I started to write last week that I wasn't planning on visiting Petr but that I did anyway. I never had the time during the week to finish that post and so it became forgotton. I intended to get on this week to write and found that what I wanted to write had already been written.
I wasn't planning on visiting Petr last weekend but I found that I did anyway, again. There is really no reason not to go. I have fun when I am there, it feels homey, and I can speak Czech all weekend. I was reading Paul Theroux's story about how when he was traveling at twenty-two he new that all of the foreign girls that he found himself entangled with would do anything to hear those words. The words that mothers tell their children and lovers whisper to each other. Theroux, knowing the sacrifice, refused to say it and worked his ass off to get where he could with the next fresh thing on the market. He knew that it was a painless three words to erase the unease of a heated conversation. He knew that his pride would be carved away when he released his firm hold on what he loved and what he didn't. I just lie. I, like Thoroux, know the damage those simple words can do. We both knowingly and willingly admit to loving everything and everyone but some, especially those who want to feel different from the croud don't understand how one can love everyone and everything. They puddle over the idea and that is why Theroux chooses not to say it. I on the other hand have no fear in saying it because at any moment I can jump ship. When he finally does say it, to get somewhere that is and not truly, it is a scandal. We are both scandaless I guess. All paths lead home and we each choose our own to get there.
The point is. One day my dear Petr will learn English, explore into my writings, and all will be revealed to him at a time that is appropriate.
On another note. For the past six months I have kept myself from home and kept home from me. It has been my only way to protect myself from the cruelties of truth etc. Well, home has begun to hunt me down. I picked up Patrick on a whim at the train station in Brno and I was truly excited. Thrilled to see his little face, pronounced nose, sharp but child like sparkle in his eyes, peeking out the window of the cabin as it raced to a halt in front of me. A leap and a bound later with a few shreaks and school girl noises into our greating it was not as painful as I suspected it could be. Familiar faces really can ease out wrinkles and callouses. It was nice to have time with a friend. Someone that knows me and forces me to acknowledge that I have a past.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Sunday, October 19, 2008
On the Side: Collected Tales of Mistresses
Deep in some jungle in a country unknown to us there was a young man, growing older at an unusual pace. His years preceded his behavior and one would blankly stare at the thought of him being as old as he actually was. Even his face, with a significant amount of imperfections and scars, reminded one of a young man suffering from a slightly bad complexion. He, like most young men in those parts, was openly sexual but had exclusively been seeing one woman for a long enough time that it was nearly impossible to escape. They were a perfect example of how young love can turn into a thorn in ones side. There is no out because there is doubt in the want to flee. But, alas, there is still the desperation for greener grass, wetter loins, and more passion. A young girl would eventually enter into his life and tickle his fancy. He paid no mind to the fact that he had a woman, he openly paid mind to freshness. The young girl was by no means looking for love but enjoyed playing the games of flirtation and secretly took pride that she could woo those who were taken. She never faltered in designing a character and a love that to him seemed as though could last forever. The design is perfect and of lofty intentions. He was happy to have her in the driveway behind gates, and she was happy to not give it another thought. Such scandals she coaxed out of others lives. Although it is only a scandal if it is revealed. That alone may be cause for defining the different breeds of mistresses. One day she moved on only to think of him under a certain light that rarely shown. He longed for her endlessly but was happy that he still had a thorn in his side and was glad to have kept her.
In another corner of the world a seemingly happily married man was driven to near madness by his jealous wife. Despite the fact that they were still young and attracted to each other, had made a beautiful family, and lived in a beautiful home, she would not release herself from the thought of him wooing other woman. That same man, kinder than most one would meet in the period of a month, befriended a woman. They did not seek each other out based off of attraction they merely met under normal circumstances and conversation came easily for them. Conversation came easily for both of them with everyone but it was nice to meet someone of the same mind and relish in diving into it. Had she been of homely features the wife would not have paid much mind, but the woman was younger, had a lot in common with her husband, and had a look about her that felt like a threat. Deep down the woman and the husband were truly sad that they could not enjoy each others company and conversation but hid the sadness as proof that not every attraction had to be an affair.
. . . .
An underage smart ass with too many names for the city to keep up with walked into her usual bar. The bar tenders' eyes light up and an of character smile with a hint of sleaze and anticipation welcomed her in. Her confidence confused him and aroused him. From the first time she ordered a Bloody Mary he didn't think twice about carding her. If she was underage, he didn't want to know. He had been open about his marriage and yet on one particular night, up against a wall one would find them on the brink of heat and pressure. She had no interest in him at all and found it pathetic that he would get married in the first place if he would feel any desire to stray. She was more interested in the man who worked across the street in a little coffee shop. He too had a nice young girl waiting for him at home but couldn´t resist sneaking into the basement after hours with his mistress for a different aftertaste.
. . . .
In another corner of the world a seemingly happily married man was driven to near madness by his jealous wife. Despite the fact that they were still young and attracted to each other, had made a beautiful family, and lived in a beautiful home, she would not release herself from the thought of him wooing other woman. That same man, kinder than most one would meet in the period of a month, befriended a woman. They did not seek each other out based off of attraction they merely met under normal circumstances and conversation came easily for them. Conversation came easily for both of them with everyone but it was nice to meet someone of the same mind and relish in diving into it. Had she been of homely features the wife would not have paid much mind, but the woman was younger, had a lot in common with her husband, and had a look about her that felt like a threat. Deep down the woman and the husband were truly sad that they could not enjoy each others company and conversation but hid the sadness as proof that not every attraction had to be an affair.
. . . .
Some girl stared off into the mountain side through large panes of glass. The heating vent is blasting hot air straight onto her and she still shivers. Her sadness can be described by anyone else left for another but she still seems alone in her new feat to face each day alone and with a love lost. Somewhere in the same scope a mindless girl who wooed the broken heart's love will face the same mountain side another day because of her stake in the affair. Over and over and over again.
. . . .
I very unhappily married man is stunned by a new light that enters into his life. He has the opportunity to flirt and feel attractive so he takes it. He grabs hold of the opportunity to complement honestly and whole heartedly. He has the brief pleasure of being able to warm up to her in the night and hold her close and feel like everything is going to be ok. He forgets that he is miserable and allows himself to feel the happiness of wrapping his arms around another. When the morning comes he reminds himself that though he may still be young and attractive, he is still married. He puts off thinking of how to be happy and free without being a failure and a cheat.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Uničov: the world is my pup tent
This part of the Czech Republic is like walking through a story that is trying to illustrate a history so deep that it fails miserably in doing so. When I say this part I mean the seemingly large but fenced of area that my new job is contained in. The streets are grey and worn down just as the buildings that are scattered and placed beside them. Thousands walk around in their thick cotton trousers and matching button up shirts in an unaturally vibrant blue dulled by hard labor. Oil, smears made by remanants of metals, and an aroma of all that is flesh and all that is not melded into one.
My first night in the bloc inspired temporary housing reminded me of my first night in San Francisco. Now, over two years later, I can tell that I have aged. That night I cried. I was there on the basis that I had something to prove to the world, that I could in fact do whatever I wanted and be great at it. I was sad that it was harder than I wanted it to be. Now days I have no one to prove anything to. The people that I wanted to prove something to I dont really care for anymore. The people that humored me at first now just think I am long gone. The rest dont know me and so I have nothing to prove only a life to live to meet my own expecations. If they find it strange they came to that notion on their own.
The girls at the office have been more than welcoming. I think they are happy to have a fresh face around and it helps that I have a substantial amount of Czech because I was immediatly treated with a higher respect. Every morning I walk the fifteen minutes or so from my door through the many blockades and diversions, I make my way through the monsterous concrete building and step into the office for the day. An assortment of emails and conversations are sifted through and then I make my way bake. I have been reading some travel journals and flirting with the idea of getting bolder in my writing. Thoroux, at sixty, after a lifetime of travel and storytelling wrote that a true teller of stories really has only one to tell. I want to make sure that I dont let go of mine to soon. So, I will continue filtering out tales of impure thoughts and unthinkable acts and encouters and stick to the daily hum drum. I am feally weak though and have the urge to get it down on paper. It is a shame that is something I will have to train myself to do. To have a mind for writing for myself in a book bound only to me.
The pup tent was his space away from uncomfortability. The kitchen table, the conversations, the people who loved unconditionally, they made him uneasy. He always ran to the pup tent to feel safe, to feel alone, to feel alive, and to feel real.
My first night in the bloc inspired temporary housing reminded me of my first night in San Francisco. Now, over two years later, I can tell that I have aged. That night I cried. I was there on the basis that I had something to prove to the world, that I could in fact do whatever I wanted and be great at it. I was sad that it was harder than I wanted it to be. Now days I have no one to prove anything to. The people that I wanted to prove something to I dont really care for anymore. The people that humored me at first now just think I am long gone. The rest dont know me and so I have nothing to prove only a life to live to meet my own expecations. If they find it strange they came to that notion on their own.
The girls at the office have been more than welcoming. I think they are happy to have a fresh face around and it helps that I have a substantial amount of Czech because I was immediatly treated with a higher respect. Every morning I walk the fifteen minutes or so from my door through the many blockades and diversions, I make my way through the monsterous concrete building and step into the office for the day. An assortment of emails and conversations are sifted through and then I make my way bake. I have been reading some travel journals and flirting with the idea of getting bolder in my writing. Thoroux, at sixty, after a lifetime of travel and storytelling wrote that a true teller of stories really has only one to tell. I want to make sure that I dont let go of mine to soon. So, I will continue filtering out tales of impure thoughts and unthinkable acts and encouters and stick to the daily hum drum. I am feally weak though and have the urge to get it down on paper. It is a shame that is something I will have to train myself to do. To have a mind for writing for myself in a book bound only to me.
The pup tent was his space away from uncomfortability. The kitchen table, the conversations, the people who loved unconditionally, they made him uneasy. He always ran to the pup tent to feel safe, to feel alone, to feel alive, and to feel real.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
plastic breaks : metal reinforces
I guess I am ready now. I am not sure how it happens but I have found that inspiration is lost when you so desperately want it. I was living in Prague for over a month and I scowered the town for a chance to let loose. I was hungry to feel passionate about something or involved in whatever I could, but I went home each night feeling all the less moved to do anything with the town other than explore mindlessly and aimlessly. I found pleasure in silly things. Watching people navigate through an old town with a repressed history as they refused to look up and face the day. Claiming to not speak English when my Czech wasn't perfect. I also baked a lot of cheesecakes...
About the ex-pats. They all have that punch in the gut story. "Ha ha ha" chuckles one poised over his beer "I was supposed to be in Prague for three weeks." And some odd years later, maybe five, typically three, often times surprisingly longer, they are still here. Seemingly unhappy but reassuringly not. I am not one to speak to loudly, I have well overstayed my initial intentions. Somehow I feel kept. It is as though there is something magical that has the potential of showing up here and although it never really pulls through it draws you in enough to wait.
The past week has been a blur. Karel and I met and made arrangements for me to start working in his other company as opposed to in the restaurant. One reason being the restaurant has been delayed and is not ready to be opened, another being that Zuzana has confirmed that she does not like having me around (apparently not giving her husband nor I the benefit of the doubt), and I am sure there are a few more but of less weight. The downsides are that I am not in a position financially to deny any new source of income and that I will miss the land that I became so close to as well as the people I was excited to see again. The upsides are the pay is exceptional, it comes with a visa of one year in the EU, and I will get to experience working for Europe's leading manufacturer in industrial steel and metals. My work is set in a large cluster of foundries filled with a romantic black cloud that settles among men of such chiseled composure diminished by the sharpness of matter more rigid than their own. As I walked through the other day I felt a deep pulse in my veins that made me feel as though I didn't belong for the first time. As these men maneuvered with little grace but no hesitation I was breathing in every scrap of metal, every spark of orange against the warm grey mass behind it. I was surprisingly aware of what was going on around me and walked as though I had something to prove. Not in how I held myself but in how I returned the stares steadily as though I was saying "You don't think I belong here with my black, linen, capris and matching assortment of shirts layered on one another in a simple but composed way. You don't think I should know this place but I will come to know it and you will come to know me in it." The communist era setting made me feel like I was in some sort of prison camp. The offices are cold to look at within their cinder block walls and I know I will feel the weight of it by the end. I am excited for the challenge and although I am confident that I will come out on top I am not afraid to be broken.
About the ex-pats. They all have that punch in the gut story. "Ha ha ha" chuckles one poised over his beer "I was supposed to be in Prague for three weeks." And some odd years later, maybe five, typically three, often times surprisingly longer, they are still here. Seemingly unhappy but reassuringly not. I am not one to speak to loudly, I have well overstayed my initial intentions. Somehow I feel kept. It is as though there is something magical that has the potential of showing up here and although it never really pulls through it draws you in enough to wait.
The past week has been a blur. Karel and I met and made arrangements for me to start working in his other company as opposed to in the restaurant. One reason being the restaurant has been delayed and is not ready to be opened, another being that Zuzana has confirmed that she does not like having me around (apparently not giving her husband nor I the benefit of the doubt), and I am sure there are a few more but of less weight. The downsides are that I am not in a position financially to deny any new source of income and that I will miss the land that I became so close to as well as the people I was excited to see again. The upsides are the pay is exceptional, it comes with a visa of one year in the EU, and I will get to experience working for Europe's leading manufacturer in industrial steel and metals. My work is set in a large cluster of foundries filled with a romantic black cloud that settles among men of such chiseled composure diminished by the sharpness of matter more rigid than their own. As I walked through the other day I felt a deep pulse in my veins that made me feel as though I didn't belong for the first time. As these men maneuvered with little grace but no hesitation I was breathing in every scrap of metal, every spark of orange against the warm grey mass behind it. I was surprisingly aware of what was going on around me and walked as though I had something to prove. Not in how I held myself but in how I returned the stares steadily as though I was saying "You don't think I belong here with my black, linen, capris and matching assortment of shirts layered on one another in a simple but composed way. You don't think I should know this place but I will come to know it and you will come to know me in it." The communist era setting made me feel like I was in some sort of prison camp. The offices are cold to look at within their cinder block walls and I know I will feel the weight of it by the end. I am excited for the challenge and although I am confident that I will come out on top I am not afraid to be broken.
. . . . . .
I packed up everything at Sarah and Ryan's and was upset by the fact that I had acquired enough belongs to pull me through the winter to come that I had to borrow a bag to relocate. I was the perfect roommate, above and beyond in every way imaginable. I always tried to tip-toe over normal trudging, any cleaning up after myself or them I jumped at the chance to do, I held back all instincts to cook like a mad woman and show off my true skills in a kitchen because of their own established love in the kitchen, and yet I know when the door shut behind me after we said our goodbyes that glances of relief were exchanged between them. Couples are happy to have the kitchen to themselves. Or any room for that matter if you know what I mean. All in all I was so happy to have lived in the city with people that truly lived in it. While at times I felt like I wish I didn't always "tag along" in fear of intruding on their dates, even if I had scavenged the events of Prague on my own I am sure we still would have ended up at many of the same places. It was nice to have been connected to people that were connected. It was also nice to come home to people that had a clue about the world and some of my own struggles to make it through it.
Petr picked me up at the train station Friday afternoon and although we hadn't spoken much at all since he came for a weekend in Prague, he seemed to be happy to have me back. I unfortunately was indifferent, but obviously didn't show it. As we got moving in his little sea-foam beater, as the thud-thud music started to play and the landscape surrendered to our speed, I was happy to be back. The weekend was filled with warm familiarity back to a family running around in their underwear, being policed by the matriarch of the house, and being forced to eat meals by the constancy of a pushy womans instinct.
I find myself on this cold morning back at Clubwash in Brno. I took the train last night and made my way back to its' doorstep for a long night of poker. It was refreshing to be meeting people again, making witty conversations, laughing, competing, etc. In a tournament of twelve I placed fourth and made 200Kc. Now that I am going to be living much closer and dying for entertainment I am sure I will be coming more often to my favorite bar/launderette in the CZ. In a few hours I take the train to Olomouc and move into my cell until winter.
Petr picked me up at the train station Friday afternoon and although we hadn't spoken much at all since he came for a weekend in Prague, he seemed to be happy to have me back. I unfortunately was indifferent, but obviously didn't show it. As we got moving in his little sea-foam beater, as the thud-thud music started to play and the landscape surrendered to our speed, I was happy to be back. The weekend was filled with warm familiarity back to a family running around in their underwear, being policed by the matriarch of the house, and being forced to eat meals by the constancy of a pushy womans instinct.
I find myself on this cold morning back at Clubwash in Brno. I took the train last night and made my way back to its' doorstep for a long night of poker. It was refreshing to be meeting people again, making witty conversations, laughing, competing, etc. In a tournament of twelve I placed fourth and made 200Kc. Now that I am going to be living much closer and dying for entertainment I am sure I will be coming more often to my favorite bar/launderette in the CZ. In a few hours I take the train to Olomouc and move into my cell until winter.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
