Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts

Monday, April 15, 2019

Time Travel With Andy Warhol: Eyes Closed

Took the Time Machine to see Andy Warhol last night...

Andy was working on new pieces and quite introspective. Upon seeing me, he just stood still and waited to speak.

“Which version of you am I getting, Moni? You look... Your eyes look like they’ve seen more. But it’s not love in them.”

“No, it isn’t love.” I shrug and admire his unfinished pieces.

“Moni, it’s because you leave your eyes open and people should fall in love with their eyes closed. Close your eyes!”

“Now?” I posture as I’m taken aback with his demand.

“Why not? Let’s practice. I’ll go first.” Andy announces and proceeds to close his eyes.

“Do you have champagne?” I ask leaving one eye open to scan the room.

Ignoring my query he asks, “Moni, are your eyes closed?”


“Close your eyes.”

Thursday, January 31, 2019


Second chances, second
chances... you know they rarely have to do with the same people... it’s more to do within us and our situations. The universe means for you to expand and experience living through growing, changing and moving forward. Interacting with new people and situations is part of that process. Things that no longer serve or challenge us aren’t helping, they are hindering our life. 

Here’s a story that is a second draft... it has little to do with its origin and everything to do with taking a chance on a change of perspective. 

Do you give yourself chances? 

Kisses, m. 

Closer #2

Closer. Gently I pull his face towards mine with a smile. Both hands holding his jaw firmly and I can feel the lines of his mouth lift to match my grin. Both my arms tightly locked with the intent to move in. So very innocently I look up into those eyes and try to match their gaze. He lowers his arms and I reach over. His breath hits my cheek in deep heavy blows of anticipation. Finally my face is resting against his and he’s waiting for it. The tip of my nose meets his cheek and I giggle. He remains still and solemn allowing my gentle affections to progress. Carefully my lips find their way upwards. Closer. Lightly I push tiny little kisses against his skin. Lips flit over and around the eyes before making their journey to the ears. Delicate little flutters of his eyes caress my face as I move. Hot breath escapes the warmth of my open mouth as I continue to address the situation. Never breaking my hold of his jaw I begin nursing my target with the tenderness of a skilled surgeon. The lobe of his ear is tender to my kiss. Without indicating any warning I gently open to spread my lips further for a tickle with my tongue. Mouth continues to move back around when he laughs at my silliness. Closer. Carefully I withdraw my lips and add a breath of warm air into his ear. He presses a slight pressure against my cheek with his lips. Drawing back I tenderly kiss his neck with my lips before climbing back up around his ear. His pressure against my skin slowly intensifies as I draw out my intention. Quietly his breath increases with excitement. Tenderly I hold onto his jawbone making it clear that he is to remain still. The sound of his breath is growing deeper while I continue to tickle and press into the opening with my breath. As he attempts to draw back with simple pleasure I persist in keeping him close. Waiting for a sound that hasn’t made its presence known, his nose presses against my cheek to tease it out. Closer. Finally the tip of my tongue softly pushes back against the top of my mouth until there is no barrier. With no more than a breath I tell him, “Do you want to know a secret?”

Monday, November 5, 2018


You don’t have to attend every argument you are invited to. The only person you have to face, after all, is yourself. The world and people aren’t in your way. You are. Don’t stand in your own way. Try taking a breathe and try looking at things again. It’s never as complicated as someone wants you to believe. Love yourself. 

Do you view the world as against you or standing your way? Why?

Here’s one from the Immersed series.


Kisses, m.


I'm wounded. 
Body exhausted.
The day nearly stole my soul
And he demands attention. 

Eagerly waiting for me
He holds his gaze.
Too weak to refuse him
I submit.
Gently he disrobes me 
And with a nod I'm his.
Bare to his eyes. 
Open to his touch. 
Softly he massages my neck & back.
He insists upon my fulfillment. 

My body is tight.
Emotions closed off.
I'm needing release.
And he knows this. 
Tired of my excuses 
He persists.
Taking control.
The way he knows I like.
Moments of his hands press my body forward until I open up to him.

My sun kissed brown hair falls when he unravels it. 
Although unhappy with the abrupt change of color he says nothing while continuing to assert his will.
My hair falls and catches the air currents from the fan and begins bouncing like the wind has a hold.  
Gently he caresses my neck, my arms & breasts before kissing the top of my forehead. 
With a slight indication he lifts and carries me to the bathroom. Setting me down he motions to the bath. 

Quietly I draw the bathwater and wait. 
There's only still between us.
Silently he removes his clothing and reveals himself. 
His eyes look me up and down. 
Lips open with a smirk. 
Letting his fingers run across my skin he teases. 
With a quick gentleness he runs his hands up my spine, through my hair & moves my head to meet his. 
His breathing is calm and deep as he leans closer with his mouth.
With a gentle kiss, he encourages me to move toward the warm water with him.

Completely lost to my own will I hesitate.
His strong slender frame moves without mine.
In an instant he's at rest in the tub.
The gentleness of his arms insist me to join him while his eyes never break their stare.
As I follow his lead I'm lost in thoughts of the day trying to break my mind free.
Moving by his volition I untie myself from the memories that haunt.
It's only when he pulls me down to him and holds me in his arms that the day falls away. 
These feelings have never subsided.
I'm reminded how lost I am when I'm away from his arms. 
Dirty and consumed by the madness of the world. 
Found by his touch...

I'm clean.

Wednesday, October 31, 2018


You don’t fear living once you are in control of it. Unlike falling and hitting bottom in failure and having to get back up... there is no falling or hitting bottom in love. Only rising. Love elevates every part of you. When love is there you will know it. It completely hits you and you don’t have to force it or let go to feel it. It’s just there and fills you with joy and adoration. 

Here’s one about being hit with love that’s just old.

Do you fall or rise in love? 

Kisses, m.


What is it honey? Tell me about it then. Love. What about? It hits you that’s for sure. Knocks the wind out of you if you’re not careful.

Let me tell you… Loving is the easy part. The going for it that’s the tricky part. Most people won’t get close enough before backing out. How does it happen?

Well you meet someone and you find yourself getting to know each other. All too well. That’s always fun. Soon enough you can‘t stand to be apart and you start telling yourself: It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. And somehow you know you’re in too deep.

At that moment of depth you know you’ve been seduced by their charm.  The feeling you get when they’re around is overwhelming happy. There is no one else you’d rather be with. You still wonder if it was supposed to be different. Wasn’t it?

Your defenses are down. You are completely caught off guard. But that is love. And then there’s no other way it could have been. It happened when you weren’t looking. A wall you can’t get around, over, or crawl under.

Before too long comes the realization: I’m hit. This person’s love has wounded me. I’m not the same as I was.

No way it’s all a big accident and fooling is no longer an option. When you look in the mirror you know by your own reflection that it’s growing inside. Love. An emotion that can not be caged is bigger, louder and completely taking you by surprise. Standing face to face with the inevitable and its more than you care to think about.  You’re consumed with the hope that they are feeling the same.

How do you know?  My dear, you don’t. Have to believe they’re hit just like you.

Tuesday, October 30, 2018

Wide shut

Love sees with the heart not with the eyes. Love is without words, without looks and without demanding someone say it to you... When you love someone and know it’s reciprocated then you feel it in every touch and breath. A look in the eye is inconsequential when love is in your heart. You feel it and you don’t need the words to be said. A kiss with eyes open is a lie even with someone telling you the words of love. 

Do you need a look and words to know it’s love? Why?

Here’s one about the blindness of love...

Kisses, m.


Ladies and Gentlemen, that lovely song was by the great Cole Porter. I can’t see you all, but I’m sure glad to hear you’re enjoying yourselves. Anyone who is just joining us this evening thanks for coming out and welcome to Limelight. If you’ve found yourself alone this is where we’ve all come together. No one is alone. I bet most you are single. Ain’t no shame in the game. Which one you say? The love game. Oh I know there’s a few pairs out there. And I love to hear that. Don’t you know it? Well, that’s the thing isn’t it? Love. It’s the blind leading the blind honeys. And don’t I know it. One of you down in front tell me what you think about that? Like I thought, you didn’t have a clue. That’s the truth. Blindsided. Now, honey, I could tell you a thing or two about being blind. You barely know what’s coming before it hits you. But nonetheless you do know its coming. It’s something about developing a sixth sense for things that are coming. They say when you lose your sight the other senses start kicking into high gear. But without being able to see what’s coming you learn to feel your way around. I wouldn’t know much about that since I was born and raised blind. Anyway, I think that analogy works for love though. Blind, can’t see it coming, but oh how you might feel it. It never surprises me that whenever I greet love my lil ol’ ticker starts working overtime in my chest. Couldn’t say what it is exactly? Yet it happens each and every time. Mr. Porter got it right when he said, “What is this thing called love?” With that my lovelies here’s another song for you.

Monday, October 29, 2018


Magic is within you... it has nothing to do with looking for it. Don’t look to photos, people or anything external to complete the magic inside of you. Like love, magic is a part of you and if you’re lucky you can share it with others... life is the fairytale, no need to look anywhere or let it happen to experience it. Magic is already a part of you, embrace it. Love yourself and ignore those garbage people that want you to be miserable by telling you that you aren’t letting it happen or can’t find it. You don’t need to find anything because magic is always happening to you so go ahead and enjoy your fairytale!

Here’s one about going with it.

Kisses, m.

Care to dance?


“Care to dance? Find a little comfort in a stranger’s arms?”

“It’s been a while but we’re hardly strangers.”

“Of course we’re not. Come let’s dance for a while.”

“I’m sorry but I wasn’t thinking of dancing just yet.”

“Simply think of it as keeping me company. Nothing of strings, rendezvous, or love affairs. Just a spin around the dance floor. Nothing more than a dance. Foxtrot? Waltz?”

“Hold me. Spin me. Thrill me.”

“Now you have the idea. Tell me what brings you out among the lonely hearts tonight? I thought your dance card was full.”

“It was something like that for a bit. And now I’ve found it to be empty.”

“Well, it won’t be long until your card fills up and the line forms again.”

“I hope you’re right. Shall we old friend? And you can tell me what brings you here.”

“It’s been awhile now. He left before there could be anything. Afraid of what hasn't happen. Beat me to the start like so many times I had in the past. The whole time knowing what it was like as I watched him run out of fear.”

“Do you remember what it was like when you held that fear? Dip.”

“Yes, I remember how the world was. Nothing like it is now. Maybe I could’ve...? I’m a fool.”

“You can’t blame yourself for his actions. We’re all afraid at one point. Some run the wrong way. Was it love?”

“Couldn’t say. I liked him. Nice fellow. There’s no way to know about that now. And the last one that filled your card?”

“She wanted something that wasn’t there. Looking for something when all she had to do was believe in it.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“The dissatisfaction? I don’t know. But it’s nothing I could change. She had to decide.”

“Some people can’t decide.”

“This is true. Feel free to lean in.”

“Can I? It’s not an imposition?”

“Not at all.  I’m enjoying your company.”

“Likewise. This is lovely.”

“It is. But let’s have a spin first. Then you can come closer.”

“Very nice. I had no idea you could dance like this.”

“Thank you. It’s been nice to dance with good company.”

“You’re welcome. I’ve enjoyed this too. And now from the looks of it your card is about to get a new entry.”

“So it is. Care to dance a little longer?”


Romance is the excitement in a relationship or friendship that perseveres... it’s not really lighted candles, Fred Astaire ballroom dancing or grand public gestures that people see in the movies. It can be as simple as doing something thoughtful for someone who you care for just because you thought of them. Or spending time together doing something you love. It’s really not a one size fits all. 

One of my favorite romantic gestures involved a guy bringing me a specific kind of lemonade that was out of his way because he thought of me. Look... Every relationship is different and I know a great many platonic friendships that are far more romantic than the couples I know. I think my friends tend to let me wine, dine & spoil them with gifts more than the men I’ve dated. So...

Define your own romance and don’t worry if you aren’t romantic enough. Don’t take romantic advice from garbage humans. They’re only trying to make everyone unhappy. If you have the grand ballroom, candle-lit romance... that’s amazing. If you have sweats and blankies on the couch watching a flick... that’s amazing too. To each their their own. Love is grand in all its shapes and sizes... no matter what. 

What kind of romantic are you? 

Here’s a old story about no one special & nothing really... 

Kisses, m.

On the menu

Good evening. Table for two? Right this way.

Ah, well aren’t the two of you sweet enough to eat. Lovebirds. I’ve definitely seen my fair share come through here. Not like you. You seem to be quite the pair. I’m getting a lot of energy coming off this connection you got going.

Well, let’s see where shall we put you? Oh of course there’s a small accompaniment over in the corner of the restaurant if you’d like a song. Not that you’ll be noticing. Especially with the way your eyes are locked onto each other like that…

 I, um, you know what? From the looks of you two, I think I’ve got the perfect table in mind. It’s a bit tucked away with just a little bit of ambiance and privacy for mood. It’s right this way.

If you don’t mind my asking, how long have you been together?

Three years. Oh my! You don’t say! Such passion!

Is there anything special I can get for you? Oh you want a bottle of wine. Not a problem. Of course, but that’s a pretty specific year. Is there a reason?

Tonight’s an anniversary! I love it! I could tell there was something special happening here. You see I’m pretty good at guessing these things.

This is really a beautiful spot. The lights and sounds are quite subdued. Don’t you think? Oh well, don’t mind me then. Help yourself to a kiss or few along with a seat. I’ll be right back in a sec with the wine.

The wine.  The glasses. A taste? Perfect.

Alright my lovely lovebirds, would you care for a little food to accompany the romance on the menu?

Not to worry. Enjoy each other. Enjoy the wine. I’ll be back in a little bit for your order.

Thursday, October 25, 2018


“Life itself is a most wonderful fairytale.”

-Hans Christian Andersen

Read the fairytale or live it? Life is the fairytale and you get to experience it happening every second you are alive! Don’t let anyone tell you that you haven’t experienced a fairytale because it’s outside of their limited perception. Everyone experiences the miracle of living and it truly is a choice to see the magic & wonder in each moment of it. Some people just don’t stop and take in every moment presently. They wait to live based on things that may or may not happen. 

Things come and go, find gratefulness for everyone & everything that you experience in life. There are no losses when it comes to love, dreams, jobs or friends & family... there only lessons and memories from the good and bad. You can live your own fairytale and you don’t need anyone or a book of any color to tell you how it goes, you just need yourself.  Fight and put in the work... the fairytale exists. When you are discouraged, remember even characters in the books struggle to get their happiness. 

Here’s one about a story... 

Do you experience the magic of living or do you let someone tell you that you’re not or missing out? 


Kisses, m.



“Once upon a time?” 

“I suppose so.”

“Go on then...”


“Upon a time,” 

“...He loved me. Once there was someone who truly loved me. As cliché as it sounds the one thing that really got me through many years alone was knowing that he loved me.”

“Who? G-G-”

“No child. Not your grandfather. He was someone before we met. Don’t get me wrong child your grandfather was a wonderful man but we had a different kind of love. We were both two people that loved each other very much, but in our own way. What endured our relationship all those years was a strong underlying friendship. This man, was my first true love.”

“Tell me more.”

“He wasn’t like your granddad. That’s to be understood. No love affair is the same. Some are passionate. Some are lovely. And some end before they ever start. One thing is that they are without reason. Well, he surprised me. Wasn’t like any man I ever met. A gentler, kinder man. More of a gentleman than he’d think…”


“I could hear that “but” before you ever got it out. He… couldn’t. The easy way to put this is that he didn’t return like he promised.”


“Nothing like that. Things keep people away, sometimes.”

“Would you have married him?”

“Child, I don’t know that answer. That’s from a time that never finished itself. A moment in the past that can never be completed.”


 “Whatever happened in the past pales in comparison to what is happening right now. That can not be recaptured. No matter how much you want it to be different there is no other way. I’m lucky to have had him in my life. We spent some of the best moments of our life together and I’m glad he was there in my life. But I continued to have a sweet life with your grandfather.”

“Happily ever after!”

“A fairytale that has been a joy to live and even sweeter because I have you.

Tuesday, October 23, 2018


We are only haunted by the past if we choose to be... When you are ready to let go of looking back to see who you were and compare yourself, then you will find peace. Who you are is a choice and based on the decisions you make in the present... the past is an illusion that plays tricks on you and the future isn’t set. Love yourself enough not to be haunted by what can not be changed. Only a ghost is stuck... between then and now. 

Here’s something I wrote about 9 years ago... about living with a ghost. Do you believe in ghosts? 

Kisses, m. 

Sleeping with Ghosts 

Sleeping with ghosts. I don’t believe in ghosts. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. Yet here I am again waiting for a spirit. An entity to appear. Often I wonder, are you in my head? Truly this is madness that I’m alone in. Do I walk away? No. I wait. Here in the dark, in the silence of this old house, I wait for you to return. Each time only brings me closer to understanding true madness. I don’t want to believe. The moon rises and the shadows move across the old wooden floor. The movement seems to dance before my eyes. I’m no longer alone. The cold air against my skin sends chills up my spine and goose bumps down my arms.

Each sound that resonates in the house has me on edge. Every thump against the south wall makes me tremor in anticipation. My heart is pounding in my chest and I’m completely in rapture wondering when you’ll arrive. To any other person the small sounds would be completely nerve-wracking, but to me they provide comforting relief. The signals that precede the visits are unmistakable, the pounding noises, the intermittent phone rings, and the phantom music. In fact, the quiet nights are truly the most restless, as they indicate the unknown. When it’s quiet I wonder if any of this real or purely my imagination gone array. That this is a sadistic punishment executed when I allow myself to get carried away.

My grandmother once told me the Dead watched the living. Sitting, standing and existing alongside us, as they studied our patterns. Our every moments, they shadowed in silence. As the dead have no way of showing their existence. They no longer understand what it’s like to be human; suffering and passion, our emotions. Such things captivate them. Occasionally a human is flawed; cursed to interact with these entities often to the misfortune of that poor soul’s mind. Such extraordinary individuals tend to lose the very thread of sanity due to these frequent interactions with spirits. As a child, I was reluctant to take note of the hidden meaning behind her stories. However as an adult, I understand all too well. Ghosts - watching, yearning and occasionally manifesting to select few.

The first manifestation should have frightened me but it didn’t. Actually I practically ignored its presence as noise and flickering lights in an old house. What caught my attention was the movement. The books stacked on the table collapsed without warning. Upon investigation, I found myself face to face with something not quite human, and not quite dead. Curiosity getting the better of me had definitely led down some unfortunate paths in the past. But that night I couldn’t help myself, so I spoke and reached out a hand. This ‘spirit’ responded in a fashion by moving closer and touching my hand before dissipating. Each night for what seemed like an eternity, we’d play cat and mouse. Hiding from one other and guessing the next move. Hauntings should be frightening, but this was more like a game that I looked forward to each and every day. Perhaps it was just the beginning of true madness, but this ghostly manifestation proved to be more intriguing and less intrusive.

How do you continue to accept something that you don’t believe in? There’s the question that requires a leap of faith. Not knowing where the next manifestation will be. Wondering if the whispers in the house are purely the old noises of my ancestors or your ghost here to haunt? The moments of silence are those times I dread most; the uncertainty of this dark obsession. Truly it is darkness that draws me in. The dead only watch the living and do not cross the line without purpose. Your desire is to possess my spirit and you’ve made it thoroughly clear. However, when you ask for my life and beg me join you in the realm of the dead, I decline and attempt to shut you out. As if I could ever truly shut you out. Mere mortal that I am, this possession is beyond my understanding. Ultimately I question whether you’ll stop asking and just take it without warn as you do not comprehend my grasp of life and the desire to remain among the living. Although this thought rests in the back of my mind, I do not fear your return. Whether you’re here to take my essence or an evil spirit sent to consume my life, it does not matter; I eagerly await your return.

Sitting in the dark waiting. The moon’s shadow continues to dance along the floor boards in the darkness of the room. The cool air gently stirs across the bare skin of my arms. Shivers run up and down my spine as I can feel you enter the room and cross towards me. My heart races as phantom hands find their way across my neck, along my arms and down my back. I’m haunted and shall remain so…

Friday, October 5, 2018

Alive love alive

Art is lovely but... so is being alive. No one needs art to survive or to live. Art is an expressive experience not a necessity for any interior of a home or yourself. And it shouldn’t come at the cost of truly being alive. This doll would prefer her favorite Ken and dolls took care of their needs before creating for any reason. She suggests that anyone who bullies others into creation should simply be ignored. That kind of garbage human has no respect or compassion for others. Self care is a priority before creation... because if you can’t manage taking care of yourself or your basic needs then the art you create truly isn’t an extension of you. It’s merely another distraction. 

Just remember you always have the ability to transform your life... you decide to change, not someone else. People who try to convince you to live their way usually want something or to use you. Listen to yourself and if you have someone who offers you the chance to put yourself first, instead of the artwork, then you should take it. Don’t trade the people who treat you kindly for those that that treat you poorly. Nothing is worth trading your happiness and well-being for. Love yourself. 

Here’s one from the book about being tired of how things are...




Things that go without saying

Things that go without saying.
The mornings start out with a feeling of despair, a sense of remorse for last nights actions. Always the guilt remains. Perhaps over the party or the people, however it isn’t necessarily the case. Some of the parties happen to be fabulous and without a doubt the peak of it all. The fabulous people can’t help but fake it, that’s just what they do. I’m not like them, I’m just me. Not cheap enough to let them own me. Guilty for letting them try.

Even this morning when he wasn’t there. Who, is not important. Just that I’m here still. In his bed, wearing his shirt and reading his tiny notes that apologize by leaving breakfast. It’s in the kitchen. Don’t worry, stay as long as you like. I can’t help the weight that sits in my chest like an anchor pulling me down.

The panic attack hits at 6am during my shower. Heart races like it can’t catch up to the rest of my body as I continue to wash the night off of me. Wash that man right out of my hair along with the 12-hr party the smoke, the drinks, and Johnny C’s blood off of my elbow. Water can cleanse my body, but not my cold dark soul. And there’s nothing to be done about my Cavalli dress with a line of Johnny C’s blow smeared across the breasts and the countless cocktails that fabulous Reggie dropped across my lap while talking to the Countess Jessica Grant.

The darkest moments are after I’ve spent the night out with a man who doesn’t know me, doesn’t love me and doesn’t want to. A man who leaves breakfast before slinking out the door, back to his life, maybe his wife, maybe his girlfriend, back to his real.

Even more revealing is that these are the things, the very REAL things I keep to myself. The pieces of raw, vulnerable me the boys will never know or ask to know. The pieces that I choose to leave behind. The moment I cross the threshold into the party begins the transformation. Put on the best FAKE. Keep it clean. Lift your chin slightly to the right. Now act natural. Posing for the imaginary camera. The one that scrutinizes every little detail that’s wrong. One false move and you are considered bitter. Ungrateful. Tired. Get out of the way. Someone is waiting to take your place.

She can have it. Let her. Maybe I’m bitter. Or ungrateful. 

Knowing that when I return back to these quiet moments alone I can remove my smile, the insincere fraud, like it was a soiled dress. Then comes the dreading for the next time when perhaps I once again won’t have the strength to say no. My hand wipes away the steam coated mirror and leaves me staring at the stranger in the mirror. The haggard woman that drinks too much, talks too loud and moves about the party just because it’s what is expected. Coming face to face with the reflection that my life feels out of control and I want out. But I don’t know how.

My towel wrapped hair and I walk through his wardrobe. Vintage Louboutin heels in the three different colors. He didn’t always live alone. She left her Chanel boots from three seasons ago and faux leather wrap. These tiny remnants of a former ‘someone’ lay at rest among his suits and jackets, demolition denim and t-shirts, watches and shoes. He probably doesn’t know. This reveals more about him than he could ever say. She probably thought maybe I’ll come back someday. And he just didn’t notice.

At least I’ll have fresh clothes. That makes up for breakfast. Not impressive without the company. Why couldn’t he be out getting coffee?  I don’t like waking up alone. Yet I choose to. Notes are getting old now. Yet I accept them. At least he’s the same no one important leaving me notes and breakfast. Consistency is better than just anyone. It appeases the feelings of guilt. And the boots don’t hurt.

These boots, the clothes, the notes, the breakfast all come after the fabulous night. Mornings all alone filled with things that I’ll never say. Things that no one will ever ask to know. Things that they don’t care to know. They’ll never know the guilt, the contempt, or the disgust. What they’ll see is the ensemble, the smile and the best piece put forward.

This used to be the life… maybe I want a new one. This is something that I’ll never say.

Friday, September 21, 2018

Give & Take

Life is full of compromise. But in order to compromise with anyone, you must know your limitations and have boundaries. There will always be someone scolding you or telling you that you are giving too much or taking too much from others... likely they’re mad you aren’t giving to them. Don’t listen to their words. Trust yourself and develop an instinct for what works best for you. The world is full of a lot of nonsense including people and it’s a choice of what you have to listen to. I could give you answers... but where’s the fun of you learning the truth yourself?  And you’re never alone in learning, someone will have the answer or help out if you ask. 

Do you let people tell you who to give to or take from? Didn’t think so.

Here’s something that’s about asking and maybe about boundaries... ala Matisse, I won’t discuss it.  

Kisses, m. 


Please don’t write me a song.

Please don’t sing for me.

Please don’t make promises you can’t keep.

Please don’t say you love me.

Please don’t say you’ll care.

Please don’t make me wait for you, when you won’t be there.

Please be different.

Please be kind.

Please be honest and speak your mind.

Please give your opinions.

Please give your time.

Please give your heart when you ask for mine.

Please don’t lie to me.

Please don’t manipulate truth.

Please don’t tell me things that really happened aren’t real.

Please have an open heart.

Please have compassion in your soul.

Please be a better man, than those you’ve met before.

Please don’t make me jealous.

Please don’t play with my head.

Please don’t be cruel and make me watch the others you take to bed.

Please be warm.

Please be affectionate.

Please be aware of when to be dominant and when to be weak.

Please don’t hit me.

Please don’t harm others.

Please don’t think there’s strength or power in violence.

Please love yourself.

Please have love for others. 

Please let love guide you when have lost yourself along the way.

Please. Love.

Thursday, September 20, 2018


When something is a good idea people duplicate it, replicate it...  don’t worry what other people do or the reasons why they do it or  anything happens to them unless it affects you or you are their family & friend. It’s their life and path. There’s no reason why you need to do what they do. Indeed sometimes the risk is in not replicating what you’ve seen before... and some people will tell you that while copying someone else and posting a million of the same photos. I personally love a little replication in my photography now and again... but I usually credit my source of homage if it’s not myself. Actors call it mirroring when they copy people so it’s truly not uncommon to copy someone or copy yourself.  It’s truly up to you what you do or how you forge ahead in life. Don’t let people convince you of what you want to do. Especially people that do the same thing they’re judging you for. To each their own. Don’t listen to anyone judging you for what works for you.

Do you post the same type of thing everyday? Like a certain type of selfie over and over or do you change it up? 

Here’s one about mirroring... from the novel. 

(posted 9-27-2010)

Tell me you love me,” she says before gently grabbing my face and placing tiny little kisses on my lips. Delicate soft flits against mine. It’s 6:30 pm and I’m at a reading with the infamous Chloe St. Claire. Model turned actress turned model slash singer turned artist slash humanitarian actress. It’s the TV thing that wasn’t supposed to stay a thing for very long. My three and a half pages have become six pages and soon there will be none. We’re standing side by side with the writers, the actors, the directors, the producers and anyone else who isn’t necessary for participation at a reading. But this is different. Andrew fill-in-the-blank writer extraordinaire has called for a walkthrough reading.

She tells me “I hate how I have to be sad to play a happy character. It’s like lying and telling the truth at the same time. It’s not me.”  

Boy likes girl. Girl likes boy. While I’m here reading the pages out loud I wonder what happened to the old celluloid fairytales where love would conquer all in the end. Not like this. A girl is kissing another girl on page 15 while this man watches and then they’re all talking about it over dinner on page 16. At this moment I’m glad it’s Chloe’s turn at reading and not mine, but I keep following along with it anyway. Chloe is in true form the embodiment of the character I’m reading for but she’s already playing this other part like she’s me. I can’t help thinking that she’s better than me. Even when I lean in and kiss her while Andrew whatever-his-name-is, the writer says it’s not working I wonder if it’s my fault.

How can I be less myself and more like you?” This is what Chloe says over the table when I first met her six months ago.  No one could mistake Chloe for me or vice versa. She’s tall naturally blond sun-kissed and I am an average height brunette without much sun. But she sat in front of me with the very serious question and I just smiled without knowing what to say. It was the first time anyone had ever wanted to be me. Even I didn’t want to be me.

Mirroring. This is what actors do when they meet someone normal.” Alton explains this to me over lunch one day in the Sunset eight months ago. I’ve just told her I’m moving to LA to be an actress. She’s telling me this warning while wearing my Prada mules and my Chanel jacket with the same color hair and style that I have. Who are you if you aren’t your best friend?  I think that this is what people do when they meet someone new. Steal all the parts they love and copy them until you can’t tell where one begins and the other ends. It’s a bit like leaching if you ask me. But no one asks me. You take enough parts and what’s left over isn’t worth anything. If you suck the one you truly love dry in a matter of months then where will you find it next?

Mid lip-lock with Chloe trying to get the scene right for the third time, I’m thinking about how this moment mirrors me and her. She’s no longer blond. Still sun-kissed. My paleness is warmer now and we both have the same length and color of hair. Am I the copy or is she? Her hands move in and she presses hard. More yells this writer. She grabs my waist and holds even longer. I wonder what’s she’s thinking. This has nothing to do with the lines.

So at this moment while Chloe is groping my breasts and Andrew what’s-his-name is screaming for more intensity I realize that she’s really me and I’m pretending to be someone else now. And it doesn’t matter when I wipe her saliva away from my face and he yells, “That’s it! Can you do that with Inza tomorrow?” Because she’s done it. Become me. A better version. And I’ve become someone else. Me with my three pages left, a mere walk on cameo in this TV thing can’t compare to the other person I’ve fallen into. That’s the real version of me, instead of her. That’s mirroring 101.

 “Do you want to come over?” Chloe asks me in the bathroom while doing a line of blow off the counter. I take a tissue and wipe my lips clean before reapplying more color. I’m watching me watch her in the mirror. Every detail down to her eyebrow shape is a slightly accentuated version of mine. There’s nothing original about her. She’s taken my nervous twitch and smile. Pursing her lips that same way I do. Lifting her eyes with the same arch and curve. These little unnoticed pieces are now her. She is me. Standing next to me in the mirror she says she’s impressed with my ability to jump into character after pushing her breasts up in the vintage Gucci halter. I think she’s lying because I need to prepare to be someone else now. But I say ‘why not’ instead of excusing myself.

I think back to the last few days before I left the city and always come back to that moment I met Alton for lunch in the Sunset. She wasn’t saying or acting any differently than she normally would have. In fact I think it was the one time she was most herself. Alton and I were inseparable aside from living arrangements several months earlier. She wasn’t me and I wasn’t her, but we were more the same than different and it could have gone on like that forever. Being me was who she was. I can’t remember the last time I’ve talked with Alton since that day. I can only keep remembering how much she looked like me and talked like me in all the other memories. Stealing my words and my look with the guise of friendship. There’s no real connection without the mirror to remind that you aren’t really you.

It’s a quarter to seven when I wake up at Chloe’s. She already up in mid tree pose and not breathing or concentrating. She’s too busy staring at her picture on the back cover of Entertainment Weekly that’s lying spread out on the foot of the bed. I smile when she breaks position and asks about the freckles on her face being noticeable in the picture. I shake my head while telling her they’re unnoticeable and then try to tell her something about the black and white contrast in the photograph when she picks up the phone and starts dialing. It’s then I decide I need a shower because she’s too busy trying to be her being a better me to listen to me.

Somewhere between the infomercial versions of Price is Right and Let’s Make Deal she’s talking with her assistant about a script adaptation for Dostoevsky that her agent sent over. She keeps sending it back and tells her assistant to call her agent about this problem. I smile and the assistant hits speed dial over the speaker. The conversation isn’t great. Chloe drops three “I fucking don’t want to’s” before ending the call. She throws the oversized script at her assistant before falling into a tantrum. The rant begins and something about her face reveals that she does have freckles. The phone rings again and her agent is on speaker once again. Her assistant hands me a cup of coffee and I start to read the Harpers Bazaar that’s on the table.

It’s fifteen after nine when my phone rings and I decide to leave the scene of dysfunction. Tucking out front door with my heels in hand and phone cradled beneath my neck I whisper into the line.
“Hel-lo.” I serenade into the line while quickly stepping into my shoes.
“Jemma darling, how are things?”
“Wayne Baby! Great.” I forget my place and scream. “Look, the place you set me up with has been fabulous. Thank you again…”
“Look Honey, I need a favor. And I couldn’t just have anyone call you for this?”
“Anything Wayne, you’ve been a…”
“Alex is coming into town today. He’ll be at the airport in four hours. Can you get him?”
“Of course.  I have a fitting in an hour and a half, but I should be able to swing it.”
“Thank you doll. I’m glad you’re enjoying things. Sorry to run, but I have to...”
“Oh. Well of course.”
“Bye Jemma.”
“Kisses. Wayne.”

Looking in the mirror is never enough.” This is the advice I get from a woman I might call mentor if she wasn’t chain smoking and eating a McDonald’s cheeseburger.  She’s telling me that the “mirror doesn’t tell the truth” while wearing something nameless you might find in a vintage shop in the Haight, although she insists it came from Versace circa 1982. And she keeps telling the wardrobe mistress she’s a 7 not an 11. I want to laugh every time I see her. But she’s right about one thing. The mirror is not your friend.

I’m thinking about the enemies not in the mirror when the wardrobe mistress is fighting with an assistant over another actress’s size. As the wardrobe mistress verbally assaults her entourage the young woman looks uptight and it’s hard to believe she was in that BIG movie last year or on the cover of Glamour this month. I’ve never seen a person look so scared of the truth as the wardrobe mistress pulls a curtain to shut out the enemies not in the mirror.

On my end of the room the pants feel far too tight already. But I’m at a fitting to make them tighter because the physical being of the character hasn’t truly been captured by my performance. As they are fitting me for the next smaller size of pants because this is what “the character” would wear, I realize that it’s how you see things.

Perspective is a way of life, maybe the only way? We all live inside this tiny little image of ourselves. It’s not how they see us at all. That doesn’t matter. It’s only how you see yourself that matters most in the world. “But how can you ever really know who you are if the mirror lies?” it’s what I’m thinking when I must have said it out loud.

“Take a picture.” This tiny little girl with the schedule for shooting whispers and hands me the latest script revision. It’s now three less pages most of which will land me on the cutting room floor. She smiles and leans in again. “Cameras don’t lie. And it’s not the mirror that lies… it’s your mind.”

On my last day in the city I took a bus and then a walk down by the Presidio and ended up by Crissy Fields. There’s this place in the city that I like to go to. It’s past the Marina before you get to Crissy Fields close to the Wave Organ. It’s a corner of earth where nothing looks like anything else. You look at three sides of water and see something different. Along the way there are no real residences unless you live on a sailboat or a yacht. I pass this part of the Marina where Wayne has a friend with a boat. A “somebody” who owned and lived on this boat. Passing. Remembering that it was close to where I went to this party once.

These parties always happened there but this one wasn’t great, filled with people that didn’t like each other like Reggie and Ashton and important people who mattered like Wayne. Adrian was there with me. Things were ok then before we left for there and... Most of the parties weren’t great then but you don’t know that until you’ve left them. That was when the tourists would show up. When things stopped being great the scene tourists always managed to appear. The teenage girls and boy with their Ugg boots, Converse and laced up jeans matched with some dying pieces of Heatherette matched with a laced up tank from Diesel under a vintage bomber jacket produced by Levi Strauss. Elitist brats wasting time and drugs on this party in the Marina for kicks wearing their faux scene clothes trying to imitate the scenesters who were already bored and leaving.

One time at these parties a body was found dead after the tourists arrived and left. The newspaper reports were of multiple rapes and assaults among the children before this body was found drawn and quartered hanging over the side of a boat in a net. A boat that someone who was somebody owned in the Marina. It was the rawest form of survival of the fittest. Baby scenes picking away the competition that looks exactly the same. The whole mess and scandal forced the owner of the boat to sell. There’s a rumor that you can hear the cries of the rape victims and see the pieces of dead flesh floating around in the waters of the Marina. Even in the chill of the breeze the view is spectacular. When I walk alone to the edge of the water I’m almost expecting to hear the screaming voices echoing through the organ.

Everything the same in nature is different without trying. Reflections in the mirror are nothing like the things in nature. Animals don’t have mirrors to see themselves. How can they know what they look like? By looking at each other. It’s in the similarities of each other that animals know what they are. There is no need for begging and borrowing.

You have to go. I can’t.”
“But you’re….”
“Shh. I can’t be happy for you and let go.”
“Don’t do this. I don’t want to let go.”
“Then don’t. You know I love you.”
“No, I don’t... Tell me you love me.”
Thirty seconds of jaw dropping silence follows the scene. It’s like real-life imitating art, imitating real-life. Inza’s back on set for the shooting and the intensity between her and Chloe is unmistakable as they struggle to break away from the kiss. It’s hard to believe that there’s no love between them. I can see why Chloe misses her. Maybe that’s why I went home with her. There’s just that piece missing in her that wants to be seen. To be loved. The mirror lies. The camera doesn’t.

I’m on a boat to Staten Island with this friend of Andy’s who I’ve only met five hours ago. Being on boats reminds me of Jemma and being in the Marina where those kids killed those other kids playing scene. I need a hit just thinking about killing and Jemma and looking for something in everything. I’ve been everywhere and no where trying to find something in everything. Alex hasn’t been at Andy’s since 4am and doesn’t answer his phone. Someone at Andy’s says he went to LA already. We weren’t leaving until tomorrow night. And I’m still trying to remember what happened when I was losing something somewhere this morning while taking a hit outside of Tiffany’s and what you were doing when the car disappeared. I keep thinking I need some candy to handle this memory that isn’t complete… while I’m ringing up Alex again the view is amazing. I tell this gorgeous woman about the view before she says that I’ll catch up to Alex in a little bit and not to take the candy. After she touches my hair she reminds me that she’s already booked my flight to LA to follow him and we’re just killing time. I like killing time with her it lets me like her smile. We’re talking about things that matter, when she giggles about the whores and Van Gogh instead of blushing like other girls might I know there’s more to this one than meets the eye.