Hardly Wait (+ My Voice on Youtube)

Hardly Wait (+ My Voice on Youtube)

How the process starts – a pencil and a piece of paper
First of all, thank you for passionately following my blog.  I wasn’t expecting so many readers, emails and feedback after my LC story, and your support was just the cherry on top.  So, THANK YOU GUYS!
Not that I usually write thinking about how many people will read, and this project was never meant to be a commercial product.  The proof of it is that today I am going back to my primary nature: story telling and poetry – which doesn’t really attract millions of fans online.
Today I finally went to the gym at a reasonable hour (not my usual 6:00 AM) and while I was running like crazy to sweat my thoughts away I got to think about the way men and women write about love.  
The question in my head was: why when a male artist writes about love he is considered a charming and irresistible ladies’ man, while a female artist is very much likely to be filed under the corny/cliché/desperate category?  
Can we (women) talk love and sex without being considered either whores or stupid soap opera spinsters?
Well, I’ll give it a try – so be gentle with your reactions!

 HARDLY WAIT – Just another story

“I don’t recall when everything started, but Maggie’s habit of waking up at dawn was becoming more and more of a need, right when the limbo of light was broadcasting its confused coital shades of sun and his moon still together.
It makes me feel alive – she said – I’ve always been a night person but it doesn’t work for me anymore.  It’s like having a double Espresso with insomnia – for me it’s like a double shot of darkness, the one outside, and the one inside.
At 5:00 am I can breathe.  At 6:00 pm life gets tough – she argued with such an ease like she was discussing some kind of life or death matter.
 It’s the breeze of an early Los Angeles spring that gives me some kind of relief, even though the window from my bedroom doesn’t allow me to actually see the sky.

Maggie opened the thick curtains and tried to look beyond the buildings and the trees, then she thought about him.  She sipped some water from the glass on the windowsill and wondered what was he doing, where the sky was like a movie screen instead.

You know I love to think about you, in your rivetingly repetitive routine – all in one with your private frame of nature, or simply playing with your dark yellow pencil on a piece of paper, randomly grabbed from under your favorite book.

In that exact moment Maggie wished she was older.  Way older, not just a couple of years like when you are fifteen pretending to be twenty-five.  She wanted to be old to biologically embody the lifestyle she was committing herself to, after years of danger and too much.  
In order to get some kind of relief from the feeling of constant despair that always haunted her life, Maggie needed what she liked to call the ‘hospital environment‘ made of simple things and rules to follow.  
She could hardly wait to see the finishing line of life reflected in the mirror of her living room, because the unbearable disorder of her mind was just too much – each and every silence was some major relief.

I can see myself in 30 years – she told her man from a distance – and oddly you are still there, with your neurosis and tattoos, with your pain and your unique handsomeness- so frightening and vulnerable at the same time.  Just like your art and your philosophy on life.
I wish I had a terrace – but I know it wouldn’t change the essence I am made of. 

That’s the way she loved him; purely from far away and dirty in his bed.  Like a daughter loves her father and like a geisha loves her master.  Like a hostage loves the captor, and like a slave secretly loves the torture.  
She loved him, just like a woman loves her man.  
He was somehow her silence, and together the noise she needed to create.

Below a short spoken excerpt from my novel The Sex Girl (For a Dose of Love) – so you can finally hear my voice – work with me here, and pretend you couldn’t sleep without! :-)

K and Bill meet by the ocean.