I enjoyed reading your post. There is something really strong in the meeting between the two genders that are present when the meeting is a succes and when it's failure. I think you potrayed that well.
How old are you?
edit: Waylons post quoted because I stole a new page
Wasabi wrote:Today, a girl I know was coming back from Philly to see her folks. Her hometown has always been in Philadelphia, but I suppose a more accurate description would be that her home was actually at Tompkins Square. Tompkins Square is a place full of degenerates, addicts and wanderers much like Union Square. It is a place to hang out, socialize, strut and punk out while under the influence. That is if you want to be under a drug influence; the culture in of itself is a unique culmination of a people with similar sentiments and backgrounds of the society they live in. Sentiments full of negativity to that society, where the plaza/square is the one harem they can find peace in.
On facebook, I read a note about this girl recently. Her ex, a 29 year-old homeless heroin addict, died in what seemed to be a drunken accident. He fell off a bridge one night two weeks ago. I felt uneasy reading this, and imagined what she was going through, but that thought lasted but a mere second when my own personal reality with death barged in. I know what she was going through and didn't need to think about it. Although we are relatable in the constancy of death toward those that are close to us, her connection to this death was a more intimate one. She knew him as a lover and like-minded soul, whereas my connectivity with death has been many but never an intimate one. My grandmother, friends, friends of friends, relatives and siblings of friends, have each left my sphere in their own way but never came in close proximity to my own needy significance. I soon felt envious of the closeness in her loss, but thought it absurd to think in that sense.
In the past... 3 weeks, the rose bush that grew in the small, trashy backyard of my home has recently bloomed with crimson delights. In those three weeks they have bloomed ever so slowly, until this day, where I decided that to cheer this girl up I would offer her a gift of roses. What I had extracted were stems of nearly wilted foliage or those that kept struggling to grow; they look much weaker than what I have seen outside the window in my room. There were maybe two that seemed full of vitality. Although I was somewhat disapponted by the condition of these roses, their petals still expressed a vibrancy of a rich red and fuschia. I felt my sentiments could still reach her.
Less than half a teaspoon of bleach. One part Sprite cola. Three parts tap water. A deep caramel glass bottle of Raspberry Heffeweizen which tastes horrible when slightly chilled lukewarm, but amazing when cold. Rubber band.
We agreed to meet at Union Square. I drank a tall iced black coffee at the local Starbucks, started reading this book called Polite Lies by Kyoko Mori, and hacked with this really ripped middle-aged [agile] man named Heili (sp?; pronounced Hi-lee). We kicked with the trademarked Hacky Sack 14-panel white/black bag. His consecutive kicks and flow were much like a combination of a net player and martial artist. An incarnation of Zeke of CIC. It was in this circle that made me miss Chicago, but we kicked in the rain with nothing but enjoyment in our minds. It was here that the disciplines of net and four-square made me smile, again.
I met up with the girl. We chatted. She sounded a little spaced out, but a ride back from Philly under these rainy conditions, from a small excursion to see her folks, would be exhausting without reason. She cheered up to see my gift, and in return, she gave me a cookie. It was delicious. Then her boyfriend came after maybe 5 minutes or so. My hopes dropped, but I kept a good attitude. My intentions for today was not to whoo her, but to cheer her up. She oggled and caressed him, and asked me if I wanted to buy pot (from him). I graciously refused.
Within 10 minutes after this encountered, my body left slowly. My mind had drifted away earlier in dissapointment - understandable at most, but still clinging in some ways to my body, at Union Square over her. In our conversations, we talked in breadths, catching up with the thoughts that related to the conversation, but in my complex belief I felt the silence that was shared in the experience of death. It was not mentioned, and it need not be said. Like the Japanese language filled with politeness and unmentioned intentions, our language was vagued for those few brief moments of conversation without her boyfriend's presence. The flowers have cheered her up, but in my own selfish way I wish I could receive her full sentiment (and in return my own). Polite and intentional, but aggravating and filled with frustration.
Plain speaking never felt more difficult.
The boyfriend. He is the cement wall that I could not jump, the skateboard that I could not olie, the crochet bag that I could not kick consecutively so that I may reach my own personal achievement. My own freedom. With her. But my intention was not to woo her, but to cheer her up. I suppose. I wish and hope the smile she expressed to me was not another mask of formality. These formalities that are so ungenuine and mechanical to the untrained eye. A facade that I wish would break for the better. If not within her, in me, because I desire so much to fully smile and bloom genuinely.
My feelings of intimacy are caged and alone within a voided space. It is unattainable and limitless. I wish to hold and caress it much like she was with his skinny calf. However, like the roses I had given her, their petals will eventually wilt and leave the body gradually until it is time to throw them away. Story of my life at present.
/emo vent.
PS: This post is pretty fragmented. Hopefuly no one will have any difficulty in dissecting my words. For the record, her boyfriend looks like an unhealthy, sketchy, doped-up scumbag, but I suppose the girl-in-question finds beauty in that grungy look. I do have feelings for her, but I'm not completely obsessed with her. I feel that, in the process of making this post, that there are things that cannot be controlled under your will. I can't force her to like me. She can choose whoever she falls in love with, even if he is a dirtbag.
As long as she is happy with the roses, that is enough. I'll move and continue walking forward along my own pace. I just wish there would be an event that would force me to intersect and cross my life with another more privately.
I guess this is a case of "let bygons be bygons." There are plenty of fish in the sea, but a part of me in this instance wants big-eyed tuna or Ahi, instead of trout and salmon.Oh well.
edit: Replaced "jealous" with "envious."
), because there's no way a bicycle will and should take up the entire backseat. This was the whole debacle I had with him and his friend Dana (who is unfortunately, is the owner of the car and bicycle that is *expected* to be brought to Montreal) earlier this week. I don't get this: if you had known there would be a carpool being set-up to go to Montreal, why take a bike that would cram up any or all the passengers that are expected to drive with you? Can't you rent a bike up there? I mean, yeah, I have the option to take a bus to Warwick (2 hours north from NYC) to Paul Agostinelli's camp and hitch a ride with him to Montreal, but I asked Drew about this months in advance and he gave the okay. FRUSTRATING... 
Vince dominated both sets, however, I'm still convinced that Jack had organic butter smeared onto his shoes by someone... (just kidding!). 
Afterwards, hotel shred was happening. Aiden appeared like a ninja out of nowhere and I was just floored with enthusiasm. I didn't expect her to show! I followed with some partial kicking and stitching, but most of all I was just watching Brian, Bob, Ryan and Jay tearing it up in the room. A truly epic evening of shred!
Hurr hurr. 
She's really cool and very motivated. Ironically, she joined our group because she saw some Footbag Net videos online and was interested in learning how to make her feet fly. I guess I'll have to perfect my Net/4-Square form when the weather gets warmer. :3 And she's really interested in learning how to make footbags, so I'mma school her this weekend on how to make a 32-panel... 