Tuesday, August 4, 2009

"Stage Blood Is Not Enough"

(Post Dated: 1.Aug.09)
Last night J., his room mate A., and I watched "Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters" with a score by Philip Glass. I knew the score from Joseph, who had included it in a Christmas mix--a massive zip file of over a thousand songs. The film itself was phenomenal, but I fell asleep towards the end, so I need to watch it again to see how it ends. The man himself, Mishima, is the film is accurate, is an amazingly interesting character. A homosexual, a tortured aesthete, and finally a militant imperialist ideologue. I want to watch it again with a note pad at hand--it was filled with beautiful quotations about the necessary infusion of art and life: a true Nietzschean film. And Philip Glass's score is fun and creates a dreamscape feel to the whole affair.
J. and I had the "so, are we exclusive?" talk this morning and, much to my pleasure, we are. He said, "I only do monogamous relationships." "So we're in a relationship?" I ask and he playfully rolls my head away before we fuck for the second time. So yeah, haha, I have a boyfriend!
The electricity will come back before the end of tomorrow, Monday at the latest. I am happy about this, actually. It will be tight living for the next 14 days, but I'm not overly concerned. I have enough money--$5 a day-ish--to survive on. And J. knows well enough, and understands my financial limitations. The good news: with this, I am now fully out of immediate debt: next paycheck is nothing but living-on and having a good-time money.
The Vegan's birthday is tomorrow night and J. took off work to go to the party. It is gangster themed, and I have a 1970's dress I got from one of J.'s friends to wear. I'll be is moll, and he'll be my man. In telling the Vegan about this, he says: see, that's why he's a great guy. I think he's right, and I should appreciate the fact that he switched shifts to accommodate my request to go out with me, to meet my friends, and to be my gangster. It's the little things, I suppose. And when you realize that one never can take for granted such moments, such willingness to simply be-with another, then I think you begin to see the miracle of two people starting to, slowly, share a life together. I asked J. recently, as we were walking for ice-cream (I got mine in a cone, he got his in a cup--what does this say of us?): what do we fall in love with when we fall in love? who one is now, or that but also who one wants to become? how do we endure change? J.'s answer, which I think was spot-on, and actually helped me loosen this knot, was: "I think that who we are now contains who we want to be, too, so in loving someone as they are now you also love who they want to, and will, become." When he said this, I beamed.
Ok: off to shower, shave, and not smoke. It's day 8 of not really smoking--there have been a few here and there, but nothing this isn't a zero-sum-game: I can affirm my commitment without demanding of myself purity. Though, thus far, it has been the moments alone, at home, writing that prove the most challenging when it comes to resisting the urge to smoke. It's those moments--two thus far--that have done me in. But, I think that isn't necessarily always going to be the case. There are small changes that need to be made here and there that will, when taken cumulatively, effect real change.
Until later.

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