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threeplusfireCzech play this evening, and a grand thing it was, with singing and silly things by Jara Cimrman. Who is something magic in the Czech lands, something unreal. The party afterwards at Craig's was as debauched as ever, right up til the police showed up at the door. Funny, I've never been at a party where the police have shown up before. Otto, wonderous Otto , was there and I'm sad because I'll miss the birthday party for his little girl Justina in May. But his book has been published and he invited me to come to the presentation, so I will see him again before he goes home. He told me so many things, stories and things from his life and art. About living wiht Pavlina, and his children and the cathedral in his village with a floor that Jan Hus walked over.
Hana told stories about the bodies of people killed by the Russian mob floating to the top of the dam by the land she has in the Czech Republic, and Otto showed me tricks with my Zippo, and Keith and Craig danced in entirely innappropriate ways to bad rap music, and there was a lot of casual nudity and the utter insanity that characterizes out every interaction involving alcohol. Shortly after the police came, I drove home with Gene in my passenger seat.
I realized all over again, thanks to the comments made by Otto and others along with my own quiet observation, how utterly lost I am. In the car, coming home with Nightwish so loud I've probably done damage to my speakers, it was clear and bright like summer stars. The music in my head doesn't stop, even now, and I don't know if I should sing or cry. I am too tired to light another cigarette and go outside.
I love him. I love him terribly, deeply, out of my mind sort of love. The kind where you imagine you would walk on glass to hell and back for someone because it twists inside you like something alive, like a knife plunged all the way down through ribs and muscle right into my heart. I love him, and there is nothing to be done about it. Everything I do, all these ill-fated experiments with pretending it does not matter, all of it comes to naught. I love him, and I wish that he would love me, even if we could never do anything to have a life together.
And yes, that sounds so pathetic and stupid and girlish, and I never wanted it to be that. I shouldn't, but gods above and below me, I swear it is beyond my power to change. It just is, and I will learn to live with that, come what may.
If I were brilliant I would write poems or books. But instead I will wash my face, and cry a little in the shower to take the edge off this headache, and fall into bed saying only, miluju te Evzen, I love you, all the days of this mortal life.
Hana told stories about the bodies of people killed by the Russian mob floating to the top of the dam by the land she has in the Czech Republic, and Otto showed me tricks with my Zippo, and Keith and Craig danced in entirely innappropriate ways to bad rap music, and there was a lot of casual nudity and the utter insanity that characterizes out every interaction involving alcohol. Shortly after the police came, I drove home with Gene in my passenger seat.
I realized all over again, thanks to the comments made by Otto and others along with my own quiet observation, how utterly lost I am. In the car, coming home with Nightwish so loud I've probably done damage to my speakers, it was clear and bright like summer stars. The music in my head doesn't stop, even now, and I don't know if I should sing or cry. I am too tired to light another cigarette and go outside.
I love him. I love him terribly, deeply, out of my mind sort of love. The kind where you imagine you would walk on glass to hell and back for someone because it twists inside you like something alive, like a knife plunged all the way down through ribs and muscle right into my heart. I love him, and there is nothing to be done about it. Everything I do, all these ill-fated experiments with pretending it does not matter, all of it comes to naught. I love him, and I wish that he would love me, even if we could never do anything to have a life together.
And yes, that sounds so pathetic and stupid and girlish, and I never wanted it to be that. I shouldn't, but gods above and below me, I swear it is beyond my power to change. It just is, and I will learn to live with that, come what may.
If I were brilliant I would write poems or books. But instead I will wash my face, and cry a little in the shower to take the edge off this headache, and fall into bed saying only, miluju te Evzen, I love you, all the days of this mortal life.
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no subject
Date: 2003-04-20 01:02 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2003-04-20 02:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-04-20 03:46 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2003-04-20 02:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-04-20 06:21 am (UTC)If not to solve it than just to settle accounts with yourself.
You can't make him love you and you can't make him understand that you love him, but you can sure as shit make sure you'll never have to wonder if the state of things is due to a lack of data.
Sometimes people are brought into our lives to remind us of what is possible.
Othertimes, it is to remind us what is not.
Re:
Date: 2003-04-20 02:39 pm (UTC)Re:
Date: 2003-04-20 02:42 pm (UTC)Happy Easter you as well. Christ has risen.
Re:
Date: 2003-04-21 09:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-04-20 09:47 am (UTC)If I were brilliant I would write poems...
You just did.
Love cannot be explained, and only your actions as a result of love can be controlled. Time will make it right.
Re:
Date: 2003-04-20 02:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-04-20 03:19 pm (UTC)be well,
Samantha
Re:
Date: 2003-04-20 03:52 pm (UTC)I think I'm going to launch a Stalinize Your Bathroom project here. ;)
no subject
Date: 2003-04-20 04:29 pm (UTC)Let us know how it goes!
take care,
Samantha