you forget the details of the music.

You must balance the two. Sometimes it's not so easy.

Ki

From "Zen Guitar":

Musicians can project their ki outward through sound. When you pick up the guitar, imagine your music flowing through the instrument like water through a hose. Spray the water to the sky.

I like this concept. The idea of ki or "life force." I remember one of my friends (who used to teach voice) told me once that instead of struggling with a high note---which means that you tighten up and try to press the note outward.

Instead you imagine the note spinning, not so much being propelled, but spinning inside your throat and then higher into your head. As though you are breathing it in. Not forcing it out.

Breathing in of the life force maybe? The opposite of pushing it outward (though when I play an instrument I definitely feel a force of energy moving through me---it's better than almost any other sensation in life)