Sunday, 28 September 2014
Oooh, if
people only knew the yummines of the coffees I am making myself lately. Oh,
yummy indeed. The Nescafe decaf as base, half a teaspoon of prime dry chocolate
for the bit of a sour taste, other half of Irish Cream or Caramel roast for the
kick… Half of boiling water, a quarter of milk, cold, no foam, and the rest
water… It's like a mouthful of a kiss.
Writing,
reading, making photos, watching Call the Midwife… I know I am behind on almost
everything I do and I forgot an important meeting I was supposed to take.. The
dog is on house arrest, because she’s in season and a downright slutty slut. We’re
off to work at the farm in the afternoon… Lazy, lazy Sunday morning so far. I’ve
given the General a foot massage and made him a ridiculously fattening
breakfast, he’s snoring gently behind me and snarling when I fail to resist the
temptation to grab him and kiss him.
Am reading
the Fran Milčinski poetry, going from very upbeat to fuck-me?!-and-slap-me-twice
depressing. Gives me the right set of thoughts to write the downer bits of Goose.
Thursday, 25 September 2014
A bitchy cold nude shoot with Kimi and Ema
Shot some kooky, "hot mess" nudes with two little darlings - first Kimi, going for the elegant, introspective form and Ema, going for the Victorian macabre.. Except for the part where it was stupid cold (and we were expecting rain, ultimately which we had to forge), it was actually very pleasant. We were at some friends' of Kimi's, meandering high up in the hills above Hrastnik, very neat, very remote piece of green Eden.
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Wednesday, 24 September 2014
We were fooling around in the bathtub today, and I pretended to want to drown the General... That was pretty much like trying to drown an orange in a coffee mug. O.o
Then I had this year's last ice-coffee with bestie Tinka. I explained my problems, regarding the interviews, as I am facing them:
- I need a hardcore ambition to keep on a steady direction. So far the one ambition I had, I met within the first week. (Really need to aim higher. But where?)
- Do I lead or provoke people when they are being slightly dull or do I teach them a lesson when theirs will be mediocre stories? Or what?
- Do I try to force the pieces into a steady, familiar frame (10 questions + 1) or do I go with the flow, varying from Facebook correspondence type of debate to borderline exposé-s.
- How much do I pursue people I think will be cool for this project? Lure them, manipulate them, seduce them? This is like photographing a nude - the person's got to be into it, otherwise it comes out stuck.
...
And so on. The whole thing started a little bigger than I expected. I need to elevate my approach. Am just not sure in which sense.
Then I had this year's last ice-coffee with bestie Tinka. I explained my problems, regarding the interviews, as I am facing them:
- I need a hardcore ambition to keep on a steady direction. So far the one ambition I had, I met within the first week. (Really need to aim higher. But where?)
- Do I lead or provoke people when they are being slightly dull or do I teach them a lesson when theirs will be mediocre stories? Or what?
- Do I try to force the pieces into a steady, familiar frame (10 questions + 1) or do I go with the flow, varying from Facebook correspondence type of debate to borderline exposé-s.
- How much do I pursue people I think will be cool for this project? Lure them, manipulate them, seduce them? This is like photographing a nude - the person's got to be into it, otherwise it comes out stuck.
...
And so on. The whole thing started a little bigger than I expected. I need to elevate my approach. Am just not sure in which sense.
Tuesday, 23 September 2014
Did an interview with Jaka today, talking about bikers and diagnostics. Drej gave me a load of new furniture pieces, which we successfully transported from her place to mine, and so I re-arranged some of my workplace, in desperate need of new shelves. And by that I mean desperate. With a capital T.
She also gave me loads of shoes, cups, baggies and random stuff. It felt like inheriting a garage sale. Of course I was gonna keep it all for myself. :D
We had to skip the rehearsal last night, but Kristian and I talked about the scene in Goose, which takes place later after Morphei and Spotter hit it and Kay comes to find her. I'll post it, as I am fond of that scene. Kristian's interview was read by 120 people in 24 hours. For this town, that is trendy. Dad called to start the vine harvest talks. Of course he did. When they need something from me, they call. But I do miss him and would want, if not biography, to write a dialogue with him...
Been reading about how the WWII started, how the Poland was slowly and surely polluted with inevitability of terrible people coming at it like vultures on a carcass. It's a big book I'm in, with a million names and only two of those female. Am not sure what it say about a country that lost its independence three times. It sounds bad, but ... that also means it regained it at least as many, nay?
Anyhoos.... here's the scene from Goose, post festum :)
Not that I was nervous, but I was nervous. This
whole ordeal rang wrong to me, even if I was the only one. Spotter was my
responsibility. Obviously I couldn’t command
her to sleep with or not to sleep with anybody, I could just go on and on about
it. I waited five hours and could not wait any longer and headed to Cliffcave.
It was going to be night there by then. Surely after five hours they would have
gotten bored by it already?
It
was dark indeed. Cliffcave bay had its own duck and dawn pulse, just as it had
its own tide system, but I have gotten used to it by now. It was a lovely,
southern-wind blowing kind of a night on the shore and the ocean made soothing swooshy noises. At first I checked the
house, climbing up the drive ramp. The old Red King’s car was sleeping, dull
sheen of its glass and lacquer reflecting the stars, that beautiful Bentley
Continental which took Morphei a while to restore from what was left of it from
under Cole’s reign. I touched it along the face on my way to the front gate,
which of course was non-existent. Cliffcave house had no doors or gates. Had a
few stairs, though. I walked up and down
the place twice before satisfied they weren’t in it. Where were they?
Of
course Spotter wasn’t completely innocent in the manner of intimacy. She was
groped plenty when she was still alive – heck, she was going to die being raped
by her stupid brothers. As if that wasn’t troubling enough, she was rescued by
us. Not the least perverted people in this profession. She has surely heard
things, maybe even seen things and I know she was fond of the General, so
surely she’s had an orgasm before. Just not with another person. She was my bed
mate and even I never really touched her. Mayhap we kissed once or twice. I had
a lot more sex with Radha, her predecessor, whom I never really actually technically
had sex with.
I
walked down to the surf and heard singing. There is a lot of shore on the left
of the Cliffcave bay, but on the right, there is just about half a mile of dark
sand and then rocks give some shelter from the wind and can be a nice place for
snuggling. That is where the singing was coming from.
Of the few certainties I prided
myself in the night-time, one was that Morphei was neither an inept nor an
inconsiderate lover. Also I knew he took time, so maybe five hours weren’t
enough after all. When we got to it, he ‘wasted’ a good sweet hour on foreplay,
during which time I got jaded and left. Well, obviously it’s not how it
happened. We got distracted. Still, I could imagine him taking a long time to
tune Spotter’s tense, confused body. She was probably very afraid. Horny as
seventeen year old should be, but afraid. Perhaps an oral orgasm was enough,
perhaps he gave her two. I imagined by the time she was no longer a virgin, she
was addicted to the feel of a man’s body on top of her or underneath, like
every single other person who’s ever had good sex becomes. And Morphei could
change his shape, so even if he started politely measurable, he could work his
tools to the maximum advantage. If I were a considerate person myself, I’d say
she was a lucky lady. Good thing I was a territorial, inconsiderate bitch.
Morphei
was singing Nessun Dorma. If you are going to take the virginity of a very innocent
young girl from 1308 AD Horehronie, standing naked in the starlight on wet
black rocks while the ocean is licking your feet, singing Nessun Dorma is probably
the way to do it. I saw him first, because he was silhouetted against the pale
skyline, the god man that he was, with a voice no human tenor could ever truly
master. A human tenor’s wet dream kind of a voice. He didn’t have to shout. I
liked that. I am not fond of on stage shouting people making distressed
gestures. Or didn’t want to understand the words, because they usually broke my
heart. He was smiling. Flirting. The wind carried his longing, superlative
melody towards us; he made it sound like he meant it. For this night, he was
going to be the lover of Spotter’s life. Until she woke up. Then he was just
going to be a good friend. I knew that feeling. In the wind, I almost felt
jealous he never sang to me. Even if I didn’t really like people singing. Then
again I saved his life, ungrateful bastard. He could at least have recited a
haiku.
Spotter
lay in the sand, leaning on a rock, wrapped in a large shawl with her tiny
white legs moving as she giggled, overwhelmed with emotion. She was drinking
from a large glass of red wine and another was in the sand. Are people who are
about five minutes pregnant supposed to be drinking vine? She smiled at me,
moving her hair from the face, a moist, dirty mane of half dry locks and sand
and sea weed. I sat down next to her and took a camera out of my bag to commemorate
Murphy while he was still on the sarsen. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to
interrupt the song. The nasty part of me wondered if he was going to be able to
hit the complicated notes, but of course he would. It was a good song. Made me
horny as hell. Would I dare propose a threesome?...
No.
I mean, I would. But I wasn’t going to. Spotter has already had the most
bizarre night of her little life; second perhaps only to the time she met us. She’s
done enough. After he was finished with the aria, Murphy jumped into the water,
it was about knee high and walked up to us, kissing me and sitting next to her,
pulling the shawl so that it covered both of them as they snuggled.
“I
have to shower,” giggled Spotter into his chest. “I have sand everywhere.”
“We
can swim if you like. I’ll make sure there are no monsters.”
“I
would love to, but not now. I’m too tired.”
“Come,”
he said, getting up and then picking up the girl, who hugged him, hid her face
into his neck and slowly started falling asleep while he carried her. Only for
a very small second he resembled the General, so I could tell she was thinking
about my husband when a large man gentlemaned her. I walked beside them and
watched the end of the shawl drag behind, over the old sandy footprints. He
sank deep, carrying the weight of two and I sank less, because I never took off
my flippies and I walked on the dense surf.
Morphei
moved his face from her hair, where he was kissing it, to ask quietly: “Did you
come to check up on me?”
“Mm.
And to murder you if she wasn’t smiling when I found her.”
“She
can sleep here if she wants, you know. You both can.”
“I
know. I prefer if she did it in her room, though.”
“I
AM capable of restraining myself from humping little girls while they’re
expecting completely innocent dreams in their innocent little beds. I’m not the
beast you take me for.”
I
chuckled at him. “Jury’s still out on that one.”
He
looked down to check her face. “She’s out. She wanted to shower before going to
bed.”
“I’ll
have her cot on the floor until she comes to. May I take the car? I feel like
spending the night driving back.”
Sunday, 21 September 2014
Been a while, I know, I'm sorry. Been very
productive. I promise. I loaded up the Marita Wrong commercial and the other
day, I conducted three interviews which I am now transcripting and there’s
another that I am halfway through doing so, a very adult one, and another I
sent to a teen via FB and, well… there are many. I have a list of 31 by now. They are all awesome; they all feel
like I am on the right track with my idea. The idea is to prove normal people
are amazingly interesting if you let them talk about who they are as opposed to
what they’ve done - when many feel they haven't done enough. These are so much fun in fact, I am well into a third of my next next book, before the first next is
even finished. Meanwhile we are rehearsing the play, which is taking excellent
shape and the transcript of THAT, of the experience and the text combined, will
be the last chapter of Goose.
I saw a
very sad movie, a movie about really nasty sense of hopelessness… I sometimes
fail to notice that sort of life. I look at the vast plains of the American
west and think – perfect. It didn’t occur to me many people lost their mind
against it. Horrible, really. The movie’s called Homesman. Also, Lee Jones
reminds me too much of my dad, whom I still miss cause we’re still not talking.
And the General’s friend’s wife is having a heart condition, a nasty ticking
bomb variety, which also freaks me out. Running out of time is starting to really bother
me. I am SO CLOSE to doing something awesome with my life. Every time I brag to someone about sleeping only five hours a night lately,
I pass out and sleep for ten.
In the next
next book, the Dread, there are a lot
of conversations between R and Kay about there being no good commands in war,
because the only good command would simply end all war, the others are just
keeping them egged on… And about how many people kay has saved – none – because
none truly believe in deserving redemption after what they’ve done. I’ve gotten
to the part where she is taking a journalism class and a professor, unbeknownst
she is the editor, mentions her interview blog in class and she asks him out to
conduct one with him. He begins to tutor her on the subject of her being unable
to relate to normal people, simply because she feels too much like an alien, a
tourist, and as if they are entertainment (this is something R tells her when
she surfs a tank in one of the sieges of Tobruk – that she is taking
interesting photos, but isn’t getting it as an event – mostly, because she is
missing the dread of it.)
Thursday, 18 September 2014
Wednesday, 17 September 2014
I notice, while reading ... stuff... and stuff (it was advised to me to tone down the opinion polls), that if you impose really strict rules on people, their bravery, determination and imagination will bloom. But if you five them absolute freedom, misery and frustration will drive them into soul decay. I'm thinking sexual revolution, women's rights and so on... When there was a strict rule only married men and women can hit it, you had such outstanding advocacy regarding privacy and the nature of copulation and so on... It was really quite admirable. Now, when you can pork a streetlamp for all anyone cares, everyone tries desperately to have sexual problems, left and right and center. And female rights - while women were oppressed and treated awfully, they fought like lionesses to stand up to men. Now half of them runs around whining about being single, or bored, having to be thin and having lame jobs... same as when they were forced into a marriage and had to stay at home. Exact same.
You are either a slave and you'll be a warrior poet, or you are a free man under six million pages of rules, and you'll be okay. But left to do exactly what you want, that's a recipe for a miserable existence.Which usually results in boiling bunnies or blowing up Wall Street towers.
Wednesdays and stuff
What does it say about my schedule, when I
won't even have a chance to miss my husband today? (He's off to caretake his
parents' farm while they take a much deserved vacation) Normally I'd just tag
along and mock his cow-milking technique (with all your attention to nipples,
this is one hack job you’re doing…) or take photos of the rooster, serenading
the pigs… which are waiting for him to
fall in and eat him. But I am booked solid with things I do just
for fun. I mean on a professional level, but fun nonetheless. This interviews
project is on a roll. I have a list of 27 people I am slowly and carefully
setting up the questions for, but still I get phone calls or messages in the
manner of: Okay, fine. I have nothing to hide. I'll be in town in an hour…
Like, who the ** are all these people?? :D
Guess my theory that normal folks really love
to talk about themselves and are much more fun to listen to has been proved.
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