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.

. . . .

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.

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.

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.

. . . . . .

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.

The deed is done.

I died my hair. It is official and officially lighter/darker than it was before. I mean why the hell not? I have joined the club of many a women before me that solve each new mid-life crisis with a new color. It feels great. Subtle rebellious and fresh. I think the new mane makes up for the roar that was attempting to let loose but didn't have the umph to back it up.

The past week or so has been a blur. So many shows and random gatherings. People leaving, people getting older, all the celebrations.... I am attempting to sort through my drunken lullabies and revelations from my factual, actual, realities. I have learned that you never want to get to the state where you have to hug a toilet that also serves as a domestic cat's potty training campsite. I have also decided that if in doubt, stay away from the bar squatters past 2 in the morning. they may turn out to be rowdy, over the hill, Liverpuddlian's that will keep you up way past your bedtime and won't offer to walk you home afterwords. My class has just ended which I am terribly depressed about and I am now trying to figure out what is next. I met with Karel tomorrow to discuss the next few months. The restaurant is on delay another month and he wants to talk about some "ideas" that he has. I hope that I don't get screwed over in the end. I am in no position not to work and if that means I have to be a sheep medic I will have to do it. Or hunt for work in the city until I can round up enough to make a move again.....

Too short and not so sweet.... I will do better next time.

cheesecake, projections, and eli the cat

I am losing my touch and there is no way to start something properly when it is long overdue. Prague. Let's talk about that. It is not that I do anything in particular or even that I feel as though I have found a particular place of my own in this city but it seems to suck people in. It lures people from their week long vacations into domestic lives. It tempts people into ex-patriotism and provides one with many a bars down dingy, mangled streets and allies. To say the least it will be missed. I have established that going back to the farm will be much harder than I intended it to be. On that note, the lack of drawn out conversations and flirtations in my own language will hopefully lead to a puddle of time that lends itself towards creativity. I have goals dammit! I wish I could list them all right now two after one ten after nine but I am selfish and I want to secretly check them off with no one's hand but my own patting my back. One day the list of things that I have done with my life will reveal itself.

I am having a hard time tracing steps into the past few weeks so I will try to start informing my way back. I woke up this morning next to a guy from some town next to some Dot on the map in Kentucky. I would say that he is a not so nice boy that is very nice to look at. Everything about the evening was predictable. We met the evening before at Ken Nash and Sarah's headlining show and after an evening of flirtatious jabs at each others lives, which was only a means to blatantly make fun of ourselves and find comradery in the fact that we were mirror images of the same tragic tale it was almost fate that we would suffer through it again. He advertised his emotional unavailability in the most inviting of ways and the poor Czech girl who sat starry-eyed within range went home with him, as she has many nights before, feeling like one day he would admit to being her boyfriend. I will remain to feel emotionally unattached and continue to take all life and joy out of analyzing my own tragic existence through his. That said, the morning this was great. We passively aggressively made breakfast, ate it, and listened to (smog) and seemed to do it with a sense of familiarity and ease. Strange how that shit plays out but overall it was only how it could be expected to be. You meet someone but you see them from across the room first and let it happen. You say things and it is as though you are both allowing one thing lead to the next as though the rules of engagement are only for humors sake. You very well could have said "nice to meet you, now lets skip to the good part". There were no formalities in our goodbye. I could just as well never see him again as start bumping into him all the time.

Mom and Dad AKA Sarah and Ryan have taken me in, fed me, given me a place to sleep, and in turn I started making cheesecakes, organizing cupboards, and trying to show my appreciation in any way I can. They are the picture perfect, ex-pat, domestic residents of Prague. Sarah stuns the very walls that surround her with her quirky yet refined appearance and grace. Ryan manages to make that very same room laugh out loud in calculated bursts with his presence, and Eli the cat is the yogurt to the soup...absolutely complementary. It has been a true pleasure to be a part of their world.

My time is coming to a close. The late night drawing classes, the Bikram Yoga, the days after days of shoving Czech into every orifices of my body, the homemade soups and various delectable cuisines, the moving of the cat poddy trainer to use the bathroom late at night.... it will all be missed. I am wondering how winter will treat me here and weather or not I will wilt with the coming of the season.

making ones way

I came to a realization this morning that with each city that I have spent a considerable amount of time in I prefer one method of transportation over another. The buses of Quito counseled me through my struggles in coming to know my own imbalances. They calmed the warrior at the end of the day and reassured the woman within that there was more to life than shocking the men of the world and their mentality that was so embedded in the culture. The streets of San Francisco knew the pads of my feet as well as the drops of rain that washed it clean the entire summer that I lived there. Their concrete beings were embracing and coached me through my unrest by providing me an endless journey of unlimited routes and corners. I am now cradled by the darkness of Praha's metro and despite the fact that all whom I have come to know prefer the trams I find comfort in revisiting the sun as many times as possible through out my days.

I am on the verge of an emotional breakdown.
I am ready to yell aloud from the frame of every open window.
I lie in bed with only unrest to keep me company.
I fight anxiety with a placid stare into others illuminated windows.
I need to laugh out loud at my own faults.
I beg myself to forgive all that I have done.
I worship the sweet nothings that happen in precious moments.

I ignore these small tributes to my existence by assembling an appropriate, slightly looked after, but generally tame outfit, stuff my bag with things I know I will not use on my venture and proceed to slip it over my shoulder. I imagine my life playing deep inside the mind of someone else and try to provide the most appropriate soundtrack to the script. I walk down five flights of stairs, retrace the well traveled route to the metro station, and watch myself descend the steps in the reflection of the billboard above.

I don't hesitate to keep eye contact with people who dare to look and when they finally decide that they are no match for someone who doesn't care to be noticed they shy away to their own familiar territories. We are bound by a contract of understanding. They do not want to know who that girl is that so boldly challenged their curiosity.

* * *

PETER GOAT

Petr surprised me the other day by taking a stand for something he believed in. Unfortunately, as the drunken, mindless sentences began to unravel I have come to the conclusion that he is but a mere product of a childish, collective thought. He sternly claimed that it was not normal for me to stand naked in front of other people and that he was not my boyfriend. If it were not for the audience in the background I would have tried not to laugh at him. I knew very well that he would not have been able to spit out such dribble without the support of his equally immature clan of friends but I had given him more credit in the past for a more evolved and modern mentality. You are right Petr. It is not right for a woman to unabashedly show her body to whomever wishes to draw it when she has allowed one young man of only 18 to think that it was his own private right to gawk at. It has always been knowingly cruel of me to watch him inflate his own ego with such pride and assurance. He has since apologized for implying that I am a whore, would like to remain disillusioned that we will live happily ever after in some fabricated wonderland, and politely pleaded that I keep my clothes on. I will from here forth have to stop trying to turn him into a man and allow him to live within his own years and only hope that he will turn out alright in the end. I despise the sense of superiority and indifference that I have adopted in terms of love and compassion.

Today I am an unstoppable flame sweeping the streets and outshining the sun. I am elated at the sight of nearly everything and cant help but smile at all that I pass. I will drift into this evening and relish my new sense of self.

A Tale of Two Tangled

A week ago I made a list of things that I wanted to accomplish while riding the bus to Prague.  I wanted to find a good language institute that offered an intensive Czech course in a short period of time.  I had my mind set on finding a place to live for the next month that would taylor to my needs as a student and as as someone ready to be let loose in the city before locked up in endless fields and horizons.  I also wanted to kick off my new lifestyle, however brief it was going to be, with a nice detox, a haircut, and a few new articles of clothing that would allow me to blend in comfortably.  I am pleased to say now, as I am getting ready to start my first day of a month long, five hour a day, intensive Czech class, that I have checked all of the above off of the little scrap of paper that I wrote them down on.  As I was on the search for a little flat of my own and was close to sealing the deal, Sarah and Ryan offered me the extra bedroom in theirs.  I am paying less and they have a little extra pocket money to get through life with.  I think that it will be a really nice arrangement.  One week into my detox, which consists of nothing more than lemon juice, cayenne pepper, maple syrup, and water, I am feeling great but desperately trying to avoid the scents of anything flavorful until the next seven days go bye.  

Petr picked me up at the train station on Saturday afternoon and I was surprised to feel just as happy to see him as he was to see me.  I must admit that I am aware of my calloused existence and that he doesn't stand a chance in the long run and I am not ashamed to say that he will be the better for it in the end.  I have been admiring the ways of Dominique Francon and how bound I feel to her.  She knows how she affects people, she knows what to say as though her words formed the rules and the realities.  She has no friends and no particular like for anyone in particular but she makes others feel as though they need to be around her and want to be wanted by her.  She plays no game, only comes and goes as she pleases, and while some may feel as though they reached someplace special they dare not ask because she would not hesitate to express the nothingness that they really shared.  I know it seems cold but it is mere honesty.  I can be whatever Petr wants me to be but I can never be his and he is not so naive not to know it.  While December lingers over his head in a manner that he must fight and relish in every moment we have together.  I am happy to drift along the moments with ease, take pleasure in all that I am doing and in the slight excitement and twinge of pain that it causes.  It must be a hint of self torture that is the driving force of my being.  Making friends with Distaste and Unfamiliarity brings excitement and mental problem solving.  It seems to be one of the only ways I can actively use my brain these days, knowingly putting myself in difficult, emotionally involved, and undesirable situations. 

Enough of that.  I am happy for the time being.  I know the above paragraph will be read by many as unhappiness but for those of you that understand, it isn't about being happy, it is about being in control of ones actions and beings and not depending on anyone else to live.  

Winter seems to be coming closer because my leg finds itself under the covers at night as opposed to being draped over the edge of the bed.  It is almost as though this detox is clearing the way for my dreams to release what I keep neatly tucked away every moment of every day.  The dreams are horrible because it forces me to think I actually talk about the things with people.  Then I wake up and it seems to be ok.  I have some sort of bodily obsession which I can only assume most people do, but mine seems to consume so much space.  I have no standards but my own which I think must be the worst kind because who is ever pleased with themselves other than the ones that believe in happily ever afters?  Since living on the farm I have been more physically active since I don't know when.  It is not that I, in my own nature, don't appear physically active, but I am generally a procrastinator and if you at least appear physically active you can put off the actual activities as long as you want.  It takes the slightest strike of truth of absolute hatred towards ones body that brings action.  I have had mine and as painful not eating for fourteen days may be it is all an act.  I rejoice in front of the mirror every day because the muscles that I have become more pronounced as the fat withers away.  It is interesting how the body can turn on itself.  "You aren't feeding me!" it shouts.  "Fine, I will start eating myself inside and out."  I swear I laid in bed and could hear my ass fat screaming in horror and running away into some unknown place.

I attended a yoga class the other night.  It wasn't nearly as refined or disciplined as I like but it felt nice to consciously provide breath to my body and to activate the muscles to assure that they will never be neglected and only bowed down to.  I plan to attend again even if the music drives me crazy.  I can seek for mental clarity elsewhere.  I have found an indoor climbing gym and that is where I will let my mind let loose.  There is something about it that I can't quite describe.  It is complete surrender to something bigger and stronger than you and yet a sense of accomplishment and effort in dominating its exterior.  I am also, once again, scheduled to bare all in the small art studio and am not afraid to say that I am excited for it.