Isn’t it funny how sometimes some songs get stuck in your head and you remember it so clearly, that everytime you hear that song, it brings back certain memories about that song? Like, for instance, a certain moment that sticks out in your mind about that song, what you were doing, who you were with, so on and so forth.

I’ve been thinking about this lately, especially at work. There’s one particular song that would come on and it would just bring back a small memory that I have associated with that song. It wasn’t a memory of something big and momentous in my life, no, it was just a mundane memory. And for some reason, I associate the song to that.

The song is Natalie Imbruglia’s Wrong Impressions. This song came out something in 2001 or maybe even 2002. The memory that this song conjures up is a simple one. I’m in my car, my old car, the 1991 Honda Prelude. I’m just driving down Santa Monica Blvd, going to the Century City mall, most likely going there to catch a movie. The windows are down, the sun roof open, and I’m just driving. Of course the song has to be playing, if not, then why would this memory be associated with this song? Who knows.

The memory. Again, it’s a simple one. I’m just driving. Thinking back on it one day at work, it just seems that it was a happy memory for me. I don’t understand why it was such a happy memory for me, because around that time, I don’t think it was a happy time in my life. Well, maybe it was, and I just didn’t realize it. All I know that the feelings that I associate with this particular memory is a happy one.

I could see myself so clearly, just smiling my little smile, listening to the song, driving down Santa Monica Blvd with the wind blowing through my shaved hair. And it was a happy image, a happy memory. Maybe it was just me being on my own, not a care in the world, living the independent life that I’ve always wanted to live. I got a job that supports me and I’m on my own. Cut off from family as much as I could, not depending on them to survive. I’m doing it. I’ve become a separate entity from my parents, my brother, my family. I’m on my own, I’m myself.

Another similar memory is of Michelle Branch’s Washing Machine and Breathe. And these too are of memories of me driving, wind in my hair, not a care in the world. I’m just driving in my little Honda coupe, going to Fresno. I’m independent and I’m free. Driving, going where ever I please, doing whatever it is I want to do. Freedom.

Music has always been a big part of my life. It is everywhere and a part of everything that I do. I’m listening to music now as I type my little ditty here. I sing to myself classic tunes of yesteryear and also the mainstream popularity of today and also other tunes and other genres that are so common today. I sing, I hear, I listen. Tell you a little secret….Sometimes I dance too. Me dancing, a sight to see my friends, it’s a sight to see.

Music is just something I listen to, something to help me keep time, something to help me pass time, something to help me think. With each song, I’m sure, comes a different memory.

Whitney Houston’s I Will Always Love You from The Body Guard Soundtrack is a song that I will never forget. It is the song Amber and I danced to at our senior prom. I will always remember that night, I will always remember that dance, and I will always remember her.

It’s one of those memories that you never forget. It’s one of those things that you just look back on to see where have you been and to see where you are now. Amber, the love of my life, well, not actually, but she was my high school obsession. She was my high school crush, and most of all she was my friend. It was senior prom. I honestly don’t remember exactly why I went. Maybe it was during a ignorant time during the end of my high school career, thinking that I will be a little bit more social, so I went. I bought two tickets, but only needed one. I asked her out, but of course, she went stag. I went stag.

The night was on a boat. We cruised around the sound for a little bit. That was our prom. Now, me being the antisocial socially defunct guy at the prom, it wasn’t a really enjoyable affair. I was alone, not having a good time, and I was stuck on a boat. I had no where to go. I would go up and down, up and down, keeping myself occupied to pass the time faster. But unfortunately, it didn’t pass by fast. It was slow and torturous. Slow and torturous.

I don’t remember exactly what time it was, but I remember coming from the top level of the boat and going down to the next level to go to the bathroom. I walked through the door and there she was. Amber, in this lovely strapless black and white largely checkered dress (on a side note, which made her ass look big). Her hair, down and curly, a little pulled back. She was coming up the stairs. The bottom two floors were the dancing floors, but there she was.

I smiled the best smile that I could manage, given my episode of depression. She came up to me, grabbed my hand, turned around and just walked me down. She hasn’t said a word, not a word. She just dragged me down. I didn’t ask where we were going, I didn’t ask what she was doing, cause I knew. She pulled me to the middle of the dance floor, and there we danced. I Will Always Love You. She took off her heels to get more comfortable and we just danced. Slowly swaying to the rhythm of Whitney’s voice. I Will Always Love you.

I don’t know what she was trying to say or do, but all I know was that we danced. We just danced. Why she picked that song, why she went through all the effort to come find me, I don’t know. All I know was that we danced.

After the dance, I stayed with her for a couple of minutes, just trying to be social, but my usual self won out. I didn’t know what to say, what to do, and things just ended there. I bumped into other friends, talked for a bit, and then went up to the top floor where I was. Just looking out at the setting sun, watching the glimmer of light reflecting off of the sound. The light went out as the sun faded, and that was that.

Funny how you will always remember these memories.

The most recent memory is of Pink’s Just Like a Pill. It’s a good song, mainstream pop like any other, a song that I like a lot. It’s catchy. It was a few weeks ago actually, at Jill’s house warming party. I’m not exactly sure what I was doing at the time when it was on, maybe I was sitting inside on the stairs or maybe I was standing near the kitchen in conversation with some one. The girls, Drew included, were putting on songs to dance to. Just Like a Pill was the one that they put on. All I remember are the girls just jumping up and down, dancing, and singing at the top of their lungs to the chorus. Just dancing, laughing, singing, and having a good time.

The particular image that comes to mind is of Drew dancing, jumping up and down, singing at the top of her lungs. She looked so cute, just dancing there, laughing, smiling. But it will always be a memory and nothing more. Things will always be a memory. Just a memory.

How long do memories last. Will they fade in time as my brain cells gets fewer and fewer? Will there be more memories of this type? It’s a sad and longing memory this last one is. Just me, passive, sitting there, watching like an obsessed stalker. My how much I’ve changed huh?

But no, in all honesty, that’s life. Things just get stuck in your head for no rhyme and/or reason. They just get stuck. It is a imprint of a lost moment that you can never get back again.

People are like music too, they leave imprints, images, visions, memories, even dreams in your mind that you can’t get out of your head. You come up with a picture of the person, then another picture, another image and so on and so forth. Then you start to put a soundtrack to these images, a song that fit your sentiments, your moods, your emotions. Then you start to obsess and start to do this more and more often, and pretty soon these images become your life.

All of these things, these images, these people are of your past, yet, you remember them so clearly, you remember almost every detail. They haunt you like the living things you come across in your daily life. But you can’t do anything about them.

They are of the past and should stay in the past.

Why is it so hard to forget the things you want to forget? Why is it so hard to just leave these imprints behind in the past where they belong? Why?

I’ve been reading a book lately. It is a book about Wong Kar-Wai and his films. It is about analyzing his films, his themes and motifs. Time, memory, isolation, alienation. These are some of the main themes in almost all of his movies. Time and memory. He is fixated by time and memory. In particular in Ashes of Time. Near the end, there is a line that just rings true. It is somewhere along these veins. The more you try to forget something, the more you remember it. The more you try to remember something, the further away it becomes. It is so true.

I’m a guy who lives in the past, for I am a guy with a elephant’s memory. I’m a guy who can pull memories out of my mind like it is right in front of me. I spend much of my time focusing on these memories, well more so a long time ago, but not recently. But, the memories are still readily available. With each day, new memories are made to be filed away.

Tired.

I am tired. My body just screams for the bed that I sorely miss right now. It screams at the steal chair, the uncomfortable position, the drug that I’m taking. It screams for something more comfortable, something softer and warmer.

Each piercing scream gets louder and louder in my head. I ignore the pain and march on. I have to do this; I have to maintain this routine. If I deviate from the plan, I lose all focus. I can’t lose focus now. I have to focus on my work and nothing else. If not, pain will crawl slowly back into my life again. I can’t have that.

I come here night after night, typing away at this keyboard, writing my little stories about secret lives of other people. Last night it was Stormee, who “seize the day” and did what she must to get her guy. She was a brave soul, yet so tortured from alcohol. Was she thinking straight when she pretended to be passed out while her soul mate rapes her? To her, she was thinking straight; she was thinking clearly. She never thought so clearly in her life as she puts the plan in action. She needed her Christian that night. Stormee got her wish.

A couple of months before, it was a Young Man who raped his good friend. He fed her a few drinks and took her upstairs. He had his way. Finished, he just left her there, passed out and none the wiser, scraps for the buzzards that were flying high above. He did it because he could, because he’s done it before, and because it was a friend. The opportunity presented itself, and being a guy of opportunity, he couldn’t pass up the chance.

How can things like this happen in life? How can something so vile and so wrong happen like it was nothing? How? It just can. That’s life. The Young Man raped his friend who he thought was passed out, but in reality, his friend just used him to get what she wanted, and that was to have him inside her. It was a ploy to get him into bed, because she knows he wouldn’t otherwise. That was all that mattered to her, that was all she needed.

Who is wrong in this situation? Stormee for pretending to be passed out so her friend, Christian, can take advantage of her? Or is it Christian, who took advantage of a drunk friend?

Who’s the bad guy? Or are there any bad guys in this scenario? Funny how things are just left up to people to judge what is right and what is wrong. Many people will see it one way, others will see it another. Many will agree and many will disagree. It’s kind of hard when both are acting on selfish motives. But in life, we all are acting on selfish motives. To some people, they have no problems with taking what they can get, no matter the cost. Others will never consider or even think of the possibility. They just admit defeat and move on.

Fiction. Flights of fantasy these two stories were. Just something I made up to entertain myself. It was something I wrote because I got an idea in my head and I needed to put it on paper. It was taken from an experience from my life. No, I never done anything of the sort, any thoughts of that nature never crossed my mind. No. It never happened. But in a way, I was accused of it. I made it into a story where it actually happened.

That was the story of the Young Man. It was his tale about a friend of his from highschool. He raped her, and that was that. No more, no less. Now the story of Stormee was a fabrication all together with no outside influence. I wrote it because I wanted a companion piece to the Young Man’s story. I wanted it from the woman’s perspective. How it was like to be raped? I don’t know. Instead of going through with her story about being raped, I had to come up with something different. Power. Will. Choice. Manipulation.

The woman had the power. Everything was her doing. She had the power over the man. The Young Man was weak, giving in to his nature, giving into his animal instincts, to his greed and selfishness. The woman showed control. The woman had the power throughout the relationship. All women do. She used him for her own gain. That was all that matters.

So again, who’s the bad guy here? Who is in the most wrong? The man or the woman? Who is to judge?

My social self is not a very pleasant one. I see myself in a certain light that is drastically different from how others see me. I see myself as the antisocial loner that alienates himself from others, and others see me as this social butterfly that jokes and laughs and makes conversations with people. These people who see me in this light are mostly people that I met from work.

Work people are different. I have to play nice, I have to interact, I have to socialize with them, so it takes away the pressure of socializing with them. Now, people that I meet at parties, that’s different. There are people that I connect with right off the bat and there are others that I don’t connect with at all and in my case the former is generally the case.

I am both, but I really do think that I am my own belief. I’m that social wallflower.

I can get to be that fun guy, but it all depends on the situation, the party, the people that I’m hanging out with and all importantly my mood of socializing, and my level of sobriety. If I’m not in the mood to socialize, I usually don’t go to the party, or if I am at the party and I’m not feeling the crowd, then I tend to keep to myself or find someone I know there and try to talk with them.

I find myself doing that this past weekend at a party that I went to.

I wasn’t feeling the crowd. It just wasn’t my crowd. It was my friend Jill’s house-warming bbq bash at her and her roommate’s, Leina, apartment. Nice apartment. If only I was richer.

Anywho, I went to the party, expecting just to be like her birthday party that I went to a few months ago. It wasn’t. First of all, I didn’t have enough to drink, and secondly, I was kind of freezing my ass off.

I didn’t feel comfortable. The guests were talking about things I know nothing about or cared much for. So, I was out of my element.

But I went anyways. It wasn’t until the very end when I actually enjoyed myself. It was just Jill and I, talking. Just talking about life, expectations, finding oneself and not compromising one’s interest and one’s personality for the greater good of the crowd or friends. Be yourself. One has to sacrifice many things to do what one’s heart desires. I did it, and so can she.

But back to the party, the wallflower in me. Walking in the door, I noticed a THE GIRL. She was there. I half expected it, but at the same time I thought she was somewhere else. But she was there.

Last time we’ve met, I was smitten. Seduced by her girlish charms, her bouts of cuteness, her bad jokes, her adorable sense of attractiveness. She’s hot. We talked, we joked, we laughed. It was a great time had by all or so I believe.

She looked no different, dressed down more than last time, which makes her look even more attractive. But she is still she, her adorable self.

I don’t know what it was with me, but for the most part, I tried to make a connection with her again, but I wasn’t feeling it. Maybe it was just me being a wallflower or maybe it was her sensing my awkwardness around her that made her keep her distance; I’m not sure what it was, but I know for sure that we didn

Here we go again. I found Drew. Drew is now blipped back into my life. I find it funny that Jill said that she was going to move to New York and everything at the beginning of January, but I guess that didn’t happen. Time could have changed things, maybe, maybe not. I just find it funny that Drew is here in Los Angeles, still living in Long Beach, still working at the same ol’ place. Things never changed.

What happened? I knew deep inside that it was just a ploy. It was just a ploy. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, but I don’t know. It just seems wrong you know? Why can’t she just tell me the truth that she’s not interested in me instead of giving me this bullshit that she’s moving to New York to be with the Corduroy suit guy? It’s just too far of a stretch to come up with something like that.

Well, I met Drew again over the weekend. I saw her at Jill’s housewarming bbq. It was an okay party I guess. I didn’t drink that much, which means I didn’t get drunk and didn’t loosen up. I didn’t like the crowd. I don’t know why, but I didn’t like the crowd.

I walked into the door and inside were the girls. Susan, Margo, and Jill kept on saying, “that’s Drew. It’s Drew.” I blew it off, pretended not to hear, not to care. Seeing her, it wasn’t a surprise, and I really didn’t care. The girls were dancing, so I went outside to the patio and chilled with the guys. Introduced myself, got a beer, and then chatted with Rob. It was all right.

Later, there she was, coming out the door and making her way to me. Cup in hand, she poured herself a sangria and we proceeded with the small talk. I told her what I’ve been up to and she told me the same. She’s still working at LACMA, living in Long Beach, and writing about the Metro. Things never changed.

Nothing came up about the trip to New York, nothing came up about anything at all. I didn’t know whether she was bored with me or whether I was just turned off by her, I’m not sure what it was, but things pretty much fizzled after that.

I tried to make conversation with her as the night progressed and I find her keeping her distance. A sign indeed. She’s not interested, and I should leave it at that.

We didn’t get to talk about anything pertinent or talk about anything at all. The night progressed, her ditzy intelligence came out, as expected. How funny how I found it so cute just months ago and now, I could careless about.

Don’t get me wrong, she’s still hot and as adorable as ever, but I don’t know. I don’t know her that well. Would love to get to know her better, but it just isn’t in the stars. We’re not star-crossed lovers, or lovers, or stars. We’re nothing but mere acquaintances; nothing more, nothing less.

The night progressed and the party ended. People left and I stayed. I stayed later than I wanted to, but it was all right. I got to talk to Jill, just about life, about finding one’s way and becoming more comfortable with oneself.

Leina, depressed, tired, and pessimistic, couldn’t keep our company as I told her to go to bed. She finally took a nap. Jill and I just talked and talked and then there was nothing more.

I went home, sober and sober.

I just went home.

I never thought that my still being a virgin would be a cool thing. I never met someone who thinks that still being a virgin at the age of 25, going on 26 in less than a month, would be a cool thing. I met that someone.

Whether she is pulling my leg or not, I’m not sure, but she thinks that it is cool that I am still one. I laugh, and tell her that it is pathetic, cause it really is. It really is.

She’s a sweet girl. A nice girl. A pretty girl. A girl that I could easily fall for. I have already started that process of falling for her. I’ve talked with her. I’ve flirted with her. I’ve even asked her out and gave her my number. We’ve only met for three weeks.

In these past three weeks I’ve gotten to know more about her than I did in three years time of my last infatuation. She’s an easy girl to talk to. Funny, cute, playful, and wise. A sweet girl, filled with the girlish charms that drives men crazy. She’s a great girl.

Unfortunately for me. She’s taken, as all great girls are. She’s taken.

During my days, I will spend my bored hours, my hours of not wanting to be there, talking with her, getting to know her, to help make the day go by faster.

The funniest thing that she’s ever told me or said about me is that I’m cocky. I’ve never thought I was cocky. Cocky is not me. I’m not full of myself, I don’t try to impress others so they would like me. I’ve never been that type of person. She thought me as cocky. Ha! I laugh at that thought. She laughed too cause of my reaction.

Cocky? No. She used the wrong word. She even told me that she’s using the wrong word as she exclaimed that I’m cocky. No, she meant to say that I’m sure of myself.

Funny. I’ve been told that just last weekend, and now, this girl, who’ve I only met for three weeks tells me the same thing. I’ve changed. Like I said in my last entry, I’m a lot surer of myself.

Three weeks. Three weeks. That’s the quickest I’ve acted and connected with a girl. Considering it took me a long while to get up the courage to ask my last obsession out, this is moving fast for me.

I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never connected with a girl so fast before. Well, maybe I had and I didn’t notice. I don’t know. From the first day, I wasn’t afraid of joking with her, making fun of her. From the first day, I wasn’t afraid of causing trouble.

Is this the new me? How did I become this way? When did this start?

Did it start with the whole lesbian thing on New Year’s Eve or did it start before? My Thanksgiving break up in Washington? Jill’s party? When? Where was this courage, this confidence, this assertiveness when I needed it most in the oh so long days ago?

Did me getting out of my old job just gave me a clean slate to start new? Things just seem to fall into place ever since I’ve gotten out of there. Was that place so bad that it just blocked all of my positive energy, stunting my emotional growth? I’ve been told and I believed that place would suck my soul. I guess it really did.

So stagnant my life felt there. Every time I take a step forward, it just seems that I get pulled back ten steps. Look what I’ve accomplished since my leaving there.

I made a short film.

I wrote a play and will write another which will most likely be produced.

I started a script that I’m actually excited about.

I’ve made and connected with girls. Sure nothing has come out of it, but I’m making progress. Drew, the laundromat girl, the lesbian, and now the new girl.

This couldn’t happen any sooner? I guess not. I know I’ve written that I don’t believe in fate and destiny and everything, but I guess it has to happen when it happens, if not, then it wouldn’t happen.

This is the fastest that I’ve learned about a person in a long while. She told me many things that she said no one knows. I feel special.

Things are different about this one. Things are different about me and what is happening. Knowing me, I should be so deeply into this girl that I couldn’t get her out of my mind. Knowing me, she should be my world. Knowing me, she should be my obsession.

Like my last craving, she should encompass all that is me, but she’s not. I’ve gotten less and less obsessive. I can let go and just let things be. Sure it doesn’t seem to the dear reader that that is the case, cause I’m writing about her, but honestly, it is true. Things are different. Things are different indeed.

i don’t know what it is with me, but things are truly different. Maybe it is just my general apathy about things, or maybe my friend is right, that I’m just growing more and more callous, but I don’t think that is the case. I’m not emotionally hardened, well, atleast I don’t think I am.

So what is going to happen now? I don’t know. I’m not going to pry, I’m not going to do anything. Nothing at all. If it happens, it’ll happen. It it doesn’t, then it doesn’t, it never was meant to be.

* * *

Silence. All is silent but the soft tunes that pour out of the headphones. Nothing stirs around him. He sits in silence, thinking, reflecting on his life, typing it away to the muffled ballad that blares from his headphones. He sits alone.

The story of his life. The story of the world. The story of all.

* * *>

Things are finally getting back to how things were. Everything is the same and expected. No surprises. Friends will always be friends, enemies will always be enemies, people will always be people.

Things are finally back to where they are. I’m here again, sitting so alone in this lonely bridge typing away into this dark lonely internet void that I’ve become so familiar with and doing the thing that I’ve grown to love. Writing. I am writing again. I am clearing my thoughts. I am writing. Writing.

So many things cloud my mind, yet nothing seems to stick. Random thoughts just go through and through my mind and I pay it no attention. Different people come and go, different ideas come and go, life comes and go. Oh, there was just an old friend that just zipped through my conscience and zipped out again. That’s where things stand.

Everything just seems to be a distant memory to me. Everything just seems so out of reach, yet so close at the same time. I have managed to keep the necessary distance from things and people where to not get hurt if things go sour.

I have hardened my soul, as one of my friends put it. I am like molten lava that has cooled on the surface, but in the inside is still a molten boiling ooze of fire. I could explode at any minute. That’s what she told me. That’s what she said. I’m lava, hardened on the outside, yet still volatile.

Do I see any truth in that? Do I? In a way, yes, but also, no. I have calmed down so much and have grown into a more comfortable skin. Albeit that skin has many flaws and much apathy in many things, it is a much better skin that helps me actually be free and liberated in many things, in many aspects of my life. I’m not afraid anymore.

What am I not afraid of? I’m not afraid of failure, I’m not afraid of getting hurt, I’m not afraid of making a fool out of myself. I’ve been there, I’ve done that. It’s old news. No harm in experiencing something that you’ve already experienced. No harm at all. Try experiencing something new, something different. Slowly I am. Slowly.

I’m a very laid back guy. I take things as they come. I never act on many things unless I absolutely am burning to act, but that rarely comes. When I act, I put everything I have into it. Everything. I’m acting more and more. I’m not that passive person that I use to be. A little more assertive I am. Just a tad.

I’m sure of my self. Very sure of my self. That’s another thing a friend of mine pointed out. I’m sure of myself. I know what I want. I know what I like, I know what I don’t like, I know what I want to do. I’m sure of many things. No more debating with myself to see how I would come out in the better light. If my thoughts are against the grain, so be it. If my actions or beliefs hurt other people, I’m sorry, but I won’t change it. I’ll stand by it. That’s me.

It’s been a long and arduous journey that I’ve been on these past few years. A growing experience, a learning experience. I’m living. It’s by no ways anywhere close to how many “normal” people live their lives, but I am living. I go out whenever I please. I act how I want, I do what I want, I live how I want.

I’m doing things that are comfortable to me, doing things that will make me joyful and smile. I’m doing things. I’m happy. I don’t write that that often, I don’t claim to be happy that often, but I think it is time for me to type it, to say it, to mean it. I am happy for me, for who I am, for what I’m doing, for me. I am happy.

My friend doesn’t see me that way. Sure I’ve grown and changed as she said. I’m not as volatile as I was, keeping my emotions skin deep until something sets me off in a joyful or angry or sad tantrum. Like she said, I’m surer of myself. Yet, she thinks I’m not happy. She thinks only “maybe” will I find happiness, only “maybe”.

Why only “maybe”? Simple. I have no love in my life. I don’t know love. I don’t love. I’m selfish. I don’t know love. I have no love in my life. God is love. GOD is LOVE. With love comes happiness. With God comes happiness. I need God in my life. I need God in my life.

She gave me some sermons to listen to. I’m listening but I’m not listening. It just doesn’t make sense. I still have the reservations in religion and religiosity. Even though she pegs her belief, her denomination, not as religiosity but faith, I still have reservations. It still seems like preaching to me.

Religion, faith, beliefs…these are all individual things. These are things that happen because of the individual. It is the individual that must find God. It is the individual that must have faith; it is the individual that must believe. It is a matter of one, not a collective.

Christianity is not a belief of the individual. It never worked that way. It never will. As long as there is a church, there will never be individuality. I’m not trying to bash Christianity and all Christians or anyone who believes in God, I’m not. Christianity will always be a group religion; it will always be a collective. Churches aren’t for the individual, but for the many patrons and believers of God.

I’m not one. Not one at all. I’m an individual. I have my own beliefs; I have my own way of thinking, and my own morals and ethics. They are mine and mine alone. Sure they do cross over and coincide with many Christian beliefs, but they are still mine to follow, my rules, my guidelines, my philosophy to follow. For me, the sense of spirituality is an individual thing, an alone process. It is up to you to find your direction in life. It is up to you, as the individual to find God. It is up to the individual. The individual must find God first before they can be fully accepted into the group.

I have not found God. I do not believe in God. Does he exist? Sure. He exists for many people, but not me.

I think this whole finding God business is the same as finding yourself. Finding your inner peace, reaching a state of Zen and enlightenment. We all do the same thing. You Christians and us individualists, Buddhists, Taoists, Muslims. We are all trying to find our inner peace; reach a state of enlightenment. The world would be a much better place if all of us find our inner peace, find our direction. Once we all do, the world will be a much better place. We all are doing the same thing, but it is our bigotry and our constantly forcing our beliefs and thoughts and our preachiness that gets in the way of everyone reaching the same thing.

We are all just trying to find peace. Once we do, we will just transcend this world and these petty problems. It will be a better place.

All I just want to say is to just let us find our own peace our own way. Whether it is in God or Allah or finding philosophies that matches with how we think or conceiving new philosophies that fit you individually. Just let things be. Let things be.

Religion, it has never been my fort

My oh my, how do my fingers itch just to be able to tap dance around these keys again. It’s been too long indeed since I’ve written anything. Too long.

How long has it been? Two months, three?

I’ve been busy for the last couple of months, just focusing on the short film and everything. Passion Fruit has been shot and edited. Now it just awaits it’s little tempo, it’s music, it’s heart. Since I’m just waiting for the music and I have nothing left to do with it, I now finallly got a chance to write; to ramble on and on like I did before.

It’s been a crazy and hectic a couple of months. Lots of money have been put into the film. Now, where it stands, how do I like it? I think it is all right. I have many gripes about it, as in the quality of the picture. Somehow, it just doesn’t look as sharp and as rich as I thought it would with the camera that I used, but what can I do. I got to use it for free and that’s all that matters.

The whole experience, from conception, to preproduction, to principal photography, to post production (still ongoing) has been a great learning experience. I never thought that there would be so much work going into a short of only seven minues. The careful planning and practicing, test footage, blocking, running through shots; they all amounted to nothing cause nothing really helps you prepare for the day of the shoot. Sure I had an idea of how each shot should be and so forth, but when it comes time to film, that goes out the window. I followed the same shots, the same plans, but yet, plans, shots, scenes change.

It’s funny how drastically different the current cut now from it’s original conception. Whole scenes has been changed. Ideas have been dropped. I wouldn’t say that it’s a different movie, but in a way it is. How it was originally written, the woman seemed to be the secondary character, whereas now, she’s the main character. It seems that she’s the focus. My how things change.

The opening sequence, which was scripted as an exterior shot in a park has been scrapped because of the rainy weather that California has been having for the past couple of months. Scott and I came up with a different idea, and in hindsight, a much better idea (for the script and the theme), then it was originally written. In a span of two days, the opening sequence changed from the aformentioned park scene to a photography studio. We planned and blocked each shot, how it should be shot, how it should look, and dressed the set in a span of two days. The funny thing was while we were doing all of this, the park sequence was still being considered. It was our backup, and we went with it. The more I thought about that new scene, the more I felt it worked better. So it came to that.

We shot everything in the span of a weekend. Sure there were problems that came up, like the lack of extras or even missed shots (unfortunatley I forgot about a good shot) and missed color and small mistakes. But I got everything that I needed to cut everything together to make it work. It works fine. The most uncomfortable scene to shoot was the sex scene. The actress couldn’t stop giggling and laughing, but the actor helped pull her together and made it more comfortable. I tried to shoot as fast as I could so I could just not shoot it and move onto the next scene. It turned out well. Rutledge, who saw an earlier cut of the sex scene said that it was steamy. For a sex scene without any nudity to be called steamy, I should be proud of that, right?

Now it is done, well visually anyway. Again, I still need the music and I need to put the end credits, but it is about 95 percent finished. I wish I could look at it objectively and with fresh eyes, but I really can’t. I’ve seen the short too many times as I cut everything together. I close my eyes and there it is fresh in my head. The flaws that I can’t shake from my eyes.

This is my first short, and it will not be my last. As much pride as I would take in this short, because it is my first, I still have my reservations on how good it is. I can’t look past the flaws. It is so near and dear to me, that I want perfection, but it just isn’t. There are just too many flaws.

Now, I got a two week break before the music will be finished. Currently I have temp music in, to help me cut and to help find the beat to the film. The music for the opening title sequence (shots of fruits) is a cover of a Spanish song entitled Unicornio sung by Cecelia Noel. The music for the next scene, the photography shoot, is Nat King Cole’s Aquellos Ojos Verdes. The song that I used to play under the dialogue in the now dinner/talk scene and then played into the sex scene is Aimee Mann’s Red Vines. There is no music/score for the last scene, the breakup scene. I wanted it to be cold and let the scene play out without any manipulation.

I think the temp music works really really well with the cut that I have now. I just turned it in to my friend, who’s band, Exhausted Prayer is doing the music. The band is a death metal band, so it would be interesting to see what kind of music they will turn out. I also just turned in the cuts to Scott, the producer. I already told him my reservations and the flaws that I can’t get out of my mind and the problems with the missing footage that didn’t save properly. But all in all, it turned out to be a great shoot, and a decent unique film.

Once it is all finished, it is time to do what I must do with it. Find festivals that wouldn’t mind taking a look at it. Put it online, submit it to people who might be interested in seeing it. Showing family, friends, maybe. I don’t know.

But it’s done, well almost, and now it is down to the next project.

Before I get started on the next project, I need to write more, just come out here and just ramble on more. More and more. More and more. I need to get back into the mode of writing again before I can rewrite my play and write a follow up play.

It looks that this whole play thing will be Scott’s and my next project. We are still gathering scripts, we are still writing scripts, and we are still early in planning. But in all honesty, I’m really excited about this. It might be my first acting experience. It should be great.

Till next time I feel the need to fill people in on what is happening, it would be back to my usual ramblings. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be months this time.

There I am, taking it in, shooting up, getting high. The sense of euphoria seeps through into my veins, mixing in with my blood. There it flows through my body, to my brain. I am high. I am high.

Oh the feeling. The feeling that you are so far off the ground, flying up in the sky, soaring like an eagle. You never want to land and be so pedestrian and lose this feeling. I didn’t want to lose the feeling. I couldn’t lose this feeling. I knew it wouldn’t last, but I enjoyed it when it was in my system.

There it was. It was just there. It just happened just like that. It was like any other night, but, unlike any other night, there it was. My drug of choice, beckoning to me. I didn’t intend to use that night; it was highly unexpected. But it was there. A person with such an addictive personality like me, it was hard to turn down. It was like dangling a piece of chocolate candy in front of a toddler and telling it no, you can’t have it. It just never worked.

So I used that night. I used. It was a while since the last time that I’ve used. A long while; a couple of months atleast. The last time was during a friend’s party. I don’t want to count the day after Thanksgiving. That was different. That shouldn’t have happened. I slipped and lost control. This time I fell into it as a willing participant. It wasn’t like the day after Thanksgiving was a forced night. No. It was just something that shouldn’t have happened at all. It shouldn’t have happened.

Things just happened. It just happened like time ticking. It was all natural. Nothing was forced, nothing was fabricated. Things just happen, and that is always the best high one can get.

My drug of choice. Oh, how I love the feeling of being doped up. No pressure, just a relaxed mind state.

There it was. Standing there, just beckoning me. I try to resist at first, but when it comes to this particular brand, you just can’t. It was calling to me. I keep my distance and play it cool. I didn’t intend to use that night. I swear. A couple of minutes later, the first interaction.

From the first interaction, the first taste of what this drug can offer, I was an addict. The first drop of it’s sweet infectious smile just made my skin crawl with desire. I needed this fix. I wanted this fix. I got my fix. From it, I was drunk all night. From it, I was flying high as I’ve ever flown. This drug is like no other I’ve experienced.

I knew it would be bad. Withdrawal would be torture. I knew it, and yet my weak soul desired it. It caved into its desires.

It started with a simple interaction and it just grew into something more. It started with talk so small that it was microscopic, then it grew into something larger than life. It started with her voice and her kind words of “asshole” and her lovely finger as I toyed with this drug.

I could tell this was going to be a shot like no other. I could tell by that moment that it would be something I’ve never experienced. I could tell that I should take it all and not share it with anyone. I could tell that I needed it. I needed it. I desired it.

Then the game started. The small talks, the little touches, the glances that means nothing but that are a part of the game that we were playing. My first taste of this illicit drug. It was sweet.

The sound of her laugh and her angelic whine as I toyed with her more. The more I toyed with her the stronger the effects of the drug. As it got stronger, the more relaxed I got. It was a feeling I never felt before. It is a feeling that I need again.

I didn’t have much to drink this night. It was like the other precious night that I got high. I didn’t get that drunk, had alcohol in me, but not enough to be stupid. No, I needed to be sober to enjoy this. I needed to be clear headed to keep my control. I was drunk off the drug itself, and that was all the buzz that I need. Alcohol will only numb my senses and ruin my experience with this drug. No, I got to keep my wits about me that night. I wanted to enjoy it.

The drug treated me well that night. The lingering glances and the sweet smiles. The little touches that lasts a little longer than it should. The small talks that lead to something bigger to adoration to remarks that kills me oh so softly. There she was killing me softly. She’s killing me, she’s killing me. The drug takes it’s effect and I am willfully under it’s control. The flirtation that gets me high. The flirtation that makes my eyes dilate. The flirtation that makes my night. The flirtation that sets me soaring.

Flirtation. My drug. Flirtation. My drug. Flirtation is my drug. It’s what gets me high.

The pusher that night was like any other that I’ve met. The pusher that night was the type of girl that I long for. The pusher that night was exactly my type. But there’s one fatal flaw. She doesn’t like penises. I have a penis, so I know it wouldn’t last. But I’m weak. I have no will power and besides, I’m a masochist. I know I will hurt miserably afterwards. I know the withdrawal will be painful, yet I took the hit.

There she was, beautiful and cute. Strong willed and independent. Smart and fun; a wild child like no other. She was willing to give me a shot, and let me take this drug with her.

Again, talks lead to jokes lead to laughing, lingering touches and glances, and closeness. I was soaring through the sky, falling upward and upward from this feeling of elation that this flirting, that she, gave me. I knew I was going to be in pain, but I didn’t care. I went with it. I just let things happen, and it just did. I didn’t force it, or ask for it, it just happened.

As the night progressed and the games got longer, the more she kills me with her soft words. Her sweet adoration of my cuteness, the declaration of my coolness, and the inquiry about my non-existent sister. She hoped I had a sister and wished that she was like me. Unfortunately I don’t have one, and if I did, I would hate my sister with the utmost intensity because she’s with this beautiful pusher.

Giving up on my sister, she wished that I were a girl, so she could take this high to another level. Oh I wished things were different. If she wasn’t a lesbian or if I wasn’t a man. But sometimes things just don’t work out that way.

I was drunk on this flirtation and I’ve gotten so deep I couldn’t just stop things. I was addicted. I let things go on knowing that I would pay for it later. The withdrawal would be painful, but I didn’t care.

I was high and she was sitting on my lap, she was sitting on top of me. She would tease me with her stares and little touches and adorations bringing me deeper into her drunken state. I didn’t care. This flirtation was like no other I’ve experienced. It is a drug that I can only take once in a lifetime cause anymore, I would definitely be in more trouble than I was.

She sits on top of me as I sit waiting for my turn to bowl. She sits on top of me as I just wait. She sits on me as I just sit. She’s there constantly giving me what I want.

Her constant dancing and wiggling and tempting just makes my skin crawl. I know I’ll regret it, but I really don’t care. She’ll come up to me after I’m done or even during my little turn at the lanes and she would just be herself. Her flirtation just makes me high. I would grab her and hold her as I make my way back to the chair and there she would follow and use me as her chair.

I’m a whore for attention and she was there to give me the attention that I needed and I was there to give her the attention that she desired. She needed the attention that night like I needed the attention. We were two kindred spirits knowing what the other needed and we offered it to each other whole heartedly.

Oh how she killed me with her words. That hurt the most. That was the thing that made me know I would be in pain later. Her soft kind words. Her adoration for my cuteness and how she wished I was a girl so she would kiss me then. Oh, how I wanted to be that girl that she wanted. Oh how I wanted to be hers, but in my sober state, I knew better. But in my sober drunkenness I gave into her games knowing what will happen afterwards.

So the evening went on. She on top of me, telling me not to get excited. I tell her I won’t unless she moves a lot and being the expert flirt and fun girl that she was, she moved a lot. She’s killing me. She’s killing me oh so softly.

The night progress and things continue the way they were going. I was high on the flirtation and she was enjoying it as much as I was. She leaned in wanting to say something, she leaned in wanting to tell me “not to get any ideas”. I wasn’t. I honestly wasn’t. I knew what the night was to be and I just let things be. I didn’t make it more than it was, but I know deep inside that it would hurt. I can’t get attached like I usually do.

The night went on and on until it was another year. The night went on a little longer and so did the games.

Withdrawal. Withdrawal is a bitch, a painful castration that I knew I would suffer. Now I’m a bitch for her. The insomnia and the constant images of the night and our little games. Her constantly on my mind. The remnants of the flirtation that would last for a few days more. It was a painful couple of days. In the coldness of the night, it was the memories that kept me warm. It was hard to detach from her, from the flirtation, from the night, from the memories, from the game, from the drug. It was hard.

It wasn’t until yesterday when most of her was out of my system. The obsession is gone, but the memories still remain. My heart is free from this drug. It still desires it, but my heart has more control now. It is sober. The memories are enough to keep it beating. Soon, the memories will subside and my heart will beat coldly again. It will be a few days more, then it would be over. She will be completely out of my system.

Now I’m left feeling empty and cold. No desire for anything. It works better that way. Detox. Getting her out of my system. Mild depression is a slight side effect of the whole detox program. It comes with the game and I was prepared for it. In a few days I’ll be back to my normal self. In just a few more days then I’ll be free.

Flirtation. My drug. Flirtation. My drug of choice. The touches, the glances, the lingering feelings, the talks, the games, the laughter. The whole process of connecting with someone you hardly know. The fun night of natural progression. The drunkenness I get from flirting is a high that I sorely miss. It is my drug, my drug of choice.

New Year’s ever 2004; the countdown to ’05. I had a lot of fun last night. a lot of fun.

I went out with PJ and some people from work. Dalia and her friend Sandra (not to be mistaken with Saundra), Michelle, Mimi and some of her friends all went out to go bowling.

We started around 9pm or so. We were at some bowling alley on Pico, just before Main St. somewhere.

I had a good time. It started out slow, as in what the hell am I doing here slow, but quickly it turned into a great time.

I had a good time mostly because of one particular person. This person is Sandra, not to be mistaken for Saundra. She’s a lesbian, and a flirty one at that. I forgot how we started talking. Maybe it was when the girls, i.e. Michelle, Dalia, and Sandra, started to distribute party favors and started to pass out hats and tiaras. For some reason, they started to put one of these hats on me, and I was like no, and would take it off. Or maybe it was me messing with Sandra and started to call her Saundra. Then she would call me asshole and flip me off. So the Saundra joke went on for most of the night.

That’s how things started. Just something simple like that. We started bowling and we were off on the first frame. Sandra bowled a 6 and I bowled a 8 and she was having trouble counting, so I just made fun of her, so on and so forth. We got along grand. Talking, joking, and swearing. It was a fun night.

The joke with Mimi, went on. “How do you dare talk to my husband” and what not, but she kept her distance and let us be.

Sandra asked me to go smoking with her, I don’t smoke, but she asked me to go out anyway. I had to bowl, but I told her I’ll meet her outside when I’m finished. And I did. I went out and we just talked. Forget what we first talked about, but eventually it evolved to me asking her what she does. She works for a real estate broker. I’m not sure what a real estate broker does exactly, but she does that. Then it evolved to why she was upset at one of Mimi’s friends, Eric.

Apparently, they were talking at the bar, getting to know each other, they work in the same industry, blah blah blah, and eventually Eric said that he was going to take off her hat. She wasn’t down with that, but Eric did it anyway. So, she told me about why it bother her. If they were old buddies, that would be fine, but they are not. They just met that night. She’s no bullshit, like her 82 year old dad is.

Well, she has four sisters and three brothers or something. Her father is married three times. He got around. But anyway, I spent some time with her, just talking. Apparently she’s part Asian. Which explain why she looks so exotic, not just Mexican. Then she told me that she was depressed.

I don’t know when, but she broke up with her girlfriend of three years and New Year’s is supposed to be a time they were going to spend together. Her girlfriend didn’t show up. So she’s depressed. She told me about her. Her girlfriend worked hard and got places. Now she’s a deputy. But, the thing is that her girlfriend would always put her down, but yet, she loved her. I find that strange. Yet, she still loved her. Like she said, what they had is “complicated.” Aren’t all meaningful relationships “complicated”?

Anywho, the night progressed, and she drank more and more. She was drunk, hence the rest of the evening. I could tell she’s a wild child; a girl who just likes to have fun, and given her relationship situation, a girl who just wants the attention.

So, we would just talk about anything, and she would sit close to me and touch me, putting her leg up on my leg, and just saying stuff. She asked if I had a sister. She wanted to know because she thinks that I’m cool and would think that my sister would be cool, and she would be hitting that. Unfortunately, I don’t have a sister. Again, the night progressed and I would laugh at her skills in bowling and she would get upset at me for laughing at her. More “assholes” and birds were targeted at me, but it was great. It was fun.

She later would just sit on my lap and sometimes a little higher, right above my penis. She was drunk. Go figure. What killed me the most was after she bowled once, she told me, “too bad you aren’t a girl.” I asked why, is it because you want to kick my ass? She said, “No, because I would totally kiss you right now.” She said I was cute, always putting her tiara on my head, because it would bring her good luck or because I look cute. She’s killing me, she’s killing me.

One time, she would be sitting on my pelvis and said, “Don’t get a hard on.” I was like “Okay, just don’t move around.” And guess what she did? She moved around. She even said she felt it. There was too much alcohol in my system to get it up, but, wow.

PJ told me to hit that, but I was like, she doesn’t swing that way. He brought up Dalia, and said that she didn’t swing that way either. Did I say that Sandra is 27, an “old hag” in her words. But Sandra most definitely doesn’t swing that way.

Well, the funny thing is that I’ve met Sandra before and I know that she’s a lesbian. What is it with me and lesbians? I met her at the holiday party. Again, it was bowling. I didn’t talk to her then, but I think when we were all at the hotel, she said my name, but for some reason, another person was asking me something at that time and I didn’t pay attention to her.

There was another time when she was sitting on my pelvis and I was just letting her and just waiting for her to get off (not pun intended) of me to go bowl or if I was waiting my turn to go bowl, she turned around and looked at me and came in like she wanted to say something to me, but then she decided not to. I sat up to get closer to her ear and asked what’s up? She said I shouldn’t be getting any ideas. And I wasn’t. I really wasn’t. I’m just letting things be. Then good ol’ Michelle told her I was a virgin and I looked at Michelle and said, “Great. Thanks.” Sandra said, “I don’t know what to say about that.” I was, “Me neither.” I then put my head down on her back.

Well, again, throughout the night, she would bug me when I’m bowling. She would get in my way or run along with me down the lanes. She would bug me. When waiting for the ball, I would sit on the rail of the ball return and she would sit on my lap. It was nice. On the way back, she would try to get me to dance, and I would just put my arms around her and push her back into the seats.

She’s a flirt. What can I say? I love flirting. If someone flirts back with me, then I’ll flirt back with them. I love the game. She’s drunk, and I wasn’t going to take advantage of that. I actually grabbed her breast by accident. I tried to put my arms around her after she was bugging me on the lanes. She’s short, so I thought I got her stomach, but I was a little too high. After realizing I was cupping her, I just let my hand go. Bad. She was such a tease too, just wanting to get my attention.

One time she was like it’s getting hot and asked me if I wanted her to take off her shirt. I was like no. She just wanted me to say yes, she just wanted to know that I was checking her out. She’s a flirt, and a good one at that. But, she’s a lesbian.

PJ find her strange. On the way home, he would say that Sandra is strange. She is proud to be a lesbian. She makes it known. She didn’t like the fact at first that Dalia is seeing PJ, but she got over it. She’s a lesbian, but according to PJ, she flirts with a lot with guys. I could see.

She would go and sit on PJ’s lap sometimes and even Bruce’s lap. But she was on mine the most. Again, I was the only available person there of either gender. So, I was the fortunate one.

She would joke with me that I would be the one she would be kissing on New Year’s. It didn’t happen. When time came, it was a sweet hug and I think I kissed her on the cheek. I hope she didn’t take it wrong. It was sweet.

So that was the night. A fun night. A night I probably will not forget in a long time. It was the best New Year’s for me to date.

Things with Sandra will be just that. It was just a night out having fun. I’m not making it out more than what it really is. I’m not making it bigger than what it really is. I shouldn’t. She’s depressed about being broken up with her girlfriend, she was drunk, and she wanted the attention. I was there to give it to her.

I’m really not the type of guy that turns lesbians. I really am not. I’m just going to let it be what it was, just a simple night out together. Just a simple night of having fun.