As always I am most interested in the reasons people do things, not so much in what people do, and as I watch (for the third time) the movie from which this essay gets its title, I am struck by a notion.

Lars believes he can find fulfillment in an unreal connection that he has created with an inanimate object that looks like a real person. Similarly, we often create attatchments to things that are alot less obvious to the observer as out of the ordinary, but still is not what we actually need to fulfill us. How many times have I dove into work, spending 60+ hours working, and the rest of the time sleeping, just so I wont have to figure out another way to occupy my time? How many opportunities for connecting with someone new have I turned down because "I dont have time for a relationship I have to work"? How many men do I know that go from girl to girl believing that the next one will be the one every time, without taking a second to think perhaps he isnt the man? How many times have I distracted myself with emotions: excitement, guilt, fear, loathing, jealousy, anger, and happiness, without realizing that was one rollercoaster that I didnt have to get on? Probably more than I can count...but it also shows me something else...

Lars lives in a small town where people know everone...granted, it may be an extraordinary small town, where people care an inordinate amount for eachother, but it is supposed to be a small town like any other across this country. In this small town everyone decides that they are going to go along with Lars' fantasy woman, believing for him beyond even what he himself wants to believe, turning this plastic sex doll into an actual person who feels and thinks and wants differently than Lars....

What occurs to me is that the townspeople love Lars enough to give him a reality to compare his fantasy to. He believes this doll will fullfill his emotional need, but when the townspeople start to treat her the way that any real person would expect to be treated, they show Lars his crutch, not in a hurtful sarcastic way, but in a loving caring way. As if to show him (because he cannot hear them no matter how loud they shout) through actions, that the real bond between humans is more than any imagination can create. It is a bond that involves things that no one can account for. A bond that cannot be predicted or dictated just because you will it to be so.

The bond between two or more REAL people has more depth and waves of perception than any imaginary bond we can think of mainly for the reason that we cannot possibly account for the thoughts, feelings ans actions that another person will contribute to our own energy.

Sexual offenders ( I only bring up these people with disorders because I took a class in college about sex offenses and offenders and so therefore I think Im some sort of expert, but also because I have no other information about other less offensive disorders people have at the moment Im writing this, and it does need to get written now) also have a disorder, but their's is a lot closer to insanity; ie, doing the same thing over and over and over again and expecting a different result is insane. They have this ideal of a fantasy that they continually try to create (I wish I had the citing that I took this from), but because each real circumstance that happens never actually meets up with the fantasy, the sexual offender searches for another victim that may live up to his or her fantasy; ie, fulfilling his obligation to the definition of insanity.

The reason that a sexual offender will continually be dissappointed, or the reason Lars (who is not a sexual offender, but does have a disorder) does not end up forever with a plastic girl, or anyone who is seeking to live out their fantasy in reality will be incapable of it, is because when another person's will besides our own is added to the equation, the situation becomes unpredictable and therefore, uncontrollable (to some extent). We must play each moment by that specific moment and at times will fail because we bring in predetermined convictions that do not in the least reflect the reality of the situation, at other times, the situation will exceed our expectations, bringing us to realizations above and beyond our own imagination.

Lets go back to Lars. Bianca (the adult sex doll that Lars purchased) is a part of Lars. Before your mind goes straight into the gutter, this is a PG-13 movie, and the most Lars ever does (in an anticlamactic moment) is kiss her goodbye. Back on track, Bianca becomes a conduit for Lars to express himself to his brother, his sister-in-law, his peers and his circle. Bianca is a crutch. In Lars' defense, at least he chose an inanimate object to be his crutch and not a real person. Because his mother died when she was giving birth to Lars, he was so afraid of hurting someone in anyway that he sought to bring to life something he could never hurt: Bianca, and thus revealing to others his very real need and and very real inability to deal with human affection.

I guess that got me to thinking how lucky Lars was to live in that town. So far in my experience in this city of NY, the "small town" that I live in is a little harder to define. People are less willing to go along with your little shenanigans and will let you roll yourself into a ball and retreat to the safety of your own world. They will let you "dissappear into your delusions" because there will always be another person to distract them, there will be someone who (in their mind, though Im not really sure how true it actually is) will not need so much work to get back to a more acceptable reality.

In this city you have to be strong enough to discover for yourself your own delusional fantasies, and hold strong to the fact that there are people, in fact a whole universe that loves you. In this city you are not so easily reminded that people would pretend for your sake to see what you desire them to see.

I guess what Im saying, and what Lars and The Real Girl showed me, is you have to hold on to the people who are willing to hold up the mirror, and are also willing to open their arms, because they aren't a dime a dozen, they are infinitely more patient then you give them credit for, and they do love you.

Changes can be made simply by speaking. 

When you make others aware of how you feel, and they return the favor there is a possibility of change in a positive way that silence would not make possible.  I have experienced this first hand. 

Anger is not a valid response when someone has done the same thing every day since the day you met them and you finally speak up after the 150th day to say "fuck you!  that doesnt make me feel good", though it is a valid motivator to communicate.  Its better to wait until you can speak to someone without the burden of irrational thinking that anger most of the time induces in people.

I know this because I recently went through it.

I was angry, and I responded in a way at the time that was passive aggressive, though unintentional.  In my case it just seemed like the pieces fell into such a place that allowed me to speak to people that normally I wouldnt.  I should have gone straight to the source as soon as possible.

In my defense the person was playing the unavailable game and I was responding by mirroring his steps, though out of anger, not out of disinterest.  But I did finally get to say to him what I wanted to say and what needed to be said.

I have always been an advocate of communication and truth, without which nothing can ever "become" at least when it comes to relationships.

Maytbve the best thing we can hope for in this life is just to be surrounded by those we love and who love us.  Maybe I have lost what it felt like to be limitless, though not my limitless. 

My fingers have so long been stayed from this place that they hesitate in a way that they have never before, and its just a figment of my imagination perhaps, that makes these words feel so jolting, so akward...

I wonder if Im in the exact same place as I was last year. No thats not possbile.  Its not. but it may be close, like a giant circle that has come back around almost on top of where it was, like planets rotating around the sun, never exactly the same place,,,.

I want more...

Cass was the youngest and most beautiful of 5 sisters. Cass was the most beautiful girl in town. 1/2 Indian with a supple and strange body, a snake-like and fiery body with eyes to go with it. Cass was fluid moving fire. She was like a spirit stuck into a form that would not hold her. Her hair was black and long and silken and whirled about as did her body. Her spirit was either very high or very low. There was no in between for Cass. Some said she was crazy. The dull ones said that. The dull ones would never understand Cass. To the men she was simply a sex machine and they didn't care whether she was crazy or not. And Cass danced and flirted, kissed the men, but except for an instance or two, when it came time to make it with Cass, Cass had somehow slipped away, eluded the men.

Her sisters accused her of misusing her beauty, of not using her mind enough, but Cass had mind and spirit; she painted, she danced, she sang, she made things of clay, and when people were hurt either in the spirit or the flesh, Cass felt a deep grieving for them. Her mind was simply different; her mind was simply not practical. Her sisters were jealous of her because she attracted their men, and they were angry because they felt she didn't make the best use of them. She had a habit of being kind to the uglier ones; the so-called handsome men revolted her- "No guts," she said, "no zap. They are riding on their perfect little earlobes and well- shaped nostrils...all surface and no insides..." She had a temper that came close to insanity, she had a temper that some call insanity.

Her father had died of alcohol and her mother had run off leaving the girls alone. The girls went to a relative who placed them in a convent. The convent had been an unhappy place, more for Cass than the sisters. The girls were jealous of Cass and Cass fought most of them. She had razor marks all along her left arm from defending herself in two fights. There was also a permanent scar along the left cheek but the scar rather than lessening her beauty only seemed to highlight it.

I met her at the West End Bar several nights after her release from the convent. Being youngest, she was the last of the sisters to be released. She simply came in and sat next to me. I was probably the ugliest man in town and this might have had something to do with it.

"Drink?" I asked.
"Sure, why not?"

I don't suppose there was anything unusual in our conversation that night, it was simply in the feeling Cass gave. She had chosen me and it was as simple as that. No pressure. She liked her drinks and had a great number of them. She didn't seem quite of age but they served her anyhow. Perhaps she had forged i.d., I don't know. Anyhow, each time she came back from the restroom and sat down next to me, I did feel some pride. She was not only the most beautiful woman in town but also one of the most beautiful I had ever seen. I placed my arm about her waist and kissed her once.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked.
"Yes, of course, but there's something else... there's more than your looks..."
"People are always accusing me of being pretty. Do you really think I'm
pretty?"
"Pretty isn't the word, it hardly does you fair."

Cass reached into her handbag. I thought she was reaching for her handkerchief. She came out with a long hatpin. Before I could stop her she had run this long hatpin through her nose, sideways, just above the nostrils. I felt disgust and horror.

She looked at me and laughed, "Now do you think me pretty? What do you think now, man?"

I pulled the hatpin out and held my handkerchief over the bleeding. Several people, including the bartender, had seen the act. The bartender came down:

"Look," he said to Cass, "you act up again and you're out. We don't need
your dramatics here."
"Oh, fuck you, man!" she said.
"Better keep her straight," the bartender said to me.
"She'll be all right," I said.
"It's my nose, I can do what I want with my nose."
"No," I said, "it hurts me."
"You mean it hurts you when I stick a pin in my nose?"
"Yes, it does, I mean it."
"All right, I won't do it again. Cheer up."

She kissed me, rather grinning through the kiss and holding the handkerchief to her nose. We left for my place at closing time. I had some beer and we sat there talking. It was then that I got the perception of her as a person full of kindness and caring. She gave herself away without knowing it. At the same time she would leap back into areas of wildness and incoherence. Schitzi. A beautiful and spiritual schitzi. Perhaps some man, something, would ruin her forever. I hoped that it wouldn't be me.

We went to bed and after I turned out the lights Cass asked me,
"When do you want it? Now or in the morning?"
"In the morning," I said and turned my back.

In the morning I got up and made a couple of coffees, brought her one in bed. She laughed. "You're the first man who has turned it down at night."
"It's o.k.," I said, "we needn't do it at all."
"No, wait, I want to now. Let me freshen up a bit."

Cass went into the bathroom. She came out shortly, looking quite wonderful, her long black hair glistening, her eyes and lips glistening, her glistening... She displayed her body calmly, as a good thing. She got under the sheet.

"Come on, lover man."

I got in.

She kissed with abandon but without haste. I let my hands run over her body,
through her hair. I mounted. It was hot, and tight. I began to stroke slowly, wanting to make it last. Her eyes looked directly into mine.

"What's your name?" I asked.
"What the hell difference does it make?" she asked.

I laughed and went on ahead. Afterwards she dressed and I drove her back to the bar but she was difficult to forget. I wasn't working and I slept until 2 p.m. then got up and read the paper. I was in the bathtub when she came in with a large leaf- an elephant ear.

"I knew you'd be in the bathtub," she said, "so I brought you something
to cover that thing with, nature boy."

She threw the elephant leaf down on me in the bathtub.

"How did you know I'd be in the tub?"
"I knew."

Almost every day Cass arrived when I was in the tub. The times were different but she seldom missed, and there was the elephant leaf. And then we'd make love. One or two nights she phoned and I had to bail her out of jail for drunkenness and fighting.

"These sons of bitches," she said, "just because they buy you a few
drinks they think they can get into your pants."
"Once you accept a drink you create your own trouble."
"I thought they were interested in me, not just my body."
"I'm interested in you and your body. I doubt, though, that most men can see beyond your body."

I left town for 6 months, bummed around, came back. I had never forgotten Cass, but we'd had some type of argument and I felt like moving anyhow, and when I got back i figured she'd be gone, but I had been sitting in the West End Bar about 30 minutes when she walked in and sat down next to me.

"Well, bastard, I see you've come back."

I ordered her a drink. Then I looked at her. She had on a high- necked dress. I had never seen her in one of those. And under each eye, driven in, were 2 pins with glass heads. All you could see were the heads of the pins, but the pins were driven down into her face.

"God damn you, still trying to destroy your beauty, eh?"
"No, it's the fad, you fool."
"You're crazy."
"I've missed you," she said.
"Is there anybody else?"
"No there isn't anybody else. Just you. But I'm hustling. It costs ten bucks. But you get it free."
"Pull those pins out."
"No, it's the fad."
"It's making me very unhappy."
"Are you sure?"
"Hell yes, I'm sure."

Cass slowly pulled the pins out and put them back in her purse.

"Why do you haggle your beauty?" I asked. "Why don't you just live with it?"
"Because people think it's all I have. Beauty is nothing, beauty won't stay. You
don't know how lucky you are to be ugly, because if people like you you know it's for something else."
"O.k.," I said, "I'm lucky."
"I don't mean you're ugly. People just think you're ugly. You have a fascinating face."
"Thanks."

We had another drink.

"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Nothing. I can't get on to anything. No interest."
"Me neither. If you were a woman you could hustle."
"I don't think I could ever make contact with that many strangers, it's wearing."
"You're right, it's wearing, everything is wearing."

We left together. People still stared at Cass on the streets. She was a beautiful woman, perhaps more beautiful than ever.

We made it to my place and I opened a bottle of wine and we talked. With Cass and I, it always came easy. She talked a while and I would listen and then i would talk. Our conversation simply went along without strain. We seemed to discover secrets together. When we discovered a good one Cass would laugh that laugh- only the way she could. It was like joy out of fire. Through the talking we kissed and moved closer together. We became quite heated and decided to go to bed. It was then that Cass took off her high -necked dress and I saw it- the ugly jagged scar across her throat.
It was large and thick.

"God damn you, woman," I said from the bed, "god damn you, what have you done?
"I tried it with a broken bottle one night. Don't you like me any more? Am I still beautiful?"

I pulled her down on the bed and kissed her. She pushed away and laughed, "Some men pay me ten and I undress and they don't want to do it. I keep the ten. It's very funny."
"Yes," I said, "I can't stop laughing... Cass, bitch, I love you...stop destroying yourself; you're the most alive woman I've ever met."

We kissed again. Cass was crying without sound. I could feel the tears. The long black hair lay beside me like a flag of death. We enjoined and made slow and somber and wonderful love.

In the morning Cass was up making breakfast. She seemed quite calm and happy. She was singing. I stayed in bed and enjoyed her happiness. Finally she came over and shook me, "Up, bastard! Throw some cold water on your face and pecker and come enjoy the feast!"

I drove her to the beach that day. It was a weekday and not yet summer so things were splendidly deserted. Beach bums in rags slept on the lawns above the sand. Others sat on stone benches sharing a lone bottle. The gulls whirled about, mindless yet distracted. Old ladies in their 70's and 80's sat on the benches and discussed selling real estate left behind by husbands long ago killed by the pace and stupidity of survival. For it all, there was peace in the air and we walked about and stretched on the lawns and didn't say much. It simply felt good being together. I bought a couple of sandwiches, some chips and drinks and we sat on the sand eating. Then I held Cass and we slept together about an hour. It was somehow better than lovemaking. There was flowing together without tension.When we awakened we drove back to my place and I cooked a dinner. After dinner I suggested to Cass that we shack together. She waited a long time, looking at me, then she slowly said, "No." I drove her back to the bar, bought her a drink and walked out. I found a job as a parker in a factory the next day and the rest of the week went to working. I was too tired to get about much but that Friday night I did get to the West End Bar. I sat and waited for Cass. Hours went by . After I was fairly drunk the bartender said to me, "I'm sorry about your girlfriend."

"What is it?" I asked.
"I'm sorry, didn't you know?"
"No."
"Suicide. She was buried yesterday."

"Buried?" I asked. It seemed as though she would walk through the doorway at
any moment. How could she be gone?

"Her sisters buried her."
"A suicide? Mind telling me how?"
"She cut her throat."
"I see. Give me another drink."

I drank until closing time. Cass was the most beautiful of 5 sisters, the most beautiful in town. I managed to drive to my place and I kept thinking, I should have insisted she stay with me instead of accepting that "no." Everything about her had indicated that she had cared. I simply had been too offhand about it, lazy, too unconcerned. I deserved my death and hers. I was a dog. No, why blame the dogs? I got up and found a bottle of wine and drank from it heavily. Cass the most beautiful girl in town was dead at 20.

Outside somebody honked their automobile horn. They were very loud and
persistent. I sat the bottle down and screamed out:
"GOD DAMN YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH, SHUT UP!"
The night kept coming and there was nothing I could do.

written by Charles Bukowski

Somebody of interest alluded to the idea that I am afraid of commitment.  Afraid of commitment?  Some thing to think on, and explore...I know I was not always this way, I know I used to commit on a moments notice, to the best thing that was around, or just anything that required some sort of commitment from me...

Its not actually commitment I think that Im afraid of, but the process of someone or something becoming what I want to commit to.  No, believe me, I want to be in a relationship with someone (this might be a specific) but I believe that I may have forgotten how to get from here to there.  I've forgotten in a way, how to be vulnerable anywhere else but here, in this space between letters.

Which is sort of disgusting really, as the very thing I long for is made harder by this medium.  I express here what it is I wish to say to a person.  I write here what my heart could not push through my lips.  These keys are my crutch. 

And I can see me ten years from now, in the same situation as I am now, trying to reach out but being caught in the cycle of my own comfort...

And there is that belief that when Im ready I will naturally just commit to someone.  Obviously there is a reason that some men prefer the company of younger women.  Without all that experience, they are easily drawn into a commitment.  I was myself when I was 19, and ended up in a relationship that lasted 2 years when we had only known eachother prior to that for a couple of weeks.  It was, of course a very good relationship, but it taught me not to commit so readily.  That commitment should be according to...

I dont want to be the only one struggling....
Or I want to be assured that there is no need to struggle or there is nothing wrong with it, that its ok to feel conflicted and wonder, and want to wait to see.  Of course there is a very real attraction, and I can feel it, perhaps because I have a gift for imagining situations in which the end result is my own misery, I create the circumstance in which that happens.

Which is where I see I need to spend some time really commiting to positive thinking.

Of course he likes me, of course he is attracted to me, there is nothing wanting here,  There is nothing needed, I am whole and complete, and happy.  I would like to rest in his arms, and rest in his intellectual banter, and rest, indeed in his heart, where he is not so abrasive.

I very much cherish him because he didnt automatically let me in.  He didnt just say "I like you"  It was earned, and so can be trusted that he values me.  His words are few, so the ones he says are heavy, hold meaning to me.  Now that I am in a more stable situation, I am more open to the possibility of committing

But its also that I want to know that I am committing to creating something with someone that will last.  On the other hand, you cant ever know, can you?  I can only commit to the now, because I dont have anything else.

i would like, of course to have a conversation other than in a smoky bar room with a drink in my hand. 

My love will be original, inviting, and pure,

My love will be a story that must be told to all that need to know that love exists in this world.

My love will be something to behold, something to admire, something that even I will stand in awe of.

My love will be the only thing that exists, the only thing that matters, the only thing worth striving to keep.

a love worth fighting for, a love worth living for.

My love will be deep and complicated, and sweet and seductive.  My love will endure and captivate, will surprise and tantalize.  My love will change peoples minds, and gravitate towards higher hieghts.

My love will drift on the back of the biorhythm, making music that cant be heard with anything but the heart.

I will wait.  Because my love already exists, and so it will come to pass, and will be. 

It will.

What I want.  Who I want to be when I grow up.  Where will I be in a year.

Everything. Me. Everywhere

I hope you all have an amazing time celebrating and that what you discover this year brings true fullfillment and enlightenment.

namaste

Im five years old.
Im standing on the second floor of my childhood home.
I can see out the window down onto the driveway and down the stree to the ocean that sits at the bottom.  On stormy nights I can hear the waves crashing and it lulls me to sleep.

I have refused to see my father since he moved out of the house.  He has come to visit, but only my sisters run to him when he knocks.  I stay up in my bedroom when I know he is coming. 

But today I see him down on the driveway, and a neighbor calls out to him, "Hello!  How are you today, Gordon?"

"Great! Its my birthday! How are you?"

And suddenly, Im pounding my fists on the window and shouting his name. 

"DADDY!  DADDY!  HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!  DADDY!!  LOOK UP! CANT YOU SEE ME!  DADDY ITS ME!  ERIKA!"
 
DADDY!"

But he doesnt, and I just cant imagine that I could get downstairs to him in time.  Im afraid he'll leave before I get there.

So I stand looking down at him, hoping he'll look up and see me loving him trying to tell him.

But he doesnt.

And Im standing locked behind that window, forever looking down.

Shall we dive in, my Darling? 
Shall we clasp hands and jump?
Or has the moment passed upon the inquisition?

Once possible, always possible, there can be no right moment but this.
And if that is not true, if the water is so fleeting, perhaps the question was the saviour.

If it is indeed passed (as I am predisposed to at least imagine the possibility) who wants to bo the object of an admiration so fleeting?
 
It is for this reason certain correspondences are so valuable to me..

"Love must be built. Slowly and meticulously, or rashly and with abandon..."

I wonder if you could feel
my shoulders shudder
not long after
you placed your hand on me

I wonder if you could hear
my inability
to suppress
the tiniest of sobs

I dont know how to describe how I felt
when you placed your hand so absently on me
For a second perhaps before you realized
that tiny little sparkle of energy
I had unknowingly drawn from you

We who are so singular,
who never touch
who talk so seldom
about the most important things we can
for who knows when we will speak again.

But your hand on my shoulder
moved me
probably unbeknownst to you
to silent tears of relief
that I exist to you
in some space of dreams.

And I wonder if you trust me the way that I trust you. 
I wonder if you know you can depend on me
the way I have depended on you
I wonder if you know you encompass what I believe
a man should be.

And perhaps we will drift apart after I leave
and be less than we were or could be
but I will always have room for you at my table