Gina came over yesterday, for New Year's. She did not stay til midnight - she was really only here for about 2 hours, tops - but it was still pretty crazy to me. It was the first time that her two kids ever saw my house, for instance, and certainly the first time that they came inside. It was also, believe it or not, the first time Gina ever saw the inside of my house as well. She came to pick me up here many times but never actually came inside.
I Think she had secretly been waiting for me to ask her to come here for a long time but never said it, since she never says anything. It took me 6 months to convince Gina to come get me and take me for a ride, after her little "episode". It took me literally 2 nights after inviting her to my house to get her to come here. This was...different. I was surprised. And then of course, to think she wound up kissing me while she was here! Who thought the house meant so much to her? She has her own house, it's much better than mine. Mine is small and tons of people live in it. Privacy isn't easy to come by, except in my room, but my room is a destroyed mess of filth. I didn't take her into it, for instance, yesterday night. We just went in the living room and I turend on a movie on Netflix that her kids started to watch, and then we were sitting there next to each other on the couch in the dark. I moved closer to her . I began to rub her leg. She did not resist. I moved towards her back..massaged her briefly. Next thing I know, I started to move in for a kiss and ...though she did resist a bit...it happened. And then it happened again, and again, and again. She dug it. She kept trying to say it made her so nervous but, she dug it. She voluntarily kissed me very passionately before getting in her car and leaving, for example....
I wanted to go back to her house w/ her, but she wouldn't let me. Like she never does. I suppose I was kinda shocked that I got her to kiss me and then she still wouldn't let me back to her house, but meh. I suppose I will have to be happy with the vittoria I got here. I got a kiss from Gina. Our first kiss. Shared in the couch in my house, which she had never been in before, in my living room, with both her kids right around us, plus my dog, plus my cats. Ah yes...the cats! They were, for a good 20 minutes, the entire central focus of our little gang. Her kids loved them and chased them all round the house. At one point, upstairs, I thought her son Maurizio was going to fall, he was chasing the orange cat "Marcus Aurelius" so hard. He hit his face on the wooden floor, didn't cry though. I picked him up and carried him downstairs. DOwn there we started to look at the birds. Then the rabbit! Gina couldn't believe how many creatures were in my house; I think it made her happy. She felt ...the innocence of the scene, I think. She probably hadn't realized my house has always been a feel good zone. She is so used to this miserable ex who came from a truly miserable famiglia. Oh how about around midnight too? "I just wish I could kill him.." she said! I told her stop stop stop Gina, let's not be talking about that as the ball drops and shit. "Never say that sort of shit honey." Who can blame her though? He decked her in the face...gave her a black eye....the dirty fuck. I imagine myself beating him over the head with a Louisville slugger.
"Ohhh you think you're so tough and masculine, buddy? I wonder what sort of effect this ball bat swinging in your jaw will have then?"
Now today tho, she swore she'd come scoop me and we'd chill and go back to her house. Iwoke up early for it, set an alarm at 9:00 to wake me up. We talked from 9-12 on texts, then she vanished. It is now 2 and she messages me and says her brother Carlo is en route to her house. She told me he was going to be looking to sepnd time w/ her today. This fucking kid...gah...he gets in the way at all the wrong times it sometimes seems. Or maybe Gina just arranges it like that. I still don't think she ...i dunno...it's like she can't let go to just allow me int oher life completely. She just wants to keep me as some marginal figure, and I am too weak to leave her life and show her the pain? I just wish she'd come scoop. I didn't really want to spend New Year's Day alone, but whatever, I have spent it alone for the past decade anyways , haven't I? Of course I have! Sono un povero uomo senza niente! I am a poor man with nothing baby. I don't drink no fancy wine or eat at no 5 star restauraunt on NEw Year's. I just type. To you. In the future.
I was writing some good stories in the 2 hours without her to keep me occupied, at any rate. And now I'm remembering some details of the conversation we shared in the morning together, before her constant vanishing act. We shared a few good songs with one another, to celebrate the New Year's Day. She sent me some Lenny Kravitz songs and I sent her a bunch of Rolling Stones classics. She really liked "Loving Cup" it seemed, which I Told her I used to sing daily on my guitar. Then too, she was making a vision board for 2018 and .. I told her to put a quote from the 70's Stones song "Moonlight Mile", another one I played constantly, but on my piano. She loved that too.
Yesterday night she had been crying about how she wishes she was still creative but that she just can't "summon it up anymore". I personally think Gina could be a fantastic singer, in fact I often sort of imagine us as a musical duo or a creative duo of some type. There is something there inside of her, that is artistic I think, and it's probably why she is into me, but I can't seem to crack the shell completely. This area and this country is very bad for artists, as I always say, there is literally no where worse on Earth I sometimes think. Especially for a woman. California is the only good place in this rotten "Spartan" country for an artist. Everywhere else is shit. Never let anyone tell you different, if you are a young artist who happens by these words. California is the only state in the Union for healthy artists. Forget New York: it's a dump now. I'm sorry, but it's true.....
Nevertheless, I told her my personal theory about how creativity, to me, is mostly all just habit. Gina used to sing in high school, you see, like in some sort of choir set up I guess, and when she was a little girl she even traveled to Switzerland to sing somewhere, but then after high school, she got into a bad car accident, she gave birth to Maurizio, and so it ended. Now she is clueless, but I can see she is "in awe" at my own rather prodigious output. So I explained to her , as I said, how it's all just habit. I told her, for example, how writing frequent diary entries, like the one I'm typing now for example, can easily help a writer also wind up writing fiction, if he knows what he's doing. "You just gotta keep your juices flowing?" she asked. "Ya, basically." I told her how, with my guitar, when I Was 20, I often used to write down a list of 15 songs each an every night before bed. The next day I Would make sure to play each of those songs, at least once, on the guitar. I'd check them off as I playe them, basically like I was putting on a concert! And by doing this I woul often find new songs to write myself. It's the number one rule for all art, I swear: "New things hidden in the ol things.." Just like Gina's kids, right?
ALas, sad to say, I have a strong feeling she will not be coming to get me today. I won't see her house, nor her kids, nor her car, nor her anything. We kissed New Year's Eve; but we shall not kiss New Year's Day. She ain't coming... I know she ain't...
Basically her big fear is that "I'm going to wind up wanting to fuck you, William, and you aren't going to know what to do. So then we will wind up having sex, and then...I'll be pregnant with your kid, William. Is it really what you want?"
I find it absurd of course that Gina thinks it woud have to move that quickly but, I'm not exaggerating, the woman seriously is that persuaded of this being the outcome. She does not believe me, at all, that I would just go there and hang around and not have sex with her. I write a lot about sex but I'm actually, in reality, filled with anxiety over it. It's almost not necessarily "fun" to me. I would rather just cuddle and laugh and kiss. Certainly for the first few weeks, if I started hanging there regularly, that's all I want. She does not believe me. "It would be sex, the very first night, it would be...and then I'll be pregnant again... I know it. " The woman is convincef of pregnancy. She won't take birth control. She probably has a pregnancy fetish. Do I admittedly sometimes ....feed GIna's pregnacny flame? yayaya. "I'd like a kid with you. I'll do it. I'll get you pregnant..." I tell her. I don't mean it though. Christ no. Imagining a life where I have a kid with her, with anyone, sounds like total hell. How could I still sing songs and write about pirates and dwarves then? I do not want kids with Gina. I would perhaps marry her, and cihll with her kids,. But I don't want kids with her. Maybe after years of being with her. 2-3 years? Maybe more. I don't know. I guess it's possible I could get sucked into this now, "GIna Land", but it would still tak time to get me sucked in completely. I hope.
My kid would end up like the kid of Burroughs. Billy Jr. He was dead before he even hit 35 or something, because Burroughs Sr., had no idea how to take responsibility for a bambino. I think I -- or, rather, my child -- would meet the same fate. I would want to still have all my free time to myself, to sit and write ridiculous books, or to be a freak, or to just, as Bukowski always wrote, "stare at teh wall and do a whole bunch of nothing", so the kid would be starved for my attention and hate his life.
Kids would not suit my temperament. Someone elses kids , yesyes, thats different, but not my own. That's scary ,cause that's permanent right there. Plus, who wants to eventually be some old man that you know the kid will hate anyways? I don't wanna be some old father who failed his kids, and I swear, every father fails their kids, so fuck it! Lol. I'm good alone. I'll die alone. What difference does it make dying alone or with somebody? I'll have songs playing as I die. I'll get old and grey and commit suicide like King Ecbert, in the recent episode of Vikings I watched. Oh, Ecbert committed suicide in a marvelous way: He got into a very frosty pool of ice water, and he waited until his arms were all nice and numb. Then he used a nice old viking knife, that Bjorn Ironside gifted to him, to cut open his forearms from the elbow on down. Didn't seem like it hurt that bad. Great, great suicide method. Brave, old style. That's what I'll do, when I'm old and ugly, like King Ecbert of Mercia and Wessex. A nice sad song playing as I go down. I have always imagined the Hemingway method of shotgun to be a bit too brutal for me. The body would be all disfigured and shit. Frightening. King Ecbert had the right idea.
How did I start talking about suicide? Shit, that's sad, this is New Year's Day 2018...I'm supposed to be happy, like all these idiots on Twitter! I'm supposed to be hopeful for the glory of a new year, that everything will change, and I'm supposed to be...rejoicing for the fact that Gina gave me a New Year's Eve kiss last night! Come on! What am I doing here?
Well I guess I'm bout to split and log off, run to the bathroom and take a dump, and maybe try to write further on this story about dwarves. I have been getting some good scenes lately, with my attempts to write of dwarves. Check this one out:
The dwarf shouted something in the dark language again, and then he let go. The mans neck snapped violently ,and after it did, the dwarf pulled hard at the body and snapped it again. Aslaug was squinting: she saw that one of the eyes from the head, had popped out, and was hanging by just a thread still. Blood was pouring from the poor mans eye. The dwarf stood staring at it for a moment, just admiring it, and at one point whistling. He started to cast a spell a minute later, this time one that created a heavy green orb and many things that looked like knives floating in the air. The knives all tore into the hanged mans body, and Aslaug watched in horror as the skin fell off of him, like hot cheese slipping off of dough. She had never seen anything so foul looking:she vomited, couging onto the dirty ground. Her stomach felt sickly. The next she let herself look, the hanged man was just a skeleton, somehow still hanging by the rope.
Hehe. Something else about death...a hanging. Does it scare you? Don't let it, little reader!
I'll get back to thinking about Gina now though, eh? I'll text her as I take my dump.
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