So I'm sitting here on Valentine's Night putting together a playlist and getting ready to give Mulholland a go, and waiting on the Alec Baldwin SNL, and taking a break from the on again off again novel me and Durban have been writing the entire day through correspondence (he's still in London) and I'm thinking to myself, well, at least I'm keeping it real and all, Valentine's Day being a day you spend with someone you love and who in this world will I ever love more than myself? Real.
Durban just sent me an e-mail, precious he is. He had just written a section of our first chapter, Paris, bouncing back from my memoirs of our time spent in the Ritz Hemingway bar and sent me the opening line of the book - the line we'll be judged by throughout the rest of literary eternity...
Fuck, I want to tell you what it is...so much, knowing if this ever sees the light of day, a single word of it will never be changed. That's why I'm breaking rule #1 on this one - actual collaboration with the oddest of companions - because when he shines, kid fucking shines. And...he'll give me shit for this, but sometimes, even I need someone to lean on.
Anyway, I'm occupied again, and we're past the point of no return and it's starting to roll. I was talking to someone today and I didn't want to talk about the book too much and they asked me something like so you've got a good idea for this and I brushed it off with a yes, careless now and maybe forever - other's perceptions of what constitutes a good idea. Me and Durban are out to jerk ourselves and each other off for 200 pages. That's our idea.
...
So I'm sitting here writing a post about Valentine's and I'm starting to think that maybe I do have something that constitutes as a potential Valentine. Here's what I do, though. She's got my attention, and I can almost guarantee that even if we're operating in a worst case scenario, worst case scenario, I'm still going to go out with her a few more times. Or...maybe she ditches me but I really only say that to sound less than completely full of myself but by flagging the statement I turn everything around and leave you thinking exactly that...which is actually exactly what I want. So anyway...
I don't want to give the impression that I'm not excited about what's going on here. If we're keeping score...which I usually do, this girl has already once blown me back off my feet in our limited existence. FYI - those be rare words.
Almost there. Stick around because there's a lot of insight and subtext embedded into everything I'm saying. I'm not that cynical, per se. Actually, the thought of finding love - the good kind I've rarely stumbled upon is literally what gets me out of bed. It's the basis, essentially, of everything I write...and to be dramatic, it's the reason I keep breathing. Because when you hit that stride and find someone...that's all folks - at least until the fail or fade hits. Actually, that's very cynical.
But I'm in this...phase. And I can't really gauge what or who is happening in front of me. I'm afraid of anyone growing too fond...on either end, I suppose. And I love the guard. It's not always here. When it's not, I don't think about worst case scenario and of the number of times I'm going to see someone before it all comes crumbling down. Instead, I would pick up a rose and write a letter and tell someone at her work to pass it along and I wouldn't think about anything beyond tonight or whether we've been out enough for me to partake in such a gesture...I'd just do it. And man, when I'm in it, I envy the girls who get that. And when I have girls who give that to me, I step back, honestly, and envy myself.
But that's just not where I'm at, not today, not even for the sake of Saint Valentine...
All about keepin' it real.
