and that alone is love, that which never becomes something else

Søren Kierkegaard,
Three Upbuilding Discourses, 1843

Imp, Aloha
May 14, 2008 10:26 AM
we landed in LA after a 6 hour flight. a friend of aloha’s at the baggage claim who was on our flight, that she didn’t see, appeared wearing a big pair of black sunglasses to hide her big dilated pupils with her head covered in a black jacket hood, whose name was hayley. i slept 3 hours last night the dome-shaped brain muscle. the diane airbus seat 12A, it desiccated my fluids. she was so happy to see aloha omahgah. she offered for us to stay in LA and have dinner and sleep over at her place. i called my parents to tell them about the new plan. we picked up our car at the budget lot, we drove to hayley’s apartment, it was on mccarthy drive, near wilshire boulevard. hayley works at universal music, always has gossips, walked us to the beverly wilshire where we got a scalp massage. napkin folds, oxytoxin spritz. mia, a friend of hayley’s working near the hotel joined us at the pool, off rodeo drive, with a glass of wine twice, and we drove to a japanese restaurant on santa monica blvd to have dinner with another friend of hayley’s, amy, tall like a, daughter of a. she had a devil’s head tattooed on her shoulder, with horns, grinning, and aloha got excited and said she wanted a tattoo on her finger or a tit. mia said she was working at endeavor as rep’s assistant and aloha glowed like a flame, gave off flames.

aloha: i only know her first name, sybil.

mia: i can take a look at the database.

hayley: it’s the big black building we walked by, near the hotel.

aloha: oh.

we left los angeles sunday morning, entered palm springs around 1pm. the silence is dry in palm springs. mountains of rocks. it wasn’t very warm. the wind effortless. greetings, happy parents. and soon, under the guise of a conjecture, by way of my mother's voice, rosa has a boyfriend, hides away, doesn't want to make me feel single. i don't think so. she cancelled because she's a lunatic. i love her but she's a lunatic. we snacked in the kitchen. i know, i am a ray of sunshine. dozed, tanned, swum. i brought two books, the schreber case and either/or. i was in the middle of the schreber case, the story of a paranoid who thinks god turned him into a woman so they can have sex, him and god. it read like a crime novel. aloha and lunar park, who had stopped after 100 pages but gave it another chance, the whole time she was disgorging onomatopoeia of frustration.

? palm springs doesn't keep official sunshine records

monday we went to angel view, a thrift shop selling clothes, furniture, accessories, stuffed animals. “oh this lamp is actually a great lamp,” said a woman working there. on the wall they had a gnu skull. eventually we bought a grey blouse. in the afternoon we looked at some old family photos, the 90s, there i was reading beyond good and evil. that i bought at la hune, the particular smell that the books sold at la hune have, of glue and cleanness that they have. i bought this book because a boy upon whom i had an impossible crush was reading it. nothing happened, not even a kiss, not even a mystery, but that’s how i stepped into nietzsche. every case is a case of love. love alone is the shadow that precedes and follows everything.

Loves die from disgust,
and forgetfulness buries them.

Les amours meurent par le dégoût,
et l'oubli les enterre.

Jean de La Bruyère
Du Coeur, 32, Les Caractères

tuesday i started either/or, i skipped the first sections, i jumped to the immediate stages of the erotic, and later, symparanekromenoi. don juan, seduction, transfers of force.+ postpunk +

+ postpunk +don juan is the man who loves every woman. he seduces them one after another. he doesn’t plan to seduce, he seduces. no woman can resist. don juan is a sensual. he doesn’t think, he’s not an intellectual. an intellectual needs time to build his love scheme, to understand what love is, what his feelings are, how to construct a literature of his feelings. words, language, lies. don juan doesn’t think, doesn’t analyze, he seduces. when one woman is conquered, he goes to the next one. he has no regrets, no guilt, no memory, no strategy, no hope. it’s almost like if he didn’t even live, because he lives in the moment. like music. each moment erases the previous moment, each woman is replaced by the next one.
while don juan is the man of every woman and lives in the instant, faust is the man of one woman and lives in time, and the wandering jew is the man of no woman and lives in eternity.

girls! three stages we all pass through. well that’s what i understood.

a sexuality without orgasm.
wednesday we went to a place called the hacienda in desert hot springs for a spa treat. we swam in hot mineral pools (150 degrees), got mineral scrubs (salt). there was a woman posing in one hot tub looking like a porn actress wearing a tiny swimsuit. she was at least 40 and blonde. we talked about porn movies and i said to aloha that i hated porn because any way you looked at it it was fascist. oh well. the blonde was undulating in the tub, to get an opportunity at the tub to meet some young ladies. got that scrub. sportive and undulating. aloha said dirty can be appealing. foul flesh is not fascism. that's not what characterizes porn. dirt, lust. she said like dirty feet. i can’t tell. skin is something no doubt.

it is fascist as a representation, an instrument that speaks a ritual of punishment. women as objects, dead women. it is a pointillist propaganda of the mechanisms of punishment. even when the actor goes down on the actress. shouting instead of touching. light instead of penumbra. violence instead of essence. spectacle instead of ecstasy. it imposes a fetish (voyeurism) into a synecdoche for sex. it produces first kind of knowledge and subject-object tensions, whereas the idea of sex is a second kind of knowledge subject-subject tension. because the means of porn are these of advertising, essentially repetition and non-subtleness (close-ups, vocal emphases), the idea of sex, in the intimacy of the bedrooms, mutated into a conditioned sight rather than a touch, shocks rather than involution. i mean, who moans for a rorschach inkblot on her face? by forgoing the blind experience of the flesh guided by the sense of touch, and shifting the attention onto intellectual (conceptual) and visual stimuli, the sex scene becomes the reenacting of a loutish performance, a mock act, a fashion. subjects are no longer following the slow ricochets of their own chemical pleasure. the coded representation of a submission, its discriminatory balance of forces, is replacing the fragile, invading fusion of two subjects.

wild baby wild, 2007-2008

a third paradigm of porn is predictability. only breaks sham resistances. never surprises. a conditioning.

on the way to the gynecologist, 2010

?we drove through rancho mirage where they have a franck sinatra drive, went to barnes & nobles in palm desert to buy books for aloha who was really mad at bret easton ellis. my mother was reading spook and they debated about ghosts, near death experiences, ESP, psychics, a story haylay told us: when she arrived in LA 4 years ago, she saw a woman, a psychic, who “read” her for $100, and at the end of the session she said haylay was an old soul and she saw so many things she’d need to do another deeper $350 reading. haylay said ok and the psychic told her that for this next reading, she’d give her a piece of red string that she’d have to hold in her hand while sleeping, for seven nights, and the psychic said she would hold another piece of red string to be connected to her and receive her energy. she took the $350 and said call me in 8 days. every night haylay slept holding the red string intensely, channeling her subconscious towards the clairvoyant, and the 8th day she called her, and the pyshic went like, oh girl, you’re so stressed,

March 28, 2010 5:58pm

dr gonzalez on vista chino, my mother’s dentist. third time i see him. never noticed the music in the background before, a radio station that plays cha-cha-chà 24/7. flex® dental chair, flex® light, action, lemon light, submission. open your mouth, show your enamel, show your tongue. the history of sexuality, vol. 1.
you’re giving too much importance to success and money, i want you to put $2,500 in cash in your bra and go stand at the corner of del mar and hudson at 2am.

yesterday we walked in the city and saw this:

i can’t believe it’s already thursday, it feels like we arrived yesterday.

all the hits and more, 2005

After having suffered, you must suffer even more;
And keep loving, after having loved.

Après avoir souffert, il faut souffrir encore;
Il faut aimer sans cesse, après avoir aimé.

Alfred de Musset,
La Nuit d’août, Poésies Nouvelles,

i spent the whole trip thinking about sybil. at the end of the week i was more in love with love than with her. weird how the memory of a face fades away. i needed to fall in love and there she came. love becomes immense. and be careful to not get feelings of excitement and obsession confused with love. like a moron i decided to finish lunar park. the grotesque mob of ghosts and demons with supernatural powers. spiced up with some oedipal flimflam. who wants to hear about your father issues bret easton ellis. i had to start a new book to rinse all that flakiness off my brain. we found a barnes & noble far west and after some hesitations i set my heart on rats:

In term of hardness, the brown rat’s teeth are stronger than aluminum, copper, lead, and iron. With the alligator-like structure of their jaws, rats can exert a biting pressure of up to 7,000 pounds per square inch. Rats, like mice, seem to be attracted to wires -– to utility wires, computer wires, wires in vehicles, in addition to gas and water pipes. By one estimate, 26 percent of all electric-cable breaks and 18 percent of all phone-cable disruptions are caused by rats. … If they are not eating, then rats are usually having sex. Most likely, if you are in NY while you are reading this sentence or even in any other major city in America, then you are in proximity to two or more rats having sex. Male and female rats may have sex twenty times a day, and a male rat will have sex with as many female rats as possible. … a dominant male rat may mate with up to 20 females rats in just 6 hours.

imp’s parents took us to melvyn’s on wednesday. melvyn’s cocktails, melvyn’s oysters. got drunk. suddenly i wanted to wear leather pants sooooooo bad. talked famous movie scenes involving tongues and imp mentioned drew barrymore licking the steering wheel in charlie’s angels, the kiss in riten, being john malkovich, there's no tongue in being john malkovich, a magic cabinet, trying to understand the zig-zag girl illusion, the difference between charlie parker and dizzy gillespie, between between and between, between and and and, between between and between and and and and, the upper partials, the lower east side, being bombarded with cravings and fantasies and living a life of restrictions, the bizarre need of verbalizing feelings of love, and deleuze, “there are only inexact words to designate something exactly.”

imp’s mother said “if my life was a blog, it’d start the day of my death, and would end the day of my birth. i would start my blog with its most boring and fearful part.” we talked about how we’d feel if our life was actually starting the day of our death, and ended in unbirth.

we had a nice walk in the neighborhood, we saw a cactus, stones, lawns, water.

“so what kind of tattoo should i get?”

great metaphor for memory, immobile, perdures alike.

if you forget and nobody knows, it’s like nothing happened. so what difference does it make that something happened? is it true if nobody knows?

“shut up this is seriously my biggest nightmare.”

we went to a spa and undulated with a blonde in a tub and for one minute i thought she was sexy, in a dirty over 40 years old way, despite her advanced age, and had a brief hormonal craving of squeezing her fake boobs and making out with her pussy licking lips. she had a sort of daisy tattooed on her foot. “what do you think she does for a living? rich spouse?”

i float, swimming 2 minutes and doing that christie brinkley in the 80s thing, i swim under water, slowly come up for air, smooth wet hair back and drip water down bikini and purse my lips with my eyes closed and then open them and smooth my hands down my body. then make a dolphin flip.

wet eyelids, hair pollocking.

rebirth of the euthermia.

why is it that we didn’t see any cute skateboarder to hook imp up with?


"would you like to have a baby?"
"first i'd like to have sex."

imp was now obsessed with elvira. over a beer she told me her story, reinterpreted by kierkegaard.+ goth + death +

+ goth + death + elvira is a nun who falls in love with don juan, the irresistible. she gives up everything for the love of don juan, she gives up god, her past up, her future up. she abandons herself to him entirely. that’s how you can measure the love she has for him, because she gives everything up for him. and mechanically, don juan becomes everything to her. alas as soon as she falls in his arms he cheats on her and dumps her. elvira is devastated, left with nothing but sorrow, and incomprehension. the sorrow is a sinusoid, when it diminishes she tries to understand what went wrong. is it possible that she gave up everything for a three-day romance? a mirage? a lie? did she mistake the nature of don juan’s feelings? are words just words? do people change? for the one who still loves, this idea of change is unacceptable. the only alternative is hope, denial, inertia. elvira goes back to believe, keeps believing, that don juan will come back, she prefers to doubt about don juan’s sudden metamorphosis, she prefers to see what happened as a reversible accident, she prefers to wait for one more proof that the love story is effectively finished, rather than embrace the emptiness don juan had created. of course, if what already happened didn’t convince elvira enough, nothing will ever do, but to hope is to not face the crude reality, that don juan just left, that love wasn’t the same word for both of them, that the past never comes back. the only benefit she gets from this is that, as long as she waits for one more evidence, she doesn’t have to fully die into desperateness. on-off sorrow is fine. miserable, but hopeful. reality will stay wrong.

what if don juan apologizes? it changes nothing. because (kipling:) one cannot repay the unrepayable by grins and handshakes.

leaf of pain (modified), 00s

i didn’t get any feedback from hayley’s friend. excitement, disappointment. typical. do i need to hurry it up? imp says that if you wait long enough, you always end up at the right place. like at the end of a race.

re-this and re-that.

And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss

Rudyard Kipling, If, Rewards and Fairies, 1910

don't believe the hype it's a sequel, as an equal can i get this through to you, 2004

July 8, 2011 9:50 AM
the only thing that's definite about love, and lasting, is pain. because pain can be thought. that's also usually when you write about love. all the literature of love teaches you pain.
You sneaked into my house. By your artistry, your promises and your sighs you succeeded in seducing me. I fell in love, oh cruel one, and you declared me your bride. Then, contrary to all the laws of earth and Heaven, after three days you fled Burgos, abandoned me, and left me a prey to remorse and to weeping, perhaps as a punishment for having loved you so much!
--Donna Elvira

May 2, 2008 4:07am
it started all very well with steve introducing me as a wannabe actress to an executive from abc who had so much cosmetic surgery his face looked like a fetus with no neck. the guy wasn’t a think tank but he was saying nice things about how anyone could become a sex-symbol if hollywood decides so, and that i’ve got some of the "2008 features," but you’re never sure because “to try is to be in danger.” when i have the opportunity to have a first conversation, i listen a lot. he was with a group of other movie business people full of shit like him, we had a drink at their table, i sat near sybil, a very pretty brunette with a script ecstasy tattoo on her foot and painted toenails, and her hair down, only she was (drama) with a cute girl also brunette. sometimes holding hands. she was so everything. i didn’t know if she was an actress for tv or advertising, or movies, or just a body double for dvd covers. i just loved every part of her.

“you need a rep. nobody listens to you if you have no rep.”

she met her agent in a verizon store where she was complaining at the desk and a guy from endeavor was in line, and noticed her. at this moment i realized i didn’t need a rep, i needed to have sex with sybil. the girlfriend had to pee and sybil told me, “i like how you sweat.” she smiled, moved her mouth toward my neck and licked my neck. wow. “your sweat tastes good," and she stared at me a long time. i got shy. do i have to want things for them to exist? i finished my vodka to do something with my hands. she kept staring at me with a smile. her gf came back right when i was starting to blush and i sensed she knew some serious shit happened. so there was this silence like there was a before she left and a now, that weren't part of the same episteme, and it translated into unpleasant smiles and thick stillness while time was stretching. there was some scary telepathy too and sybil kept sending coded messages by folding her eyelids, “more next time," and steve arrived and said, drunk, “hey girls! i know what you’ve been doing!” and, “the guy with the fonzie jacket at the bar would like to buy you ladies a drink, i already said no, just sayin.”

after that sybil and her gf disappeared for the rest of the night. like keyser soze. holly body. saskia. just a name adopted by thousands of girls.

i can't imagine sex after 10 years anyway, 2009