He moves slow and full of care: 05 de mayo de 2015

I have found someone that touches me right. For this small moment, at least. He moves slow and full of care. Never have I been lost so quickly in that touch sense without thought, without thinking of the next move. I can feel his mind steaming with respect for other people, regardless of how long he has known them. I said I wanted to smoke and he pulls a paraguayan cigarette from his fanny pack, without a filter. At the end we use a tuquero, a rolled piece of paper to hold the end of the joint, la “tuca.”

He uses a piece of paper he sees on the ground, and then looks at me, expresses uncertainty: do I think it’s too dirty? In essence, do I disapprove? I ask him if he thought I would be like, “OMG, gross, why did you use that paper off of the ground??” We both laugh, and I know I need someone so affectionate. Relaxed, touchy, not hesitant at all. He kisses me on the cheek, massages my foot. If I make eye contact he’ll kiss me on the mouth, so I pull away to write a line, document a vibe, tell myself that it’s okay to let things happen as they are going.

Your sense of sound amplifies everything, so that birds chirp louder, the fountain gurgles from inside your own head instead of far off. Your mind is falling like that water. Pienso, “¿Por qué este paraguayo es tan rico? Nunca es así cuando lo compro.” Intento orientarme la espalda, no, el centro, hacia el cielo. ¿Tiene sentido? Intento pensar en español, formar las palabras en mi mente, lentamente. Tengo fríoooo, weon. Me encanta sentarme sola en cualquier lugar y sostener una lapicera sobre un papel vacío, esperando.

I begin to feel vaguely, softly paranoid, and cold at the same time. I’m wearing a corduroy skirt and black over-the-knee tights. I want to hang out with people that wear corduroy clothes; they always seem to have this alluring, right-out-of-bed vibe. I feel like running so I just point my toes forward and back, stretching, and then I’m warm! When I feel nervous I try to keep a poker face, placid, lidded eyes, bubbling inner warmth, confused, inward, inverted reflection of the future, never the same as reality in the same way you aren’t who you see in the mirror. It’s always opposite or upside down. Maybe I should write in pictures, too?

I like to hover with intention over a blank space, trying to stretch creative muscles. I like to walk as if I were invisible, big headphones and reflective sunglasses, walking around the city with a wandering, buzzing mind. Nobody can see my eyes, and I can’t hear them if they talk to me. The freedom of the void. I can brainstorm and mumble and dream without interruption.

I got really high and went walking. I completely lost my sense of direction, had to urge myself not to turn left while the changing patterns of the sidewalk tiles tripped me out. The urge to write is like a mental pulling, an obsession, a suffering spasmatic need. Los caminos waving diagonally at me as I try not to get lost in a dream, too wobbly to focus on not turning left, a random impulsive movement that comes from nowhere. Don’t do it, just keep going straight. It is as if my center, my true being, were a dreidel spinning, and I emit strange energy in all directions that is entertaining and insightful to interpret. You know?

A woman’s shirt says “Make your own magic.” Another, “Let’s be weird together.” I can’t keep walking; there are too many things, it’s overwhelming. I stop, panting, lean against a tree, watch other people stumble on sidewalk cracks, without laughing, critique their fashion sense and judge character based on appearance.

The sun blurks out and I am in a sunshine trance, staring into the bookstore across the street. There’s a symbol of a coffee cup with steam spiraling above it, and the traditional black and white wifi sign. Yeah, the perfect vibes for creative emission. If I had a lawn chair I would just sit on empty street corners and watch with a hot drink in hand and this notebook. Is that what my life is for? To be a zen statue and be calm? I think maybe that’s all I want. Is it possible to be self-reliant this way? Why is it so important to me to feel self-reliant?? This is what I get anxious about.